Last night was “Queen Night” on the “X” Factor and it got me thinking again about how much in life that seems just perfectly natural to me means absolutely nothing to Amanda because she “wasn’t there”.

So here is a list of some things, people, events etc that are just a normal part of life to me but will need explaining to Amanda…..

Queen Freddy Mercury (God rest you Freddie) ABBA The Beatles the lunar landings Falklands War World War II (the European part) the Normandy beaches The Battle of Britain Remembrance Sunday New Year (Western as opposed to Chinese) Top Gear Top Gun Top of the Pops “Ghost” (I’m looking forward to explaining some of that…) Heaven Can Wait (…. have I got a morbid streak ?) Blondie J J Cale Love Actually Last of the Summer Wine Porridge The Two Ronnies Monty Python (God help me !……) the Hitch-Hikers Guide to the Galaxy (… and again !) Slartibartfast (well, one has to start somewhere ) wedding receptions summer holidays I’m ****ing Matt Damon Trevor Senior, Jimmy Quinn, Martin Hicks, et al… Elm Park Reading 2 – Brighton 0 Ally McBeal (spot the link between the last two ! ) Maggie Thatcher (where am I going with this ? …..) Radio Luxembourg The Ashes the Barmy Army Lord’s (Mecca) bunking off work to go to Chesterfield to see Middlesex play, only to find you get caught in a close-up on tv with a tinny in your hand ….. ! I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue Humph Samantha Mornington Crescent (there’s an easy one, won’t take long…) The Commonwealth “Dr. Livingstone, I presume ?” India The whole of the Roman Empire, and everything it has meant to everyone in the Western world ever since……. Henry VIII Blackadder Manuel from Fawlty Towers the Eurovision Song Contest (I don’t even understand that myself !) Wogan Galway Bay the old Wembley Stadium American Football Snow (although actually, Amanda spent 8 months studying in Minnesota, so she already knows what snow is !) French Knickers Amaretto Elvis Morecambe & Wise Benny Hill Croatia Florida The summer of Love If you’re Going To San Francisco 99 Red Balloons Richard Branson VW Beetle (my Dad and I both had one at the same time) The Masters the 7th at Pebble Beach Minestrone Soup Double Cream Wizzard Rag, Tag and Bobtail (I used to get so scared that one of them would get lost :-S) Postman Pat the Old Man of Hoy the National Trust Badminton Horse Trials Hickstead Billy Connolly Parkinson James Bond Sean Connery the Isle of Skye Norse Mythology The Blue Danube snooker Torville & Dean Bolero package holidays Woolworth’s Motown IBM AS/400

How many is that ?

I hope she’s a good listener…. this may take some time…

Does anybody have any more suggestions ?

This scene near Mornington Crescent can hardly have changed in 50 years, it’s easy to imagine a steam train coming into shot any moment.

Agfa Isola II, Kodak Tri-X.

Eat your heart out,Torchwood!

Salutations and felicitations,oh seekers of the truth and collectors of the pure!

I am…

…..The Blog Dog!

But of course,you already knew that,otherwise you would not be here,seeking my wisdom….and dripping on my welcome mat.

Anyhoo,come yourself in and I’ll spin you a wee tale of adventure & derring-do.

That’s it,park your sit-upon down there,mind the cannibal,they’re everywhere,harmless really…just keep an eye on your extremities.

What’s that? Oh yes,I’ve moved my centre of operations into Mornington Crescent tube station…nobody ever gets on or off here,so I can do what I like…..welcome to the Fortress Of Blogitude,2.0!! It’s spacious,secret and has tea & coffee making facilities.It was closed for “repairs” during much of the 1990s,which was when I took the opportunity to make a few “structural alterations”.

Cuppa? Help yourself,there’s some in the pot.Will you pour one for me too…milk and four lumps,please…no sugar.

Now…let me tell you about the “little problem” I had when I moved in to Mornington Crescent.I had only that day returned from the 1960s,where I had been “filling in” in the gynaecology department at St.Bartholomew’s Hospital…they were short staffed you see,the other doctors had disappeared but they found them later,bound and gagged and stuffed in a broom cupboard.

I reckon it was medical students,or something,sniffing ether.

This station does not exist....

Anyway,I landed the Invisible Plane in the concourse of the station,and alighted.I had no trouble from the ticket collector on duty as I jumped the barrier,because Raffles is “on the staff” as it were,and helps keep real people out who may have wandered in thinking Mornington Crescent is a genuine tube station and want to go to Cockfosters.Eh? Yes it is,isn’t it? Most amusing.

I trotted down the escalator which doesn’t work,for appearances sake,and went to inspect the work that was being carried out.Several art students were hard at it,a-hammering and a-nailing and a-trying desperately to break their chains–no chance,those chains were made of case-hardened Dynastrene,the hardest substance known to man.

Deidre was busy polishing the third rail….her hair was somewhat “on end.”

“That’s it,babes” I said as I scuttled past,”I want to be able to see my face in those rails.And sort your hair out,you look a right state…and watch those arcs of electricity emanating from your extremities,you could hurt someone.”

Professor Bernardo Whiplash-Prebendary was installing the secret door to my lair,cunningly disguised as the Mornington Crescent tube roundel on the wall of the platform.She turned to greet me.

“Ah Bloggers,you complete and utter waster in time and space,there you are! Not bad this,eh…you just touch the second “O” in “Mornington” and the wall slides back to allow access to the Fortress.” She demonstrated,the wall slid back silently to reveal a dark,velvet-lined corridor; a distant light indicated the door to the inner sanctum,secured with a 21-tumbler lock.

“Good work,Prof.Fancy a cuppa and a bourbon?”

“Yes please,after you.” We crossed the threshold into the Fortress of Blogitude,and walked down the corridor towards the door.I produced my key to open the Triponic Lock.

“By the way,Bloggers,can you smell burning?”

“Oh that’s just Deidre.”

“Oh,that’s all right then.”

********************************************************************************

INTERMISSION

THE BLOG DOG RETURNS AFTER A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS! STAY TUNED!!

