Direct link to twitter:
Direct link to podcast:
Or click on the massive iTunes button to subscribe to the podcast...

Subscribe to the podcast on iTunes


Saggy old cloth cat.

I've just been to have my haircut. I now look like a thug. I'm not too happy about that. My equation has always been; the shorter the hair the more thuggish you are. My hair is now shorter than my self image would usually allow. To be honest I'm a little bit upset about that. I don't like looking like a thug. Still I guess it means I don't have to have it cut for a while. Not unless I want to look even more thuggish. Which I don't.

I think I have this association partly because of a little pop-psychology piece in one of the tabloids which appeared a few years ago about Liam Gallagher's hair. The story was that Liam had cut his hair and everyone was surprised that it'd made him look like a t#at. There was this little piece which said that people get their hair cut because they feel angry. I remember thinking "ah, yes, that's why hippies had long hair, they weren't angry!".

This thought has remained in there ever since. It ties in with skinheads who are of course very angry. Well they used to be. That look has now been adopted by the gay community. In practice the reason angry fighty people have short hair is it's harder to grab hold of. I guess. That must explain bouncers and so forth. It's a practical decision. Nothing to do with their inner emotional state.

Still the grasp on my subconscious which this tiny little paragraph in the showbiz section of (I think) The Daily Mirror had is quite amazing. I took it on as a sort of truth. Never questioned it. Long hair - chilled relaxed people, short hair - angry uptight people. It's a prejudice.

I used to have really long hair. Silly long. I enjoyed that because it laid out my credentials straight away. I clearly wasn't one of these intellectually impotent "geezers" you bump into who like beers, birds and football. I was a bit odd. A bit stinky thinky. Fine. Bonus.

The problem was you've got to wash it all the time. It's a high maintenance look. Lot of hassle. Short hair also makes you appear less of a threat to f#ckwits. More people accept you with short hair. I've spend the last 8 or 9 months trying to tune into the communication channels that the mainstream use. Why b#gger that up with silly long hair? It ruins the disguise. So now I look like a thug. Ruined.

I hope a shower sorts it out a bit.


Freddie is gone and it still makes me sad. (Sunday)

My reviewing things for REDEYE task is feeling more like hard work this time. I think I took on too many for this issue. My reviews have suffered after I accidently deleted a load of them. I've no idea how I did that. I'd finished the majority of the work and yet somehow I erased it all. I think it saved a blank file over it without my knowing. I'm not sure. It's a f#ck up anyway. One I've not even slightly emotionally recovered from. I've just re-written the review I remember writing for "Dr Who Adventures" almost a month ago. Last time round I slagged it a bit. This time round I've battered it senseless. Perhaps wrongly. I'm not sure. I'm busy writing up my next review. It's of a webcomic called Little Gamers. It's a good comic and my review doesn't really sell it well enough.

The idea of reviewing something is of course odd. While with my mates yesterday I ended up musing on things like "the news" as being like a little advert for the truth. I think that still stands in the sober light of day. My reviews are in a simmilar league. I'm telling people what to think. I think that'why I'm a bit uncomfortable with it. People should surely be able to think for themselves these days? But they haven't seen the comic. They need you to look at it first. Then you can tell them what to think. And the argument comes full circle.

An advert for the truth? The news. Is it? I really like that thought. I've been thinking recently about the idea that human beings are locked into some sort of collective lucid dream. Concensus reality dictated by weight of numbers and altered by the power of individuals to impose their truths on others. It's a silly notion.

There is such a thing as objective truth. I think. I can't prove it though. I cling to the notion on faith and faith alone. I have faith in the idea of a reality which we all share yet non of us can ever fully see.

Can't you see how odd a belief that is?


(Saturday) It wash a loon time a goof.

Why oh why oh why will it not f#cking rain? The weather clearly hates me. Sat in the park with some mates, the plan was to read comic books and then go for a beer. It drips slightly. It didn't want to rain. It just wanted to f#ck up my fun. That's all. So we all move off to the pub, don't read any comic books and then sit inside a hot pub. Hot because it did of course go all sunny almost straight away.

Ended up being a case of us sitting outside the pub. Where we were attacked by a wasp. One of my mates did the, ignore it and it'll go away, trick. He's sat there with a determined expression on his face as this horrible creature flys into it about 5 or 6 times, by which point it was, in my book, time to do one. Why stay? You're getting hassled by a creature which can sting you and make the rest of your day unfomfortable?

"Yahh. Ya big wuss. It's only a wasp! Lets stay out here."

Why? Never understood it! It's a horrible wasp. There will be more of them. It will eventually sting one of us. I'd love to be able to kill them by looking at them. This trick would only be a good thing. They make no contribution to anything. At least bees make honey. I honestly do not know of any useful purpose which these horrible things serve. They're evil bees. That's what they are. And I read once that they get drunk on nectar or something. More signs of immorality. Kill them. Kill them all!


This is what happens when who have an i-ratty lifestyle.

Tonight was the leaving party for my flatmate Captain Wootang. It was a good send off. I went 10 points exactly over my weight watcher's allowance. I remember really clearly saying to my girlfriend;

Me: "Right, that's it now. I've done my limit. No more beer for me. I'm tiddly enough. That's it."

Girlfriend: "Ahh, that's good baby. I'll stop drinking now as well to support you"

Mate of mine: "Nick mate, I'm off to the bar, fancy a pint."

Nick: "Yeah man, go on then."

Bloody rubbish! Still there we are. I'll just have to try and be a good boy tomorrow. It'll be difficult though, got three mates coming up.

The night itself was fun. We gave my flatmate the present we got him. A Watchmen graphic novel. One of Alan Moore's finest works. Be interesting to see if he reads it. I was going to lend him it but as he was chipping off down south it didn't seem like a wise move. I was quite jealous of it actually. Much nicer than my ragged old copy.

I take months to respond to anything emotionally. As a consequence my goodbyes to him were a bit stilted. In a few months from now I'll realise there's no more Wootus there in the gaff. That'll be a f#cked up moment.

However, the lucky thing is that we don't have to move out of the flat just yet. The company he works for is paying to retain his place there for a year just in case his new job doesn't work out. What a nice bunch they are!

I feel a little odd writing this. Like I say, the fact he's left will take time to hit me. At the moment it doesn't seem real. I've lived with him for a long time. A long time.

Not in a gay way.

I am not a gay.


Getting out of the synch... for a minute there

The idea of writing Barry Bethell's biography is gathering pace. I've chatted to his son (a mate of mine) Dave about it and we're now in the process of setting up a meeting. It's come a long way from being a drunken conversation in a pub in Manchester. Everyone I've told the idea to has expressed a vague interest in it. I'm never very good at sussing out if reactions are polite or not if I'm personally into an idea. In my imagination the project is building. I think there's an interesting story to be told about a bloke who was reasonably successful in the media world but who's main claim to mainstream fame is a silly advert put out in the 80's.

Apparently he was the inspiration behind the bloody awful Cillit Bang adverts which feature "hilarious" fictional character "Barry Scott". I also remember hearing his name on the commentary of an Alan Partridge DVD. There's an influence there. It's the whole tacky 80's presenter thing which has been so lampooned in the 90's and 00's* that I'd like to turn round a bit. Combine that with the fact that he's done a lot of interesting stuff and you've got a book with a hook.

Now, what I need to consider is this: book with a hook? Is that my phrase or one I've heard and then forgotten about and then used as my own. I hope it's the latter as I really don't like to think my mind would do things like that without my asking. Book with a hook? F#ck's sake.