“Do you have any unwanted gold jewellery lying around the house? Then send it to me,and I’ll send you a cheque by return of post for their full market value!!! Just pop your baubles in a jiffy bag and send them to this address-

THE BLOG DOG,

THIRD CUBICLE ALONG,

GENTS TOILETS,

ST.PANCRAS STATION,

LONDON.

Unlock the potential value of your valuables today!!!

(Terms and conditions apply,cheques will not be honoured.)

*********************************************************************************

Look,that's my TARDIS !!! The brown,cupboardy thing...

***BACK TO THE ACTION***

I was just drifting off to sleep in my King-sized bed,Deidre quietly simmering and still sparking a bit next to me,when I was startled by a curious sound issuing from the general vicinity of the platform.Slipping on my slippers,I crept out of the boudoir,through the study,across the piranha pool,around the aerodrome,crossed the kitchen,stopping only for a cuppa and a garibaldi,took the monorail to the main living quarters,and tiptoed to the front entrance.I opened the door,just a crack,and had a look.

I did some lookings,and thanked the Gods above or wherever they hang out,that I had taken the shortcut from the boudoir,for there,acting as if he owned the ruddy place,was a Suit!

The Suits had found my secret headquarters!!!

I was immobile with shock and fear….and worse than that,I couldn’t move either.I thought I had seen it all in my long,exciting life….I had battled the Flesh-eating Fish of Fantabulus 5 in the Wombat galaxy,arm-wrestled with Genghis Khan in the snug of the Dog & Duck…even skinny-dipped with Osama bin Laden….

But there are corners of the universe that have bred the most evil unspeakable things,and l was looking at one of them now.

It was beyond description…the words needed to do justice to its appalling appallingness have yet to be invented by some mad,deranged dictionary compiler who has recently looked up the arsehole of Hell whilst wearing a thong.

 My very soul shat its pants.

The Suit was wearing a tweed suit.

The tweed suit wasn’t too happy about that,and was desperately trying to escape the thing’s vile slimy blobbiness.

The Suit was studying what looked like a map.

Summoning every last inch of my iron will (and I have a very big iron will…just ask the missus) I opened the door wider and strode out to meet my doom.The oily pen-pusher turned to “face” me,an unctuous smile birthing,suffering a short but painful life,then dying on his noisome visage.

“Ah good evening,sir.” he smarmed “are you the owner of this umm…hee hee….secret underground lair?”

His voice chilled my very being.

“Yes I am,you hideous horror from Harrogate.How did you get in here?” I feared he may have done Raffles a damage.

“The ticket collector was in his little hut watching Doctor Who..hee hee..a David Tennant episode I think.”

He smiled a soul-fisting smile…he was enjoying himself….how did he know of my utter hatred of….”The Tennant?”

“I stopped for a cuppa and a French Fancy and had a chat while we watched the programme.Tennant is much better than that awful Tom Baker person,I think.”

!!!!!!

“He said I could go down and,as it were,”knock the mad bugger up”,so here I am…ha ha….and quite frankly,it’s a good job I came,because this whole place is just downright dangerous.Did you know there are piranha fish in your swimming pool?”

“Yes,it’s a piranha pool.”

“But someone could fall in and get eaten!”

“That’s the whole bloody point,you knob!”

“Fair enough….oh and by the way,I’ve err…ha ha…come here to twat you.Twattage should take no longer than 30 of your Earth seconds.Twattage is completely painless and lovely.Your experience of Twattage may vary.”

“Begone from my Fortress,you muppetry salesman! Don’t you know who I am ?”

“Yes.”

I waited.

I waited some more.

“Well?”

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket,unscrewed it and consulted its contents.There was a Werther’s Original stuck to it.

“You are the Blog Dog.” he announced,and returned the paper to his pocket.

“Ah.”

“Ah indeed,you canine clod.” said a velvety voice from the void.

I turned towards the sound-a small girl was erupting from the blackness of the tunnel which led to Edgware on the Northern Line,calling at Camden Town,Chalk Farm and Belsize Park,among others.

I recognised “her” instantly,even though it had been some time since we had spent any time together.

“Marjorie Misnomer….we meet again.”

“Indeed we do.” She sidled towards me…she gave good sidle.”Umm..one seems to have been neglecting one’s children recently,hasn’t one?”

She kebabbed me with her gory gaze.

“Well…umm..I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes…moving house,saving the world,you know how it is,all kinds of things cropping up.Ummm how have you been,Marjorie?”

Marjorie Misnomer stared at me.Hard.

“Well you see,that’s the funny thing-I don’t know how I’ve been because you haven’t written me for bloody ages !!!!” She grabbed me by my tartan collar and hoisted me up level with with her eyes.

” I want more life….father.”

(You nicked that from Blade Runner.)

Oh hello,you’ve been quiet tonight…Deidre keeping you busy…good…that coal won’t clean itself…..

Anyhoo…

I felt something give in my nether regions,but I kept a stiff upper.”But…but…Deidre doesn’t like your stories,she prefers it when I blog about real life stuff….but I do have one of your stories in the archive,I just need to finish it…it’s a good ‘un too.” I lied.

“How is Deidre by the way?” asked Marjorie.

“AC/DC.”

“Really? How interesting.Where was I…oh yes,Tarquin was going to Twat you.” She motioned to The Suit,who had taken to picking his nose.”Tarquin,please be so kind as to bring the Twattage.”

The abomination in tweed slobbered towards me…I was going to be Marmite.My mind raced…..actually it raced quite quickly,so quickly in fact that it left my body and made a run for it-I couldn’t in all honesty blame it….it was the end of The Blog Dog.

If Tarquin didn’t get me,then Marjorie would–why had I written her so evil? She was only ever meant to be a bit of fun because I couldn’t think of anything good to blog about one evening.

Curse my boundless talent!!

“Wait!” I yelled,as Tarquin loomed over me,poised to Twat me with his Twatter.”I promise I’ll finish the third chapter of Marjorie Misnomer & The Impossible Fish!”

Marjorie halted Tarquin’s arm.”Promise on your signed photograph of Katie Price.”

The bitch!

“Alright I promise on my signed photo of Katie Price.”

“Very well,dog.I shall give you until this time next week to finish and publish it.Make sure I get all the best lines.Come along,Tarquin.”