*Yes. 00's. I can do that. It's the written word. I don't have to bare the humilliation of having to say the naughtys. Woo! The naughtys! It was a crazy time. The naughtys. F#ck off. How silly to divide things up so neatly like that. What are people going to do when the 10's come along? Eh? What then? Or. To flip things round, what will I do if this blog gets turned into an audio "blogcast" reading? It's possible. Then I'll have to deal with nonsense like this.

Suddenly confronted with the stupidity of your situation.

I lost 2lbs at Weight Watchers. This makes no sense whatsoever. I've even been to Pizza Hut this week. Amazing. I did The Edge (Large & With Half Cheese). I think it's the half cheese bit wot dun it.

I also think it's this horrible fncking heat! I'm pissiug sweat. Absolutely covered in it. It's disgusting. Horrible. I hate heat. One of the reasons I don't go on holiday anywhere. That and my belief that it's a bit rude to rock up in someone's country without the faintest idea how to speak their language. Don't mind people coming to see me. Just not going to go see them. Busy. Got to sit and watch DVD's in my underpants all day, thinking about how horrible and hot it is. Big angry glum look on my face. Scowling at those dinkheads in those SUV's they drive spunking out loads of noxious fumes.

Fnck humanity. We deserve to boil up. There's supposed to be a car which runs entirely on water somewhere. This of course means it'd generate hardly any pollution. Some oil company owns the patent. Therefore it'll never be made? I don't care if it's true or not. It SOUNDS TRUE. That's the point. That's the fncking point. I BELIEVE IT COULD BE TRUE! Some fat tmat sat in his office somewhere:

"But if it runs on water, everyone'll be easily able to fill up their cars and they won't buy our oil. We can't let them have that"

"But sir, this global warming thing is fncking up the planet"

"I don't care about that. I just care about my profits. Screw them. Screw them all."

Or something like that.

Besides, where the fnck was all this rain and stuff we were promised? Sooner the better as far as I'm concerned. Why is feeling hot and getting burned just for standing outside a good thing? I like water. I'm 80% water. I'm going to go with the majority.

I'm all hot and bothered today. Can you tell?


Rested, norished and watered. My time is about to come.

I'm behind with my reviews for the magazine I write for. I'd totally forgotten about them until I get an email asking where they are. I've reviewed s#it loads of small press comics for this edition. However it's going to be a little tricky to write them because of my new stupid allegence to ancient toltec wisedoms and so forth. In a nutshell I'm trying to be nice and use my words for good and not bad. Looking at the only reveiw I've written so far for this batch it opens with the following line:

"I've read some pretentious self indulgent twaddle in my life but [name of comic] should really have been mopped up with an old sock once it was finished. Why I should be subjected to it is beyond me -".

Am I really using my words for good here? I've agonised about this sort of thing before. I think perhaps I am doing the right thing. On the other hand I've never had anything of mine subjected to such a negative piece of criticism. Not in such a concise manner anyway. I've had my share of critics*. I just think reviewing a work of art is a bit odd. I think the comic is rubbish. You'd agree. So would everyone else. Still doesn't mean that it is. Right?


*A mate of mine mentioned to me today that he'd spent most of the night reading this ancient thread on Sheffield Forum about my old phone in show. He liked the fact that I started posting on it and eventually won them all over.

Yadda yadda yadda I think I've filled my bladder

People are being nice to me at the moment and pointing out that I've lost weight. I have. I've lost a stone. Why people are only just noticing it now I do not know. It's nice that they are but I've sort of fallen off the wagon a bit this week. I'm pretty nervous about my weigh in on Wednesday. It'll be a drag if I've put it on. I think I might have done a bit. I've been making it up by going to the gym loads. I think perhaps the thing to do is a solid aerobics class. Get sweaty! Either that or get diohorrea. Or cut my arms off.

I remember once when two of my mates came back from India and I caught some sort of horrible stomach bug off them*. My stomach must have contracted to the size of a pea. I shot vomit from my mouth and s#it from my ar#e at the same time! Imagine that! You can't. No matter how hard you try, that's something you have to experience to understand. F#cking brutal. Lost half a stone though.

The problem with losing weight is that you get cocky about it. You start thinking it's easy to lose it: "so what's the hurry? Have a week off. You're okay. Just a bit chubby. What's the problem?".

My internal monologue bumbling away there. It's hard not to listen to it. It speaks such sense. What's wrong with stuffing your face anyways? Food is good.

Don't want to have to put weight on though. Not so good.

Gym again tomorrow meethinks.


*I've no proof it was their fault but it will have been. I get sick. They're sick. They made me sick. Must have done.

(Sunday) Somewhere in Essex.

Today I went to the cinema with my girlfriend to see the new Jenifer Aniston chickflick "The Break-Up". I can almost feel you looking at the screen in disbelief and/or admiration.

"Wow, you went to see a chick flick?". That's what you're thinking.

Well actually yes, I'm one of those "new men". As opposed to an old man, I'm a new one. I don't mean I used to be a woman. I've always been a man. Despite what you may have heard, I have not had an operation on my c#ck. I just...

Anyway, the real reason I went to see it was because the film we were originally going to see had loads of horrible kids queuing up to see it. Horrible knee high talking in the middle of the f#cking film kids. Granted Pirates of The Caribbean II was made for kids. However, I think there should be some sort of law stopping them from seeing it when I'm watching it. Talking kids in cinemas! I've ranted about them before.*

As we stood in the queue my girlfriend and I watched the horrible talking noise bags she suddenly said "ooh, I want to see that new Jennifer Aniston film but I'll go see it with my mates". Here I saw my chance to escape getting annoyed at snotty kids; "fine, we'll go see that".

"But it's a chickflick baby, are you sure you don't mind?"

"No, that's fine. I want to see it. Erm, it'll be funny. Or something."

"Are you sure? How odd. Okay. We'll go see that."

I'd scored a point without meaning to. She was happy I was going to see a chickflick. I was happy to escape watching a film in a playground. I'd traded being the only adult infront of a cinema screen for being the only bloke. There were no other men watching "The Break-Up". Not one.

As I mused on what a great boyfriend I'd made myself seem I noticed a bloke with a visor over his face, like you'd have if you were a spot welder. It took me a few minutes to suss out he was clearly making popcorn and his visor was there to stop him getting cernals in his eyes. That's cool. I bet he hates it.

It's with this detatched mindset that I watched the film. Look away now if you don't want to know the plot.

The plot: A bloke doesn't appreciate his girlfriend. She dumps him. He pretends he's not bothered but actually he is. He cries. End of film.

Sitting there watching it and my lady starts crying. I've been to see things recently and cried. It was funny to see someone else doing the same while I sat there unmoved. She was loving it. I like to feel that me poking her in the side and going "ha ha- you're crying" added to it. If she'd have done that to me obviously I'd have been a bit annoyed. Superman and War Of The Worlds are no laughing matter!


*Only once has a talking kid added to the film, no adverts before the film. The advert used the line: "we love dirt" or something like that. It was for a cleaning product. The gist of it was that dirt on clothes is a sign you've had fun. So, the line "we love dirt" and the little kid says "yeah 'coz it makes you money". Quite witty for a little kid. However, laugh at one of their comments and you will not hear the rest of the film! Red rag to a bull. Now, my girlfriend says I've used this little story before but I can't find it in my blog, which is now the size of a book. It's too big. Too much information.

I warn you now, this is addictive. It's good. But addictive.

Today is the day after I went out with a mate of mine drinking and acting the fool. I keep getting silly flashbacks of our drunken antics. At one point he spat water over me so I threw wine over him. Later on we were really dissapointed to be turned away from a club:

Bouncer: "Sorry mate, he's way too drunk"

My mate (covered in wine): "No he's not he's fine"

Me (thinking): Bloody hell this bouncer's good. How does he know I'm so drunk? He must be psychic or something.

Bouncer: "No, there's no way you two are coming in"

Me: "Come on man, let's leave. Thish guy knows too much."

Off we stumbled. To a hotel. Then into a taxi. Where we both fell fast asleep.

My mate: "Where the f#ck are we? Wake up! Nick, wake up!"

Taxi driver: "This is where you said you wanted to go".

My mate: "We're miles away from home."

Pay the bloke. Wander. Hail another cab. Get back. Sleep.


The next day I inspect my mobile phone. On it there's an amusing text from my mate Dave Bethell:

"Dad says he'd love you to write his biography. Lets chat monday." 10.59pm.

Now, Dave's dad is the infamous Barry Bethell. This text came out of a conversation which I'd been having with my mate about what a legend Barry Bethell actually is. He's had this huge interesting life and yet most people just know him for his slimfast ads he did in the 80's. As a matter of fact he actually has a long career in rock music and radio presenting behind him. He's worked in the industry for years. And still does. He did the voiceover intro for my old talkshow. I'd been saying to my mate how cool it would be to hook up with Barry for a beer and a chat. I then thought he should write an autobiography and call it "That was me, Barry Bethell". Then as the beer flowed I thought it a bit unfair that he'd get to write it and have the credit for my idea.

Then I decided to ring Dave. Then a few other people as well for unrelated but equally random reasons.

It's funny though because the idea isn't actually a bad one. I need some sort of project to do during the day. Perhaps that should be it? Or maybe I should widen the remit a bit and write about him and other un-recognised radio legends. Like John Gillmore and James Stannage and so forth. We'll see. As Dave said, we'll talk monday.


Pint of beer and a packet of crisps last thing at night... I need to get on the weight watchers trip again!!

Little things are annoying me recently. Like the incident with the tuna.

Recently, I was sat with my girlfriend chatting to a really nice bloke about life, the universe and nothing when he said the word "beautiful". However he did it with an odd twist that I've never heard done before, in real life. He added a "d" where the "t" should have been. I almost instinctively mimicked him, like some little school kid: "Beau-D-iful? What are you on about you t#at?". Fortunately the filter* kicked in and I didn't make myself into a t#at. We didn't know him that well and it would have been wrong to mock him. He wasn't doing it to annoy. It was just how he talked. I think.

Then he did it again.

And again.

How does one go about managing to crowbar in the word "beaudiful" into a conversation so often? I have no idea what we were talking about - his stupid extra "d" was annoying me too much. It just did not match his accent. It was there for no apparent reason at all. He'd obviously made the decision to add it himself. Possibly to annoy me?


A few hours later, once I'd calmed down a bit, I remembered the only place I'd ever heard it before. That stupid Bernard Matthews advert. That sounded fake as well. Where was he supposed to be from?* No one I've ever met in my life talks like that. It really annoyed me.

Second only to those c#nts who pronounce everything as if it's a question. S#it on a stick they need some form of punishment each time they do that. Electroshock therapy may be inhumane when used on the mentally ill but it's the only sane solution for those people. In-f#cking-furiating. I hate accents. I hate people who don't talk properly. No scrap that. Re-write it and just use the first three words of the sentence.

No. No I don't. Sorry, I don't. Hate is too strong a word. I actually love them. That's why I'm trying to help them. That's what this blog entry is. Not an attack on people but a loving and gentle push, for them, in the right direction. My direction.


*Every sane person has a filter. The more efficient the filter the more sane you are. It's the thing that stops you from telling the absolute truth all the time. It's the thing which reminds you other people have feelings. It's also the thing which is most affected by being drunk. However that does not put me in the "you tell the truth when your drunk camp". That debate is much more complex. I've touched on it before.

**Wikipedia reveals all:"In 1980 the company launched its first TV commercial featuring Turkey Breast Roast, with Matthews himself introducing the famous 'Bootiful' catchphrase in his thick Norfolk accent"[external link to wikipedia entry]. I love Wikipedia. It's a great site. It's also been the root of my downfall recently when I should be sorting my life out. It sends me into a reading frenzy! I spent ages reading about Charles Manson recently. Why? I don't know. I just do not know. I really don't.

I'm not quite ready for the end of the world. Are you?

I've been annoyed all day today about a little bit of tuna which fell out of the bowl I was mixing it in and onto the unwashed* work surface of my flat. It was a small sugar spoon sized chunk, of little matter in the great scheme of things, but it really annoyed me. I feel cheated out of it. I couldn't open up a new tin and make up the difference. It was lost. It's like when you eat a Magnum and a bit of chocolate lands on the grass. Ruined! Ruined! Whole experience ruined! I'd rather not have had the Magnum at all. The mental torture of losing a bit like that is too much for me!

I've obviously got issues with food. If you've read this blog for anything more than a month or more you'll know that. I go to Weight Watchers for starters. that's a bit of a give away isn't it? We had a sort of confessions chat recently in the vein of Alcoholics Anonymous**. We ended up talking about comfort eating. Not by design, that's just the way the conversation went. I out did all of them. It's always been my problem. I eat normally for ages then I spend literally weeks stuffing my face with crap.

Then again, I write all this and I end up exaggerating. It sounds worse than it is. My poor girlfriend gets sucked into all this as well. Recently I'm sat there chatting to some of her friends about Weight Watchers. They're doing the whole - "what are you going there for?" thing*** which people feel obliged to do. my girlfriend kicks in with:

"Yeah, he's got this body dismorphia thing... he thinks he's fatter than he is"

"Oh right" reply her friends, deciding it's best to leave it.

Body dismorphia? Where the f#ck did that come from? A combination of my girlfriend not realising that's a specific term for a mental illness and my over hyping the situation. As I always do. I blame it on my job. Radio presenters need to be masters of hype if they're to get by. Over the years this has bled through into my normal parlance. I over egg the pudding. Even if it's a pudding which doesn't require egg.

Still annoyed about the tuna. F#cking thing.


*My whole flat is unwashed. I live in a sort of slum. A nice slum. Just a slum.

**I imagine. I've never been to AA. Not needed it yet. thank god. Touch wood etc. Alcohol's good but it's not a patch on gorging yourself on cereal. Not a patch.

***An annoying question at the best of times. I'm going there to try and score drugs and find out where the cheapest wh#res are, obviously.

Blunder like a snowman through the desert.

I'm being drawn into Don Miguel Ángel Ruiz's book The Four Agreements. Despite slagging it off quite mercilessly a few days ago, it's slowly working its magic on me. It suggests that people should live by four agreements -

1, To be impeccable with your word; so don't lie and be nice with your words.

2, Don't take anything personally; people who have a go at you are saying more about themselves.

3, Don't make any assumptions; they're the source of all unhappiness.

4, Always do your best.

I like the idea of following these principles but I'm not sure it'll be as easy as it looks. The first one is the hardest one. How can you be nice to someone with your words when they're clearly an utter t#at? Furthermore how can you live in our modern world without using at least a few lies a day to get by? There's hundreds of lies which float round the UK each day. Without many of them we'd be in real trouble.

I think most people know what these lies are. The Army doesn't protect the country, most people know that. Your vote doesn't make any significant difference, another no brainer. The news agenda for this country is written by a small handful of people. It's likely that 9/11 was a self inflicted wound. We've already run out of oil. Etc.