They ambled off in the general direction of Golders Green,holding hands.

Ewww.

THE END

(Bit of a crap ending,that.)

It’s one of them “To be continued” jobbies.

(I simply cannot wait for the next part.)

Of course you can’t…now,it’s time to feed the piranhas…I think one art student will be enough,don’t want them to get too fat.

Until next time,thrill-junkies!!!

Farewell!!!

…yeah. Wow. Seriously, I need to get a DS. Scribblenauts looks like it could potentially be one of the best DS games ever. Yeah, I know there’s an ocean of slurry out there, but below the surface there are rich seams of minerals and precious metals. Ok, potentially flawed analogy there. Hit the jump for more potentially flawed analogies!

Ok, so I’ve decided to impliment a new reviews policy. We tried to roll with the firetruck system for a while, but that didn’t quite work out (too American) , so we’ve spent endless hour thinking, puzzling, eating, sleeping, listening, musing, writing, reading, drinking tea, and have eventually devised an entirely NEW system, based on fruit and vegtables. The closest analogue to this system I can think of is Mornington Crescent, but read our page on the subject for a slightly more detailed explanation.

Two more challenge rooms – FREE DLC for this superb game! It’s almost difficult to believe, except that, well, it’s true. And it’s awesome!

On a lighter note, apparently Anthony Burch is putting together a DVD of the first series of Hey Ash, Watcha’ Playing ? . Perhaps an anachronism for an internet series to be putting out DVD’s, but , hey, I suppose they’ve gotta make their money some way. It seemed to work for Rooster Teeth.

I’ve had a cunning idea. I may apply for a grant to something called the Youth Opportunity Fund. This could facilitate plenty of things, including better recording and editing equipment and software, better hosting and maybe a switch to a different blogging platform? I’ve heard good things about Squarespace…

Anyway, once again, that’s all for today. Sorry it’s a bit shorter than usual, I had a Youth Cabinet meeting, and got home quite late, so I’m too tired to write any more coherently than I already am. Enjoy your day, and see you tomorrow!

Only when fifth Bishop’s Gambit is the rule-set and Flashpoint Loop is in play. But then of course that allows you to move over, from your position at Regent’s Park, to Green Park using the Flipping Park Jump, at which point I can Jump the Pigeon and head over to East Putney leaving the whole game up in the air and causing gasps to be emitted by the captivated audience.

There is no other game like it for excitement, constant change and full on, unadulterated fun on a Thursday Mid-afternoon jaunt to the capital. Unless you live here on the National Express South East route, in which case you’re better off staying at home and playing the game from there.

There are people out there who call this game a fraud, a fake and made up in the minds of people with nothing else to do. This is of course a fallacy and spread only by those without the brain power to keep up with the fast paced action that comes with a round of this old family favourite.

I can often be found reading my copy of Stovold’s to ensure my knowledge is kept up to speed on the latest change to the Three Pronged Arch or whether the Angle of the Diagonal has had any new additions. It’s also nice to see whether there’s a new school making its way up the league tables, and then there’s the MCC tables.

With its many appearances in works like Henry V, featuring in Nursery rhymes, and that infamous rap version, the game has well and truly entered the public psyche and deserves its place as one of the preserved sports broadcast, free-to-air on the radio.

And so after that I hope you are all ready for a good game, and if you aren’t, and still have no idea what is going on allow me to finish the game from the start and see if you get it.

You Run the Baker all the way to Elephant and Castle, I employ the lesser known Knights Knave Third Run to Barons Court. You take what you feel is the saving move, Roll the Chicken and get to Brent Cross. You see a glint in my eye, not quite sure why. I utter the words “United Front Bypass”, you get worried as I progress to Marylebone. In a dejected way you utter “Queen’s Fable” and travel to Holborn already aware that I have but one option, and that you have no chance. I simply utter two words. Mornington Crescent.

MTFBWY

1. Lonely Loch Errochty – Cameron McNeish reflects on the scars that man leaves behind on the landscape as he comes across the remnants of farm buildings alongside Loch Errochty, before being confronted by the dam at Trinfour.
2.  Just a minute, Mr Naismith, can this be right? – Outdoor news website, Grough, is challenging  a century old walking rule. Naismith’s rule is used by most walkers to estimate the time it will take to complete a trip.  However, it always assumes we will descend quicker then we ascend a hill taking no account of steepness of gradient. Grough is exploring an aspect of hillwalking that many of us have thought about for a long time – steep descents can slow us down.
3. Mornington Crescent (South Down Rules) – Obviously a fan of the panel game that beats all other panel games, Alan Sloman takes a wry look at place names in the South Downs. Warning – if you are not a Radio 4 listener this particular blogpost will make no sense at all. Thinking about it, even for many Radio 4 listeners, Mornington Crescent makes no sense at all.
4. Trail Magazine are running their Homemade Mountain Movie Awards again this year encouraging amateurs to submit a 3 minute film with a hillwalking theme. You might not be tempted to take your video camera with you on your next expedition but you can take a look at some of the early entries on the website. I would recommend the trek on Mount Toukbal.
5. Outdoor Blips is an American based outdoor aggregation site that has a fair number of UK blogs listed, many I hadn’t come across before. If you are looking for something a bit different some of the US sites highlighted are worth a look. Some of the sites focusing on the US National Parks have great photographs that make you long to be in the depths of Yosemite this summer.

Colossal blocks of cement formed tunnels through which the small form of a man in sunglasses half-limped looking lost. That small figure was me.

I felt like a poverty tourist. Stumbling through a massive council estate deliberating how and when I would be mugged for my phone and iPod and trying to work out whether it mattered if I tried to hide them from view or not.

“What road am I meant to be on Jade?”

“What? Where are you? LEFT LEFT JON! LEFT LEFT!”

I was on my own. Clearly.

Two lads sat on a wall, young. It was still light. The murderers surely weren’t out yet. I thought about turning back. Didn’t. Walked passed trying to look cool. Failed. They may have called me a twat. My headphones were in. I was spared the truth.

But nothing more. Surprisingly quiet amid the sketchy parks, the washing lines soaring off buildings like kites and the false sense of security from the ripped open intercom systems on the empty box entrance halls of row after row of high-rise housing.

A shop. Directions. I think he thought I was going to try and rob him. Or had come to collect the protection money. Just directions please.

“Keep walking to the traffic lights”sounded a lot like “Get the fuck out of here before someone sees you,  you idiot”. It was all in the tone.

So I walked on, my own private tour of a world I did not know, that is kept hidden from most. And it was ok, you know. It wasn’t that scary. This place, it doesn’t intimidate me, much. And I grew in courage every second I survived. The heart slowed and the swagger returned.

Then I realised why. I was out of it. The towers had shrunk to totem poles and the streets were wider, the houses squat, the people not in tracksuits. An Australin lady “Yeah go right then it’s just around the corner, you can’t miss it”. You don’t get Australian ladies in council estates.

And I felt a pang of regret. My survival was a sham. Had I even hit the heart of it? I sort of wanted to see what it was like, for real. And I realise totally how patronising that is. And I realise it is probably nothing like I think and that I will never actually know what it is like. But walking through that estate, lost and disorientated, it at least gave me a hint that my middle-class stereotypes were probably, for the most part, unfounded. And that has to be a good thing.

Not that I will be going back after dark. I am not an idiot.

Now and then I dip my toes into various Mornington Crescent games (don’t ask, I can’t tell you…but I can say I am a Black Belt nth Dan at the reverse Saint Johns Wood twist).

One of the games was a play on words – when films collide…

Some of it may be a bit on the blue side – so don’t read it unless it’s past 9pm…..

———————————————————————-

Wargames 2001

David Lightman looked at the screen….a few simple keystrokes and he was in. What was this though?

David realised that he had only a few hours to undo what he thought was going to be a sneak preview of an upcoming computer game…but now he was head to head with the U.S. Air Force’s WOPR computer system….one false entry and it would trigger a countdown to World War III.

Jennifer looked on in disbelief as Lightman’s 1980’s sound card blurped into life….

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Dave?”

———————————————————————-

Titanic – The Revenge

Standing on the bow of the vessel, Rose DeWitt Bukater stretched her arms out to her sides whilst the handsome young Jack Dawson held his new love firmly around the waist. The sea air was fresh and the sound of the gulls was momentarily drowned out by the noise of the waves crashing on the side of the craft…..

Rose suddenly swung her arm around and pointed with vigor to the forward port side of the vessel to where the gulls were gathering over the freshly laid chum…

“THERE IT IS JACK!” Rose screamed over the growing oceanic cacophony…

“I SEE IT ROSE!” cried out Jack, and then under his breath he muttered to himself…“I think we’re going to need a bigger boat…….”

da dum….da dum….da dum da dum da dum da dum da BADA DAAAAAA!!!

———————————————————————-

Being Papa Smurf

In the low ceilinged Manhattan building of Lestercorp, puppeteer Craig Schwartz and Maxine Lund were walking, bent double, to a small out of the way office.

Craig spoke softly to Maxine, as if speaking these words any louder would make them sound madder than they actually were…“There’s a tiny door in that empty office. It’s a portal, Maxine. It takes you inside another person. You see the world through that person’s eyes, then, after about fifteen minutes, you’re spit out into a ditch on the side of The New Jersey Turnpike.”

Maxine smiled at Craig “Sounds delightful. Who the fuck is this person?”

“He’s famous. One of the most well known characters of the 20th century.”

“What’s he done?”

“Lots of things. He’s very well respected. Musical albums and a T.V series, for example. The point is that this is a very odd thing, supernatural, for lack of a better word. It raises all sorts of philosophical questions about the nature of self, about the existence of the soul. Am I me? or is this person me? Was the Buddha right, is duality an illusion? Do you see what a can of worms this portal is? I don’t think I can go on living my life as I have lived it. There’s only one thing to do. Let’s get married right away.”

“I think I should see this portal first…then we’ll talk…”

They entered the office and moved a heavy filing cabinet to one side, revealing a hole in the wall, as Craig had said.

“Please,” He started “look for yourself!”

Maxine was already through the hole in the wall, and within moments she was seeing things through anothers eyes….first there were trees…lots of very tall trees…a cottage….it looked closer than it really was, because as she walked up to the cottage she realised that it was huge….and those trees were not that all in comparison…she was short…

From inside the cottage came a gravel like voice…a wretched hunch back of a voice…and then a scatching at the door she was stood outside of…

The voice spoke to the source of the scratched door….“What can you smell? What is it…do you want to go out..?” The voice paused as a hissing yeowl of a cat startled Maxine, then the voice came again…“…Can you smell him? Can you Azrael? Surely we’re not lucky enough that Papa Smurf has ventured up here – within our grasp!!!” cackled Gargamel.

———————————————————————-

Chitty Chitty A-Team

Lieutenant Templeton “Face” Peck walked over to Sergeant Bosco “B.A.” Baracus…

“B.A…What is it you are actually making out of this fine 1921 Paragon Panther?”

“Fool…just git outa my face, Face.”

“Leave him alone,” muttered Colonel John “Hannibal” Smith “He’s working on an idea that Murdoch came up with…”

“Heh, heh…that mad fool might be on to something…” sniggered B.A.

Face walked over to Murdoch and the Berriwillock (Meaning of Liff) of the Team, Frankie “Dishpan” Santana. If Murdoch had a good idea, then it must be a crazy one that kinda made sense….he head to find out.

“Hey Murdoch…What on earth is B.A doing with that old race car?”

“Hey Face Man…it’s just an idea I came up with…you know…like he hates getting in any damned ‘plane, but it really is the fastest way for us to get around…”

“Hi” said Dishpan, you might not rememb…

“So, what is this idea Murdoch?….What could you come up with that could get B.A so excited?” asked Face, looking at himself in a piece of tin plate he’d found in the garage.

“Well Face Man, B.A ain’t never getting on no ‘plane, and we feel that drugging him in the same way each time we need to fly is getting tedious….and it makes B.A look like a mad fool for falling for it…”

“HEY FOOL…I HEARD THAT!”

Hannibal interjected “Relax B.A, it is true after all. Please continue Murdoch.”