I was talking to a friend recently about a thoery of mine that the truth is louder than fiction. What I mean by that is it has more impact but I'm not suggesting that people can automatically suss out the truth. Fiction is often shouted where truth is whispered. I think I'm drifting off into nonsense here. Ruined. Where was I?

Yeah, this book. If I do get into it it'll be another classic Margerrison U-turn where I'm totally opposed to something one minute and then I'm holding hands with it the next. Previous examples would be; post-Syd Pink Floyd, Kylie Minogue, Gun laws, David Icke, Bill Hicks and psychedelic fungi.

I'm well known amongst my friends for changing my mind on things. I think this is a good thing though. I'd hate to be one of those people who sticks brutally to a point even in the face of being obviously wrong.

Actually, no I wouldn't I've changed my mind. On that. Erm.


"Close our eyes to the octopus ride"

Before I start I'd just like to point out that this is clearly genius.

I went to see the Doctor recently and told her* about a lump I'd found under my armpit. She told me it was a lymph node. Apparently most people have them. It's draining an infection or something. I felt kind of silly, like I'd stumbled in asking "what the f#ck is this strange growth in the middle of my face? What do you mean it's my nose? What the hell's one of them? I want it removed at once!".

Thing is of course it's better to get these things checked out. I remember once haivng a lump on my little fella. Popped in to see what was what, turns out it was a blocked sweat gland. I'd spent ages worrying about it. This was when I was younger. I remember it was something I didn't tell my parents about. The vague fear being that they'd ask to take a look.

I'm hitting the point in my life where I'm taking care of myself more than ever before. I'm not smoking, I'm working out at the gym and I've cut down on how much I drink. This can surely only be a good thing? I've even taken to reading health blogs like this one.

Unfortunately I'm beginning to fear for my mental health. Actually scrap that, it's my moral health I'm concerned about. Me and my flatmate are hooked on a TV show called UFC - Ultimate Fighting Champion. Two men, in a cage, beating the crap out of each other. There are hardly any rules at all other than you can't stamp on someone's head and you can't kick into someone's groin. These people dish out some horrific brutal punishment to each other. It's all on Bravo TV at about 1am. We're totally hooked on it!

The thing is I'm sure I couldn't watch something like that without the protective shield of a TV screen in the way. That'd just be unpleasant.

It made me think that public executions really would be a huge ratings winner if they were to be brought back. So long as they were televised I'm sure people would watch them in their millions. There's something so de-humanising about that TV screen. Having spent years as a kid being told that "it's not real - they're only acting" I think I've hit a point where I have difficulty believeing any of it. So much so that even things like the news and so forth appear to be acted out.

I know the path to enlightenment does not involve a television screen. I'm planning on quitting it altogether.

Not yet though.

The UFC final fight is on tonight. I'll watch that first.


*Yes - HER. You probably don't think there really are women who're doctors do you? No, you're just a horrible sexist pig. Actually, I hope she really was a Doctor. Not just some nurse or something. That'd mean I might still have a bit of a problem brewing. Imagine the horror as I re-read this in months to come once I've learned what's really wrong.

This is about time.

My blog obsession is getting out of control. I've just driven to Linda's Sandwich Bar in Mexborough for my first P.A.* in about 4 years. I did it for two reasons; firstly I'd been told they'd name a sandwich after me if I did and secondly I thought it'd make a good blog entry. Now the first bit's fine, that's just blatant egomania. I can cope with that. The Nick At Night Special, is indeed very special, and it's available on Main St Mexborough at a very reasonable price. Like I said, I can deal with egomainia. It's no new thing. It's the fact that I'm letting my blog actually decide things for me. I'm doing things precisely because it might make for a good entry.

I remember reading Richard Herring's blog and he was complaining about the same thing. I think the problem with being a daily blogger is that you start to notice how dull your life is so you end up filling it a bit. In my case you end up posing for pictures infront of a small crowd of people cutting a ribbon to a sandwich bar. With a grin. Thinking - I'll be able to write about this in my blog.

I ate the sandwich which has been named after me. It was very nice but I think it'll have been high in points. I made it my breakfast and lunch combined.

I love the fact that Ginger Dave got so jealous of the fact I had a sandwich named after me that he started ringing up other shops to ask if they'd name one of their's a Dave Henning Special. In the end I think he found someone willing to go along with it so in a way he beat me to it. I think I'll have to try and open a Supermarket next. The sandwich shop was fun. If you're organising a supermarket opening ceremony and you want my services I'll just mention to you now that I want a product named after me. Perhaps a jar of pickle?


*Yeah, P.A. that's the one. If you're not a swanky presenter type like me you'll not know what a P.A. is. It's swanky presenter type language for Personal Appearance. I heard one of the other DJ's using it once. Aren't I great? Actually. No, no I'm not. Ruined.

Something dies everyday (sunday)

I went to Blackpool with my girlfriend and family today. It's such an odd, tacky place. I enjoyed looking at the people more than the view. One woman was wandering round, covered in tattoos. She looked a real mess. I imagine she thinks she looks cool. Perhaps she does. Not to me though. There was a real mish mash of people there. It was at points quite surreal wading through them as the sea lapped up the litter strewn beach below.

My sister popped into one of those 'read your palm' booths. She was in there for about 5 minutes at the most. The palmist, according to my sister, recited what sounded like a standard script and then booted her out. I think it's fair to say my sister felt a little conned. I'd have thought if you were a palmist -who is obviously conning people- you'd try at least to seem as if you weren't. You don't want to appear like some cynical old woman who is literally taking the money and running do you? Well, is the Pope Catholic?

I went to Bella Italia while we were in Blackpool. I think I'll probably not have lost weight went I go to weight watchers this week. Still, I'm just basking in the glory of my little pebble I won at the last one! Having lost a whole stone at it there was a special cerimony where I got given a pebble to put in my purse. It's supposed to sit there and remind me forever how well I've done. That way when I do my Saturday big shop I'll not go mad.

Unfortunately I do not have a purse. It's in my pocket. Nor do I really do a saturday big shop. However, the extra round of applause will not be forgotten for some time to come.

I need to lose about another stone until I'm at my goal weight. That may be hard tomorrow as I'm off to open a sandwich shop where the owners are going to name a sandwich after me. Mental.


I refuse to be bullied. More than a week later and the situation is still unresolved. Time is running out. (Saturday)

I've become a reluctant convert to self-help cod-philosophy over the past few years. It started with The Atkins book. I blame most of it on that. Dr Atkins has an effusive American style of writing where he talks about how wonderful the world according to his diet is. I was initially really turned off by that but -and this is the important bit- his advice really worked. I lost s#itloads of weight. Here's where the snowball began to roll. The fact his advice worked ment I was able to ignore the over the top style which he used. I could buy into it because it worked. That simple.

My next book was Alan Carr's "Easyway to Stop Smoking". This book also has a slightly irritating style of writing. It's more English but it's still a bit annoying. It occasionally makes you want to tell it to "just f#ck off and stop acting so smug". But I pressed on with it. The Atkins diet had worked. Why shouldn't this one? Well, after a false start it did work. I stopped smoking. This self help s#it really seems to help. I still do not smoke. I still suggest you try reading his book. It de-programmes you, so to speak.

After that I flirted with loads of nonsense. "The 7 habits of highly effective people" and Anthony Robbins being two notable examples. This has led me on a path towards a book which was handed to me by one of my Mum's friend's. It's called "The Four Agreements - A Toltec Wisdom Book" by Don Miguel Ruiz. My Mum's friend recommends it highly. I'm in the early stages of reading it and I'm having enormous difficulty with the writing style. It's annoying me so much I'm going to critique it before I've even finished it.