“Well…he always says he ain’t geting on no plane…so I came up with this idea…”

“That’s a car though Murdoch” mentioned Face, “That’s not a plane…”

“I know…and he’s never said he ain’t never getting in no car. He has also never said anything about being IN the plane itself…just the getting in bit makes him mad….”

“YOU MAD FOOL…Heh…you had a good idea this time though…I’m still gonna kick yo ass though…”

“QUICK…To the 1921 Paragon Panther racing car….DECKER’S coming!” ordered Hannibal.

The A-Team jumped into the car as B.A fired the engine into life. Decker’s men burst in through the doors either side of the building, failing to do the obvious and put a gaurd on the waffer thin hangar doors to the front.

With the engine howling, B.A threw the car into gear and shot off forward through the waffer thin doors…

“Bugger” said Decker “Who’d have thought that!?”

As the car sped out of the building, B.A pulled on a lever on the side. Slowly red and orange material appeared from the sides of the car in a sweeping arc, gradually becoming tighter as a delta shaped appeared. The car eased away from the ground and took to the air, leaving Decker nothing to do but shoot wildly at the departing A-Team, missing the slow flying car with every fully trained military career mans shot…

“It ain’t no plane when I get in..Heh heh” Laughed B.A “You may be a fool Murdoch, but this idea really takes off!!!”

Down below, ignored by everyone, a lone voice screamed upwards…”Guys…what about me?…Dishpan…the fifth member!..series five?..guys…..GUYS!!!!”

“Good thinking Murdoch,” commented Face…”this is just the thing we need to help free those kids from the evil Baron Bomburst and his Child Catcher”

Smiling, Colonel Smith stammered out a well honed phrase through his cigar….

“I love it when a ‘plane comes together….

———————————————————————-

Snow White and the Taxi Driver

The jealous queen’s attempts to get rid of her beautiful step-daughter had taken a step further forward. The poison apple should have worked by now! There could be no way that Snow White was still ‘alive’!

She happily imagined the dwarfs, all seven of them, mourning the loss of their house guest! Yes…now no-one could stand in her way….she must be the fairest woman alive!

The wicked queen walked over to the all seeing mirror, and asked once more the question she was so sure of…

…”Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, now, who is the fairest of us all?”

The mirror shimmered into life, the mists cleared and its all knowing face appeared…After a moments pause, a blink, and a glance around the room, the mirror responded….

” You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me? You talkin’ to me? Then who the hell else are you talkin’ to? You talkin’ to me? Well, I’m the only one here. Who do the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

———————————————————————-

From Dusk til Zulu Dawn

Seth Gecko looked over the occupants of the ‘Titty Twister’…this looked like a good place to rest up for a while whilst they were waiting for their ride. The Fullers had been ‘good enough’ to drive them this far, but Seth wasn’t letting them go just yet.

Across the table tops came a leggy dancer, introduced as ‘Santanico Pandemonium’. She started to sway in a seductive manner…this was starting to look good. A table of what could only be described as ‘True Brits’ sat across the room, trying hard not to look at the degrading dance. By all that was British, this wasn’t what they were used to.

In a flash everything turned to Hell…the once plain ugly and aggressive clientele had turned to ugly and aggressive clientele with blood sucking tendencies…this was going to be a blood bath…

Seth and the Fullers were one side of the bar, fighting and mowing down these evil Hell spawn. Using every weapon at their disposal. Blood flowed freely as the onslaught continued. Several times it looked as though it was all over, and that the Texan bank job they had pulled was all for nothing.

The gun shots died down…the smoke settled…the flow of blood from the un-dead slowed…Seth and the remaining Fullers looked over the room…Seth saw the Brits, still smart in their attire, although slightly dishevelled.

“Hey Limeys” called Seth “There must have been 4,000 of these suckers! I think we got ‘em all though, heh! I mean, like, how many did you get?”

Lieutenant Gonville Bromhead shouted back to Seth and proclaimed “Sixty! We dropped at least 60, wouldn’t you say?”

Lt. Josef Adendorff, NNC, spoke out quietly to Bromhead…“That leaves only 3,940.”

“Whatever man!” returned Seth “I think it’s a miracle we’re still a-fuckin-live man!”

“If it’s a miracle, Sir, it’s a short chamber Boxer Henry point 45 calibre miracle” muttered Lt. John Chard.

Colour Sergeant Bourne spoke from under a split corpse “And a bayonet, sir, with some guts behind.”

“I think there’ll be more…we need to make a defence or somit man” said Seth, cleaning off some demon gut from his forehead, “How many men do you Brits have over there on your table?”

Bromhead replied, “Seven officers including surgeon, commissaries and so on, wounded and sick 36, fit for duty 97 and about 40 native levies. Not much of an army for you…as for defences, I don’t think we have the strength or will left to build any…” Bromhead was cut off mid flow,

“I don’t give a damn! And I want this wall nine feet high, firing steps on the inside. Form details to clear away the Vampire bodies, rebuild the south rampart, keep ‘em moving! Do you understand?” screamed Chard

“Haven’t you had enough? Both of you! My god, can’t you see it’s all over! Your bloody egos don’t matter anymore. We’re dead!” sobbed Adendorff.

———————————————————————-

Magic Trainspotting

Begbie turned and asked Sick Boy a simple question…it always started out with a simple f**cking question…

“Did you bring the cards?”

“What?” replied a laid back Sick Boy

“The cards, the last thing I told you was to mind the cards!”

“Well, I’ve not brought them.”

“It’s f**king boring after a while without the cards.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Bit f**king late, like.”

“Why didn’t you bring them?”

“‘CAUSE I F**KING TOLD YOU TO BRING THEM, YOU DOSS C**T! “

“…Christ.”

Dylan nudged Begbie
“Chill out guys, I’ve got something stashed that just might help.”

“Dylan,” started Bryan, “we don’t have time to indulge in recreational activities…“

———————————————————————-

Brokeback Martian

ET: E.T go home?

Ennis: I’m sorry little guy, we just can’t….

Jack: Yeah, we’ve tried to let you go, but it’s so hard….

Ennis: We wish we knew how to quit you…

———————————————————————-

Jamie and the magic….. torch….

Jamie! Jamie!
Jamie and the Magic Torch.
Down the helter skelter, faster and faster
towards Cuckoo Land.

Wordsworth! Wordsworth!
Following hard behind.
Ready for adventure, always there to lend a paw
…or hand!

Mr Boo and all the others too,
the strangest people you’ve ever seen.
And the torch with it’s magical beam -
If I hadn’t really been there
I’d think that I was dreaming!

Jamie! Jamie!
No two nights are the same.
And life is one long glorious game
with Jamie.
Jamie and the Magic Torch!
[Yeah! Switch On!]

VvVvShOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooom

…..Okay…. that’s your lot!

Thursday began the trek up to Newcastle upon Tyne for the third recording of I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue’s 51st series. It’s the furthest I’ve travelled to see a recording, but it was worth it. Not only did I get to see Rob Brydon hosting, but also got to meet up with several other fans who all post on the Saucy Gibbon site.

After a morning of picnic breakfasts on the train and enormous cake and coffee at the Baltic, it was time to meet up with the other Gibboners outside the theatre, as we’d arranged. I’d already been in to collect my tickets earlier in the day. Eventually all ten of us were gathered and we headed off to find somewhere for something to eat. We found a suitable place just round the corner and squashed round the largest table we could find. Food and drink ordered, we settled down to chatting and introducing ourselves to those of us who didn’t know each other. Massive plates of food arrived to sate our hungry tums, which was all washed down with the longest, and possibly silliest, game of Cheddar Gorge ever played in a Newcastle restaurant.

Then it was time to head back round the corner and into the theatre. We’d all booked separately, so all had seats spread throughout the auditorium. After finding our seats towards the front of the stalls and waving to the others, we settled down for a very amusing show.

At this point I could contrast Rob Brydon’s turn as host with Jack Dee’s, but I feel that would be unfair; not only are they two very different comedians with different styles, but Rob also had the advantage of having hosted the show before (on the final date of the tour last year when Humph was in hospital). I will say that Rob seemed very comfortable in the chair and was very relaxed, laughing away at the jokes and puns. It highlighted how nervous Jack had seemed in Southampton, although that may not be so obvious from the broadcasts.

The guest panellist for the evening was Phill Jupitus, who hasn’t been on the show for a good few years, so it was a welcome return for him. He fitted in perfectly and pitched his performance exactly right for the style of the show, which is much less frantic than his more usual appearances on Buzzcocks or QI.

As usual, I won’t say much about the content of the show before it’s broadcast, apart from to mention a few highlights which shouldn’t spoil anyone’s enjoyment of listening. Top of my list has to be Phill’s Dalek impression which, without the aid of a ring modulator, was almost spot on! Another highlight was the letter writing round – always one of my favourites to watch – which often has Tim and guest suffering with giggles, but this time the normally un-flappable Graeme Garden appeared to be desperately trying not to laugh on several occasions. And speaking of mirth, Phill had somewhat uncontrollable hysterics after Rob delivered a line about Samantha.

After the show it was a speedy exit to the stage door, avoiding the camera crew talking to people for breakfast news. Our rather large group was joined by quite a few others, so by the time everyone came out there was a substantial crowd waiting and it was difficult to get to speak to everyone. Our group managed to surround Phill first, and gave him the sign, as we all follow him on Twitter – he seemed astounded that there were so many of his followers there. Photos and autographs followed. Then I turned and spoke to Colin Sell, as he always seems slightly undervalued at the stage door, despite being an essential part of the team. Next I managed to find Graeme for a little chat. He asked about the sofa (again), which I assured him is still safe [it's sitting in front of me on my desk as I type].

Finally I got to speak to Tim, the others having been whisked away in taxis. He quickly solved the mystery of what had happened in Southampton – it seems he was busy elsewhere being gallant and helpful – but I honestly wasn’t complaining, just being concerned. There were plenty of hugs all round and just time for a group photo with all the Gibboners before he too had to leave.

As none of us wanted the evening to end just yet, the majority of the group had a wander round to find somewhere to have a drink or two. Having found somewhere, we chatted and laughed into the early hours before wearily wending our way to find sleep, until the next time …

The invite said ‘wear blue’. Or so it appeared for those on stage. Apart from the rebellious one!

Sunday evening in a wet and windy Southampton, cosseted away from the worst of the weather outside, I sat in the Mayflower Theatre waiting to see the return of I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue. It’s been over a year since the much-loved and much-missed jazz legend and chairman extraordinaire, Humphrey Lyttelton, died, leaving a gaping void at the heart of the show. Everyone seemed to agree that it should carry on, and after a respectful break it’s back. (It has actually been back for a couple of weeks now, but because of greedy bastards snaffling all the tickets for the first recording to sell at huge profit on eBay, I didn’t get to go to that one)

The show began, as always, with the arrival of Jon Naismith on stage, armed with a plethora of jokes (old and new) with which to warm up the audience. But before the jokes began there was a beautiful and warm tribute to Humph to which the audience responded with a spontaneous round of applause. Jon explained that our chairman for the evening, Jack Dee, had volunteered on the understanding that he wouldn’t be first (that honour fell to Stephen Fry). He was welcomed on stage along with the teams, guest panellist Jeremy Hardy and Colin Sell, Samantha arriving a little later as usual.

And so the recording began.

I won’t say too much about the recordings, to save spoiling the broadcasts for those of you who will be listening. But there was a great selection of rounds, including the return of some much missed old favourites. There was, of course, a round of Mornington Crescent, played with the latest game-playing computer. There was a slight glitch with the laser display board for one of the sound charades when it displayed a slightly different title to the one being acted, which confused a large part of the audience, as well as the teams when there was only a smattering of applause after the correct title was guessed.

And I can’t talk about a recording with Jeremy Hardy on the panel without mentioning singing. I think all the practice must be paying off as he’s become rather good. His one song to the tune of another was in tune right until the final note. And his kazooing was pitch perfect!

After the show it was round to a cold, but thankfully dry, stage door to wait for what seemed like ages before anyone appeared. Jeremy popped out then went back in again. Colin Sell went past with a group of people. Then finally Barry and Graeme appeared, stopped to sign a few things and have a quick chat before heading off. Jack and Jeremy came out not long after and again signed autographs for people before going. But where was Tim? I still don’t know, as eventually everyone grew bored of waiting and the group of fans dwindled away, until it was late and I had to go home without finding out.