What is annoying me specifically is his use of the word we. I've ranted about this before but here I intend to show you exactly why I hate the devisive use of this word.

Allow me to quote some of his book:

"Children are domesticated the same way we domesticate a dog, a cat or any other animal. In order to teach a dog we punish the dog and we give it rewards. We train our children whom we love so much the same way that we train any domesticated animal: with a system of punishment and reward. We are told, "You're a good boy," or "You're a good girl," when we do what Mom and Dad want us to do. When we don't, we are "a bad girl" or "a bad boy".

When we went against the rules we were punished; when we went along with the rules we got a reward. We were punished many times a day, and we were also rewarded many times a day. Soon we became afraid of being punished and also afraid of not recieving the reward. The reward is the attention that we got from our parents or from other people lin siblings, teachers, and friends. We soon develop a need to hook other people's attention in order to get the reward."

Right. So he's talking there about the way society moulds and trains people. Fair enough. What annoys me is that he's claiming to speak on my behalf. In fact I get the feeling he means "you lot". The un-enlightened cattle. That's perhaps a bit unfair but it's how I felt reading it. Lets apply a little semantic trick. I never gave him permission speak on my behalf, therefore the use of the word "we" is not applicable in this context. However, he's entitled to speak for himself. So "we" becomes "I". If we* apply this logic to the above passages it becomes a more interesting and revealing read. It even makes it more sympathetic. Here's the quote with the syntax addjusted correctly:

"Children are domesticated the same way I domesticate a dog, a cat or any other animal. In order to teach a dog I punish the dog and we give it rewards. I train my children whom I love so much the same way that I train any domesticated animal: with a system of punishment and reward. I am told, "You're a good boy," or "You're a good girl," when I do what Mom and Dad want me to do. When I don't, I am "a bad girl" or "a bad boy".

When I went against the rules I was punished; when I went along with the rules I got a reward. I was punished many times a day, and I was also rewarded many times a day. Soon I became afraid of being punished and also afraid of not recieving the reward. The reward is the attention that I got from my parents or from other people like siblings, teachers, and friends. I soon developed a need to hook other people's attention in order to get the reward."

Fair enough. He's had a difficult childhood. He's an attention seeker. I'd like him more if he'd written that. Applied a little logic.

The other thing about this book that's getting my goat** is that he introduces himself as an Ancient Toltec Nagual from the Eagle Knight lineage. Surely if we translate that into English it makes him a "c#nt"?


*Used correctly here. There's nothing wrong with having a "we" in the correct place. In fact I'm actually saying that. Everyone needs a little "we" here and there. Just don't go "we"ing in the wrong place. Ha ha! Geddit? We. Like pis#ing. You know. Having a p#ss. I'm ace I am. Actually, no I'm not. Ruined.

** Yes, that's right. Getting my goat. What. The. F#ck? I'm getting old. I used to think old people talked funny because they followed the speech fashions which were current and of their time. When I was a kid, no one said 'that really gets my goat'. Only old people. As I kid I never used the expression. Yet now I've used it. Why? Insane.

And you can write anything you like here

My computer is getting some serious hammer. I've discovered that if you use it non-stop for 8 hours you will definately get a migrane ten minutes after you finish. I'm ace me. Oh no I'm not. Ruined.

The only thing I think I've really done wrong with my computer has nothing to do with the machine itself. I've made a schoolboy error which is only becoming obvious to me now. I've got a chair, which came with the desk, that has a bright white cushion stuck to it. This computer sits in my bedroom and obviously I sit infront of it, on the chiar. Sometimes in my boxer shorts. Depends what time it is. Some readers will have spotted the possible (nay, inevitable) problem already. Others may not.

Phew! It's f#cking hot at the moment isn't it? Sweaty, hot weather. My bright white chair cushion is looking less bright and white than it did when I first got it. Not only that but it's slightly starting to show the clear imprint of my sweaty ar#e cheeks. That I did not anticipate. In retrospect it's an obvious design flaw.

The number of times I've thought to myself: "Whoo - that curry was spicy, hey I'm alone in my bedroom, I can just fart away if I like" only to then realise a little later that I'm in boxers, sat on a 'bright white' chair. Oh dear.

The odd thing about this is that usually over time you just get used to having a grey chair but in this instance I clearly remember how bright white it used to be. It's just white now. I imagine the inevitable transformation to grey will take longer.


Ever feel like you're just:

Twisted genius Al Ewing has been published in 2000AD again with a "Future Shock" which took me a couple of reads to get. In my opinion this guy is the most exciting of the new crop of comics writers. I've hassled him on email a few times and he's always been very polite. If you look in my side bar you'll find a link to his "Ultimate Future Shock". I still think 2000AD should publish that. What's good about Al Ewing's work is its compact and dense, like a young Alan Moore. He slips in something of worth in the oddest little places. Furthermore this story is in full lovely colour! Brilliant.

If you're new to this blog, you may not know that I'm a budding Future Shock writer*. I've been trying to get published in 2000AD for ages. And ages. And ages. The problem with Al Ewing's stuff is it sort of makes me feel like I shouldn't bother. His stories are always better than the nonsense I've come up with. I'll just have to try again soon.

As it happens I've been feeding my desire to get involved in the world of comics by continuing to annotate the "Leatherjack" story which appeared in 2000AD last year. Now, this really is geeky. No matter how geeky you think you are, I can f#cking out geek you with this! I'm re-reading the story frame by frame and then writing notes on it. The intention is that other people will then be able to re-read and enjoy it on a whole new level. Ha! Told you. I'm a bigger geek than you baby! I'm an uber-geek. Want to see this proof of my geeky-god status? It's here.

I think I'll go do some more on that now. Screw writing another Future Shock. I'm out of ideas at the moment anyway.


*You're new to this blog? I've been writing it every day for ages. It's genius. Everyone thinks it's ace. Where the f#ck have you been you little twonk? You've got loads of catching up to do here. Get right back to the first entry. There's about 223 entries or so you need to read before you can cast your filthy eyes over this entry. For f#ck's sake. You really are a tw#t. No you're not. You're welcome here anytime. Even if you are a bit of a t#at. Which you are.

Scrabbling in the mind mud for clues?

Urrgh. I'm a little ashamed of myself. I was sat at my desk today after a pretty good meeting with my accountant when suddenly I burst into tears. I was listening to a mix tape and Bob Dylan Blues came on by Syd Barrett. It took me by surprise and whoosh out came the tears. Horrible. I'm still getting over the fact that one of my heroes is dead. I honestly always thought he'd make a comeback at some point. I feel so silly for crying over someone who I never met. I was sort of criticising myself as I cried.

"You didn't know him, he'd stopped making music over 30 years ago" went my internal monologue but my eyes and soul didn't care. Felt worse afterwards.

Obviously there's no way I can communicate this on my radio show. I'd love to do a mention about it or something but there's just no possible way. Particularly not at the moment.

Probably a good thing.

Today I will be going to weight watchers. Last time round I was told I'd lost 5.5 lbs which I was really pleased about. This time round I'm thinking it'd be nice to have kept that weight off but I think perhaps I'll have put a little on. Not sure. However, if I've even kept off half of it I'll get a pebble to put in my purse. It'll symbolise the fact I've lost a stone. I'm actually quite excited at the prospect. Let's hope I don't f#ck it up.

Oh dear. I'm in an odd headspace at the moment.

Here's some more Syd:

Direct link.

Spent all day watching DVDs in my pants

One of my favourite musicians Syd Barrett is dead. I just got a couple of texts of my mates telling me. I am a fan of Syd's work and have been for all of my adult life. Like love letters from a friend his solo albums are intensely personal works which you wouldn't want to show too many people for fear of ridicule.

It's odd really as "Syd" Barrett actually ceased to exist many years ago. He left the business of show and shuffled off his nickname in favour of his real name Roger. A rabid fan of his work, reacting to the fact that he only put out a couple of albums I joined an obsessive email yahoo group a few years ago. They'd compiled something called "Have You Got It Yet" which was an extensive collection of outtakes and unheard Syd Barret clips. I never managed to get it off them as I had no idea how to work a computer properly back then.

However my experience showed me how obsessive some fans can be. While a member of this group I learned there was something called "the stalker video" which had been secretly filmed a few years ago. Morally questionable but inevitable.

The problem Syd Barrett fans have had for years is "an absence of Syd*". I've always secretly thought that he'd return to the scene, perhaps with his old band The Pink Floyd Sound. I even half thought he was going to walk onto the stage at Live 8. I'd have squealed like a girl.

There's loads of theories as to why Syd Barrett lost his mind. Pressures of fame, enough LSD to floor an elephant, genetics or his father's death.

Syd's death has been incorrectly reported before. However, the fast gathering number of reports on the internet suggest that's not the case today.

Apparently he died last week, on friday, of complications related to his diabetes.

Direct link.


*Quote from a Syd Barrett fanzine which folded as early back as the early 70's.

I refuse to lock horns with those whom I like and respect, no matter who puts them up to it.

Here's my email to Stewart Lee. Do you think he'll reply?

To: Stewart Lee

Subject: A confession/plea for mercy/ admission of innocence.

I have to throw myself upon your mercy. I recently put an entry in my blog (which gets about ten readers) that sounded a little bit like your material concerning farts which you do in the Stand Up Comedian DVD. I had absolutely of email which said "you've stolen that from Stewart Lee, get your own material and don't steal from him.". I felt bad but also felt that I hadn't intentionally stolen the material but just had the same thought. Am I as bad as the likes of Joe Pasquale in my theiving or did I just make a minor faux pas OR did I genuinely just have the same thought?

I've left the decision up to you. I think it's fair to say that no reply from you exonerates me from all the charges?

[...offending entry...]

What do you think? Did I steal your work?

Rock on. Loving your work.

But not stealing it.

Um... at least not intentionally.


See I'm in an odd position. I'd be really excited if he did reply but also it'd suggest that I've been rightly accused of being a baddie.

Fingers crossed eh?


(Sunday) The democratic system is the perfect selection process for a hidden hand dictatorship, looking to find a good PR man

Here is a word for word quote from my private diary which I've been keeping for years:

We go to the press showing of Superman. It’s an awesome film. I’m moved to tears as I watch it. It reminds me of my happy childhood and a simpler world of good and evil. Things like this are the crack cocaine of simplistic fun but unlike the common street drug there’s no obviously damaging consequences. Just a strange sense that although what you’re doing doesn’t actually harm anyone it is in some way morally questionable.

I can honestly say that film was one of the best things that has happened to me all year. It carries on from where the second film left off and takes the story in new and interesting directions. The casting is pixel perfect with only Lois Lane being a little different to the original. The bloke who plays Superman is a note perfect rendition of Christoper Reeve(s?)*. The whole film is stylishly made and has nice neat little touches, like Superman's sonic boom as he flies through the sky. Great stuff.

In fact here's a good point to make the point I failed to make when describing what it was like to watch War Of The Worlds. The film uses a clever conciet, in that Superman has been away for 5 years trying to find his home planet. This works well in that it tacitly implies that he simply wasn't here when the twin towers fell. They never reference this event obviously but I felt its presence in the work. One of the problems Superman deals with is an aeroplane. He even gives an intentionally amusing speech (lifted from the old films I think) about how safe flying is.

The beauty of this narrative device is that it forced me, as I was watching the film unfold, to think about what I'd been through in my life since I last believed in Superman. Collectively this caused happy tears as I gazed in awe. As I've said before this is totally impractical. You can't follow the story with saltwater blurring your vision. Infuriating. It also makes you self conscious. You're afraid of committing yourself too much to the story in case you cry like a girl.

I thought I'd grown out of the idea of Superman. That wasn't the case. What actually happened is I watched Superman 3 and 4 and concluded that the films were for kids. Nowadays I can just see they were bad films. That's why George Lucas's whining that the first Star Wars Prequel "is a kid's film" doesn't stand up. Good family entertainment is enjoyable for the whole family. not just the thick sprogs who seem to think it's okay to talk through the film anyway.

In short I loved this film and I will be annoyed if others do not.


*Now I'm confused. Is it Reeve or Reeves? The proper thing to do would be to check but I'm sort of rushing this entry. One of the blogs I regularly read is by Richard Herring, the ex-comedy partner of Stewart Lee, the bloke who's material I was yesterday accused of stealing. Richard Herring has an amusing in joke with his readers where he adds an "s" to the names of famous people. So Blair becomes Blairs. And so on. Notice how here my tardyness is used as an excuse for stealing more material off the TV duo! Look how long this paragraph has taken to write as well. Easily time to google Reeve(s?).

That was amazing. Totally amazing.

I've been accused of a heinous crime. One I believe I didn't commit. A bit like The A-Team*. I've been accused of stealing. Not stealing something rubbish or easy to replace like money or wealth. No, much worse than that I've been accused of stealing IDEAS. Or an idea. For a joke. In this entry. The material I'm accused of stealing is about farting and it comes from the legendary stand-up Stewart Lee, who talks eloquently about the subject in his fantastic Stand Up Comedian DVD. The foul stench of plagerism is one some people underestimate but it's not a pong I'm happy with having surround me and my creative outpourings! I need to either clear up the mess or open a window. Ha ha! Farts. Smell. I'm ace. Hold on, I might not be. Lets see...

Now, in the entry, I refer to the fact that some of my original stand-up material was entriely based around farts. This is true. In fact I've got a semi-record of the veracity of this claim here. This material was written prior to me actually seeing Stewart Lee doing stand-up. I'd seen his Lee and Herring show, but I didn't really think it was so great. The first time I witnessed genius level Lee was in the summer of the same year I wrote my stuff. I'll never forget it. F#cking awesome!

A smoke-filled tent at the Glastonbury festival with my girlfriend. He walked calmly onto the stage and proceeded to describe reactions and laughter of the audience. No jokes, just pure technique. Amazing. And funny. And the sort of thing a comedy fan gets wet dreams about. It's a trick not repeated in the DVD but it's worth seeing. He's hypnotic. The best comedian I've seen live. He then went on to do a version of the DVD which you can still buy in the shops if you look hard enough.

I'd been warned about how good he was by my friend Tom Binns. No warning could have been loud enough to prepare me for him live though. I was an instant convert. I'd not really enjoyed the Lee and Herring TV stuff too much. It was okay but not as good as he was live, both Lee and Herring are doing better, tighter, funnier work nowadays on their own. Anyway, me and my girlfriend went to see him again in Leeds where he did a completely different set which was easily as good. I became an agressive fan. In fact I forced people to watch and like him. It made me really annoyed if people didn't laugh. I became obsessed and insufferable on the subject. I even started talking like him a bit in day to day conversation and sometimes even when I was on air**.