Carreras Cigarette Factory (now Greater London House), Mornington Crescent, London -M.E and O.H Collins with A.G Porri – 1926-8

I don't actually like cats

Back “on message”, this classic Deco factory is especially for those of you who were disgusted by my last Brutalist concrete entry!

On Hampstead Road, NW1, this was apparently the first factory in Britain to make use of pre-stressed concrete technology, the first to contain air conditioning and a dust extraction plant and the company was the first to provide full welfare services for its employees (all taken from Wikipedia, so not my words). After Carreras merged with Rothmans, and the building was sold in the 1960s the decorative facade was removed – including those bronze cats (not sphinxes). The building was restored in the late 1990s, and it houses the offices of a number of media companies.

Carreras factory from Hampstead Rd

Here is a not very good photo – you have to imagine the drunk man in his mobility chair distracting me just off camera bottom left, add to this my panicking PA, concerned we were going to miss our train from Euston, and you get the picture… – but I thought it would give you an idea of the geography of the building.

A few years ago I spent a lot of time in Camden; my girlfriend lived on Mornington Crescent and my best friend lived on Delancey Street. During this time I became addicted to the salt cod fritters – croquetas de bacalou – sold at the nearby Ferreira Delicatessen. The only problem is that by the time I got up they were normally lukewarm and slightly stale though still as delicious as that first kiss with someone you are about to fall in love with. Since then I have often ordered them in Spanish or Portuguese restaurants and always been disappointed with the result.

Just before Xmas, I decided to make my own. The recipe which came from the Moro cookbook required me to soak the salt cod for 2 days in cold water changing the water after the second day. It then said “gently poach the salt cod in hot milk for 2 minutes, drain and when cooled enough to touch remove the bones and skin.” A simple enough instruction but when the fish had cooled the skin has turned sticky and the whole thing stank; I had inadvertently stumbled upon a primitive form of super glue. This 5 word instruction – “remove the bones and skin” – took over 2 hours of fiddly, smelly, disgusting work. I now understand why the term fish wife is such an insult. Finally I had a disappointingly small pile of salt cod.

The rest of the recipe was straightforward. I mixed the cod with seasoned (salt, pepper, paprika) mashed potato and parsley, formed them into croquetas, rolled them in beaten egg and flour and then deep-fried them in sunflower oil until golden. I served them at a dinner party with mayonnaise and lemon to a rapturous reception. They did taste good but I still had bits of fish skin welded to my fingers and the smell of glue in my nostrils. I think next time, I’ll use smoked haddock.

By Henry Castiglione

There’s a kind of sub-theme emerging here.  Out of the novel came the idea of biscuits with words on being like books and writing a kind of biscuit bible.  Also, my postcard story which was not chosen to appear in the window of Waterstone’s, was about biscuits and literature.  Here it is:

Can’t find it.  It was called “A Nice Cup of Tea with Dickens” and was about someone writing a thesis on the incidence of biscuits in the novels of Dickens.  I thought it was quite amusing.  But it’s vanished.

In this context I must mention the seminal work “A Nice Cup of Tea and A Sit Down” written by Nicey and Wifey.

www.nicecupofteaandasitdown.com/

Sounds twee.  Isn’t.  Very comforting.  There’s something very English, not only about the theme of tea and biscuits, but about the idea of appearing to take totally seriously such a banal theme.  It’s a kind of Mornington Crescent-ish undercutting of our tendency to at times  take life too seriously.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mornington_Crescent_(game) – 36k

Are you a “foreigner”?  Are you baffled by the English?  Don’t be.  We do it on purpose.  Refuse to be. Alternatively, drink six pints of Adnams beer and all will become clear.

www.pub-explorer.com/realale/adnamsbrewery.htm

Yesterday I had the pleasure of attending an afternoon of Buster Keaton shorts at the Barbican in London. Now I wouldn’t say that I’m a huge fan of silent comedy, although the few films I have seen over recent years I have appreciated. So why did I choose to go? Well, it could have something to do with the fact that the afternoon was being introduced by Graeme Garden and Tim Brooke-Taylor and was also to feature some clips from The Goodies showing how they had been influenced by Keaton. So C and I took seats on the front row, with a few Giddies and other forum folk scattered nearby, to see what the afternoon would bring.

I really enjoyed watching the films and was captivated not only by how funny they were, but also how clever Keaton and his film makers were – pushing the skills and techniques of a still fairly new art form. There were a few particular bits where I forgot to laugh as I was so in awe of the photographic skills, particularly in The Playhouse where Keaton was playing all the roles on screen. Graeme and Tim spoke between each film to explain various things and during one of these Graeme told of how this effect was done – by screening off each part of the film to film one character in the scene before winding the film back, moving the screen and filming the next one. All the more impressive when you think it was being done on hand cranked cameras!

In addition to the Keaton films there was a short selection of clips from The Goodies, to demonstrate some of the influence they took from silent comedy. I’d like to say I know the clips used fairly well, but they took on a whole new dimension with the piano accompaniment of the amazing Neil Brand (who had been providing the live soundtrack for the afternoon – who knew you could recreate the sounds of gunshots and bells and all sorts of other things on a piano??!) I did also find myself watching the Keaton films and spotting bits that had been reused in The Goodies – it seems they weren’t so creative and innovative as I’d thought (only joking!)

After the films there was plenty of time for chatting in the bar, although not really about the films, as I know nothing – apart from what I’d learnt that afternoon. Graeme commented on how much easier it was to get to than Leafield. I’m not convinced – the Barbican is a maze of concrete, and the lanes of Oxfordshire are so much prettier. And I had a chat with Tim while I asked him to sign my The Zygon Who Fell To Earth CD about Zygons in their many forms [hmm .... that sounds slightly surreal, but it seemed perfectly normal at the time] and how he hadn’t heard the adventure yet. Then it was time for hugs all round before heading off home (having taken a slight diversion to Mornington Crescent!).

After 40 pre-recorded podcasts, it’s about time I did a live show so I can finally speak directly to at least some of the people who regularly download and listen to my podcasts.