Then I calmed down a bit and just watched some of the Lee and Herring TV stuff which, as I think I've made clear, isn't really as good.

Now, my "hilarious" stand-up stuff had all the while been sort of forgotten. But the earlier versions of it really do display elements of parrallel thinking. Then came the blog entry over which I have been accused of stealing. This one. Which I've already linked to once. Not one of my best, but I write this thing everyday so, y'know. The quote from Stewart Lee "farts are the baseline of comedy, no matter how sophisticated our tastes get they will always be funny. Why? Because it's some gas which smells of s#it, coming out of an a#se." This is an idea which he explores in detail with precision. Not his idea but certainly something he owns by the end of it.

When I wrote the blog entry Stewart Lee popped into my mind. I though, am I ripping him off here? Nah - I thought this before I'd heard of him anyway. Now I'm not so sure. I think perhaps I should send him an email and ask him for his opinion? If he doesn't reply that to me suggests that actually I'm in the right and all that sort of stuff. If he does I'll officially apologise.

Sound fair?

Before I conclude this entry I'll just tell you that he spent about two thirds of his live set in Leeds slagging off people who steal jokes. Namely Joe Pasquale. It was a set aimed at the terrible and debilitating habit we have in our society of stealing other people's ideas. Debilitating because in doing so we undermine and devalue creativity to the point that it gets lost behind a sea of those who quote the ideas of others. If I'm guilty I'll have to do something to amend things.


*I invented a great game once called the BA game. I'm ace me. Not only am I equal to if not better than Stewart Lee but also I can invent amazing games. Hang on a minute. No. My mate Ben invented that game. Ruined.

**Tom Binns once rang me laughing like mad doing an impression of me talking like him on air. I realised then that things were getting out of hand.

(Friday) It'd make a good article in The Sheffield Star though

I'm hooked on the pinball machine in my local pub. 73 million is my personal best. I actually get better at it the more pints of Guinness I sink. That observation is backed by imperical evidence. Like the fact I get a higher score when I play it after a few swiggs. Unfortunately today I had one too many goes on the pinball machine and ended up drinking 6 pints of Guinness in total. This ment I was totally floored. My limit is around four. It used to be double figures. Me and this chap [external link to Collings's site] used to be able to sink ten or more pints and still function. After my six pints today I could not actually see the television screen once I got home without closing one of my eyes.

This is after six pints! I was floored. Totally. Well, not quite so floored that I didn't remember to total up my weight watchers points. 6 pints of Guinness is 18 points. In my piss#d state I decided to eat half a jar of olives. At a guess, they're about 2 or 3 points for half a jar. That's a real guesstimate though. If you don't know how many points someone like myself is allowed it's 31 per day.

Furthermore, if you're wondering how much weight I've lost in total it's now a stone. I actually can see the difference. My big fat stomach is a smaller fat stomach. You could comfortably fit a bird in there now as opposed to a dog previously. In my little fantasy world the reason I got so drunk today is that I'm now a smaller person so there's less of my body to absorb the drink.

I wonder how much it would be to actually buy a pinball machine? I must surely have spent about £30 in there by now.


Stupid drunken p#ick.

It's happening again. I'm getting hooked up on my hit counter [backlink]! I've been watching with dismay recently as its getting less hits than usual. I'm not catching as many search engine surfers as usual. These are the things which people have recently found this site with:

"I am proud of my sons" - someone in New York who used a Korean search engine landed here with this search.

"devo the chav meaty pies" - presumably someone excited about the forthcoming TV stuff which has nothing to do with me other than the fact I'm an early fan. I tried to get the maker of the website on to do an interview once. He never replied to my emails.

"devo e4 clip fatpie" - same as above.

""Pat Mills" REDEYE" - now this search should have, in theory, been productive. The searcher was based in New York and when they found my website which covers this subject in detail they spent a total of 0 seconds reading about it. Great.

"tony beasley + "cheeky monkey"" - it's actually Joe Beasley and cheeky monkey. These people have a lot to learn.

"biggest liar in the world compettiton" - I like the fact this search only throws up five pages in the whole world wide web.

"cuckold" - an obscure porn searchword. Why I put it in a title on this blog all those moons ago I can't remember but it's got me my fair share of sweating dissapointed one handed surfers.

Now, looking back over that list I've got to admit to being a little dissapointed. The last time [backlink] I compiled such a list it had much better stuff in it. This time round it feels a little like people are being boring in their ways of finding this site. I'm still proud of the fact that "thinker with a beard" still gets you straight to this site.

As long as that's always the case I won't be worried about the fact my hit-rate has declined to one third of what it was.

Not worried at all. Just means the whole thing is getting more culty. And that's a good thing.



I think this site is amusing[external link].

You must just not be good enough? Right?

No matter how sophisticated comedy gets things like this will always be funny:

If it doesn't work the direct link is here.

I've always found farts funny. No matter how sophisticated the world of comedy becomes it will always have to acknowledge farts and the special place they have within it. As a kid I remember sitting in a resteraunt with my sister and punctuating a sentence with a particularly loud one. It silenced the whole room. Me and my sister giggled away like the kids we were.

The day you stop finding farts funny is the day you kill your inner child. And I'm not a fan of killing kids.*

I've tried to analyse what exactly it is about farts that makes me laugh so much. I think it's the fact that on some level they remind us of our absurd humanity. The very idea that an authority figure has to suffer the indignity of farting loudly is a beautiful twist to life. For example, if Jesus existed and he really was human, he had to break wind. What exactly would one of Jesus's farts sound like? What would it smell of? Would people really praise it?

Humans fart. They fart and it reveals their stinky innards. How can you not find that funny? Think of someone, anyone, and know that they fart. That's a great thought. Charles Darwin, the father of evolutionary theory suffered from terminal flatulence. A meticulous note taker he recorded the times and severity of the blasts. Some say it drove him to the very brink of insanity.

The noise of a fart works on a visceral level. It works on a comedic level. It's a sheer beauty. But they still have the capacity to annoy me. If someone drops one and it's particularly smelly! Arrgh!


*A direct quote from my first "hilarious" stand-up set. Now defunct. It was too "hilarious". I had to stop doing it. Doing a different routine now. Less funny but at least people are getting out alive.

I've never really managed to transcend the medium and become a genuine entertainer - a song and dance man, man.

Is it possible to actually get microwave lasagne out, without the ba#tard ending upside down? I think it's a trick in the design which is intentional. It's there to remind you that you're a sad loner with no family who has to eat rubbish micowave meals. Each time you look down at it you can see it's upside down as a testament to the twin factors which caused you to pick it in the first place:

A) You never learned to and/or cannot be ars#d to cook

B) No one else gives enough of a s#it to cook things for you*

Now I'll be frank at this point. I don't honestly believe anyone cooks proper meals if they live on their own. If you do you're actually lying. Not to me, I can't hear you. You're lying to yourself. And that's the real tragedy.

If you are a filthy liar whom I've just caught out fear not, me and you are quite alike in this respect. I may not pretend that I cook for one but I do sometimes get caught up in the collective deciet which sustains the sale of "gourmet" microwave meals.

Today I had the "uber-gourmet-microwave meal" which I've been saving up, for the day when I have enough Weight Watchers Points left over to eat it. It was that sort of a beast. 15 points! I'm allowed 31 points in the whole day. This lasagne cost a small fortune, about one million pounds. I had to take out a second mortgage to buy the bugger**. It took 14 minutes to make in the microwave! 14 minutes. This fact alone must surely be an indication of quality? A bit like those old ZX Spectrum computer games which would take an hour to load.

It even looked a little bit like it did on the picture on the front of the box. This took me by surprise at first and I thought perhaps there was something wrong. Like I'd got the wrong one. Then I just licked my lips and thought:

"Oh yes, quality! It really looks like the picture on the front of the box. That's quality that is sunshine. Ooh I'm in for a Royal treat and no mistake! Pah, who said microwave meals were the sole domain of a weeping divorcee?"

Then I had to try and get it out of the carton and onto the plate. I tried some serious acrobatics and managed to almost burned my hand quite badly on the heat coming out from under the pasta. Then I almost dropped it. Then I splatted it, upside down, onto the plate. The illusion was ruined. I was eating processed food, sure it was expensive but it was still processed food.

I think what gave the game away was that no cook in the land, no matter how inept, would have thought the best possible finishing touch would be to splat it upside down on the plate.

Still, it smelt nice and tasted okay.

Next time I think I'll just buy the cheap one though.


Here's a website I spoke about on the show last night. It's about Kurt Cobain who was surely murdered. Surely? Click here [external link].

*Quite rightly. Don't misunderstand me here. I'm not under the delusion that my girlfriend should have to come over and cook for me.

**This information here is mostly factually incorrect.

Where has my moonshine gone / Bleed me dry, you're not the one / oh where oh where has my moonshine gone

Ye Quacking Gods! How disgustingly hot it is. Amazing! What the f#ck do people like about this weather? It's awful. As I write this I'm sweating like a Nazi with a conscience. Just disgusting. I went shopping in my travelling sauna I used to call a car. I now realise it's some sort of steam room come torture chamber. My forehead is literally p#ssing sweat off it.

I've spent most of the day inside thinking that this will keep me out of the direct sunlight and therefore heat. I've also had things to do today like finding invoices and tax stuff. None of which I've found. Every bit of paper I've tried to touch has been damp by the time I've finished with it.

Then while I'm ploughing through all this cr#p my computer puts up a notice:


"Oh s#it!" I think. Best have a look at that. What could it possibly mean?

So I click on it and Norton Anti Virus tells me it's connecting to the internet. Fair enough I think. If it's important I guess that's okay. Then I get a little pop up telling me about the new exctinig discounts that Packard Bell are offering.

What the f~ck? I hate pop ups! I almost bought one of those rubbish Apple* computers because they apparently do not have pop ups. I've bought loads of stupid virus software and spyware programmes and so forth BECAUSE I HATE POP UPS. What's the f~cking deal, when you're busy and worrying about the fact YOU'VE GOT NO F#CKING MONEY this stupid Packard Bell thing goes and makes me connect to the internet... JUST TO SEE A POP UP??

The reason that I hate pop ups is when I was first ever left alone with a computer the situation went something like this...

"Mmm. Computers are supposed to have porn on them. Brilliant. I'll just type in something and see if anything comes up. Then I'll have a quick look and then I'll get back to work."


"Brilliant. My plan is working, look at all the things that Netscape** has found for me. This is most excellent. I'll just find one to click on here..."

N-A-U-G-H-T-Y--B-I-G B-O-O-B-E-D--G-I-R-L-S--S-U-C-K--C-#-C-K

"Ha ha, excellent. Here comes the fun. Ooops. Hang on a minute, I didn't ask for more than one window to open. What's going on? Bloody h#ll! There's about 12 windows of this crap. And it's made something my homepage. Oh no! Someone's coming."

Not in a sexual way. Someone was coming up the stairs. Not like that. I mean. There was a bloke about to enter. The room. Urrgh. I can't even relate the story without getting into a sticky situation. I wasn't in a sticky situation. At the time. Not literally anyway.

I was not w#nking.


Anyway. Pop-ups. All over the shop. From that point onwards I looked at the idea of owning a computer through somewhat jaded eyes. I'd been used by a porn site. Now I've limited my hatered down to one thing. Pop-ups.

And so Packard Bell, in order to get through all the anti-pop up decvices I've got on here, send me a message which looks important but ends up just loading up a pop up. Which I closed.

I did not get caught in the office w#nking.


*My girlfriend's got one. I've no reason to think it's rubbish I just say things like that to wind her up a bit. "Hi babes"... if you still read this nonsense. I know you're Apple isn't rubbish really. It's great.

**Yes webheads, Netscape. That really dates this story for anyone who is really cybergeeky.

Scaramooch Scaraboosh can you do the handy dango?

F#cknuts. Utter f#cknuts. I had an awesome migrane today. Really nasty. I'm on the tram and it's looking like rain when suddenly I can't see properly. Having had this happen to me before I knew what was going to happen. As I walked from the tram to my house I marveled at how odd it is to lose your vision like this. There was a patch of my sight on the right hand side which was totally empty. Couldn't see a thing. The rest of my perspective was fine.

As I got to my house it started to thunder and rain. Heaving it down. It also went dark. I lay on my bed with the light off and waited for the headache which always follows lack of vision. But it didn't really come. Indstead I half fell asleep. I had some pretty nasty semi-dreams and visions as I lay there then realised my arm on the right hand side had gone numb. Also the insides of my mouth felt really unfamilliar to me.

Then came the headache.

It was equal in strength to any I can ever remember feeling. As I lay there wondering if I was going to die I remembered that I should have taken a paracetamol at least. When I stood up I realised I'd been wallowing in self pity a bit and that my symptoms weren't as bad as I'd been telling myself. Sure I had a nasty migrane but my chances of survival looked pretty good.

The paracetamol seemed to clear it up a bit.

As did the change in the weather.



The gammy eye dream comes true, how odd. (Saturday)

We went into town today to pick up a present for Jodie's flat mate, it was her birthday and we were going to her house for a barbecue. We went in as EngErLand were playing their game of football. It amused me to see various cars with flags on them driving about and even blokes wandering round with EngErLand shirts on. Brilliant. They're showing how patriotic they are by supporting their team and not watching the match. I love the stupidity and fat-headed arrogance of the human race. It's brilliant. Man I hate football.

I was nice to see the empty streets of town. There was loads of room for us to walk around and go shopping. I went into a comic book shop and looked at two comics, ended up buying them both. Couldn't help it. £30 gone on a couple of comic books. I really need to evaluate my priorities. Right after I've read these two new comics and finished my work on SimCity*.

It amused me to see some fat stupid-looking EngErLand supporter waddling out of his terraced house to ceremoniously pull off the daft flags he'd put on to show everyone exactly which side of the toast he was buttering. I shouldn't take pleasure in another's misfortune. It's an obviously empty meal. It's just so hard not to hate the herd mentality of these people. I remember very clearly TRYING to like football with a mate of mine and watching a game in a pub in Essex. It didn't work. 20 minutes in as the "fans" were chanting jingoistic, nationalist songs I was soon wishing for their beloved team to take a firm beating. They did, as it happens. the only real enjoyment I extracted from the ordeal was watching meat-heads getting unhappier as time went by.

Ha. Look at me wallowing in the sorrow of others. I must stop. It's not that important to me.

At the barbecue I struggled to keep to my weightwatchers commitments. In fact I went a few points over. That's okay as I can just make it up over the next few days. I add this note just in case you want to wallow in my failures. Last weigh in I'd put on 2.5lbs.


*I'm ace at this game. All you need to do is put it on easy mode. Piece of piss. I am the king. I've made a massive self contained city which is a testament to my sheer genius. Oh yes, dear reader, I am ace I am. Oh no I'm not. S%it me. I'm a f$cking loser. Hours on that b^stard game, wasted.

Follow by Email