Even after 3 years, the prospect of putting a pre-recorded show together to entertain people hasn’t lost its appeal, but ‘going live’ is an itch that just needs to be scratched. None of ‘Clever Little Pod’ is recorded ‘as live’ – which means that even the song links are ‘dropped in’ between the tracks, having been recorded in a block. Although that method produces a more polished end-product, it loses a lot of the ‘buzz’ of presenting in the traditional sense (even though I love the challenge of editing.)

So, the next show is going to be an hour-long special, broadcast on the CLP website using Stickam – a facility for netcasting that allows you to broadcast live audio and video, as well as interactivity for listeners in the form of a linked chatroom.

Stickam is used by Rhodders of Rhodders FM who uses it to broadcast his regular Friday night show ‘Thank Rhod It’s Friday’. The combination of chatroom banter and live audio/video works really well for him, and I’m hoping that CLP listeners will find it just as engaging.

The addition of a webcam is going to be interesting: I want it to be an integral part of the show, so I can reward the people who are watching with some nice visual ‘extras’ – ahem! – not THOSE sort of extras, thank you missus… I’m talking about comedy visuals! So if you’re expecting the normal CLP with a static shot of my face.. think again (waddya mean that IS a comedy visual?!)

My aim is to make as much of it ‘live’ as possible – so where I’m usually voicing both sides of a conversation, this time one will be live. The potential for screwing this up is massive – but makes for a funnier show, so I’m going for it.

I’m also going to trail stuff throughout the show, and have a lot more shorter, punchier features than usual to keep the audience amused, even though there’ll be more music than CLP listeners are used to. The trails should keep up the interest in what’s coming next.

Although I’ve got some ideas for the visuals, the chatroom is proving more of a challenge to integrate into the format. I don’t want to be reading out comments in the usual way – I’d like the chatters to be in on some running gags, and to contribute to the humour in some way. Something in the same vein as Morning Crescent would be great. I’m racking my brains.

Despite all of this prep, I realise that there is a very high probability I’ll be playing to an audience of 3 on the night itself. But do you know what? – I don’t care. It still presents a creative challenge that I’m going to love meeting, and in any case the whole thing will be kept and released as a podcast too – although I have a horrible feeling that something’s going to go wrong on that front, and it’ll be a one-time only listen…

Which is why you need to be there! Provisionally August 29th, 8pm UK time on the CLP website and at stickam.com/cleverlittlepod

Can’t wait!

Holiday (well, mini-break out of London). Back next week. Writing anything inbetween now and then – unlikely.

In the meantime, amuse yourselves on here. If you fancy a game of Mornington Crescent I’ll start using Johnson Cycling Path rules with an opening gambit of Green Park. Alternatively, you could have a game of stone, paper, scissors. I’ll go with stone.

If you’re really bored you could start a sensible discussion, but that’s not something I generally encourage.

It is with great sadness that I heard the news of the passing of Humphrey Lyttleton.

Although Jazz has never really been my kind of music, ( all the right notes, but played in the wrong order ), I came to love him as the compere of BBC Radio 4’s “I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue”.

The game of Mornington Crescent which I initiated in my last post as a “Get Well Soon” message now becomes a tribute to this immensely funny character.

Any passing bloggers are welcome to join in, even if you don’t understand the rules, and I may initiate a “Tribute Tournament” if enough interest is shown.

R.I.P. Humph, and thank you for all the tears of laughter.

In a momentary break from the trials and tribulations of the past few days I happened to notice, on my daughters slimming site message board that she had left open on the computer, that Humphrey Lyttleton has been taken ill.

The marvellous host of my favourite radio show “I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue” is in hospital at the moment, poorly sick.  Get well soon you old critter.

My version of a “get well card” is to initiate a game of “Mornington Crescent” on my blog (not original, but quick to do).

We are playing to the rules as set down in Holztenstein’s “Crescent Revisited”, (abridged 1981 edition), and I shall go first.

Limehouse

Over to you, people, and please sign off each of your moves with “Get well soon Humph”

Note: Since the announcement of Humph’s passing on 25th April this has now become a Tribute Game, so please sign off each move with “R.I.P. Humph“.

Respect have fallen out among each other. This is not a massive surprise. Firstly, Galloway’s ego is too large to be contained within a party. He’s like a left-wing version of Kilroy-Silk. Sadly, I’m sure he’ll get more airtime than the man really should be afforded as a result of this.

Secondly, has anybody actually been in a room with the half or dozen or so main Socialist parties? It’s like sitting in on a meeting of the Judean People’s Front, the People’s Front of Judea, the Popular Front of Judea and the People’s Popular Front of Judea. They spend as much time bickering on who stands up for workers’ rights the most, who can get the most offended by non-equal ops statements, and why the SWP has put the SWSS into knip by taking a short cut past Mrs. Trellis’ back garden to East Putney.

Splitters.

Loving a woman

is much like learning to play

Mornington Crescent

This isn’t getting any better, is it? Well, better late than never: Fresh Lime Soda, episode 8. (Gosh, we did this on the 3rd August…)

• video is easier and more entertaining
• what the heck is this Mornington Crescent thing? (the game on Twitter, blogged by Suw and Lloyd)
• delusions of privacy: private and public Twitter feeds; ORG-discuss mailing-list archives
• permanence of digital media (teenagers, adults, and nekkid pics!)
• “breaking down the walls between the silos of our lives”: Facebook as a business networking service?
• social network fatigue and contact groups (note, though, this feature has been announced for Facebook) since we discussed this; we need Structured Portable Social Networks
• centralizing e-mail in GMail and multiple inboxes (Suw might like Xobni)
• the psychology of e-mail: subtle differences between “inbox” and “archive” (and a sprinkle of GTD — check Merlin Mann’s Google Tech Talk about e-mail)
• what will I do tomorrow? Suw’s “campaign to get more done” and Steph’s nine to twelve
• keeping track of time whilst watching Sky News and answering e-mails

You may download the MP3 of Fresh Lime Soda, Episode 8 or listen to it using the player below. (15Mb, 44min)

Update 17.10: fixed the typo in the audio file link! (Gah, you people could have mentioned it, you know who you are. Thanks, iMorpheus.)