hello ghosts

THIS IS ENGLAND '86

2010-09-29T15:14:00.005+01:00

there's not much you can do really. personally i fidgeted my feet; played with my ear a bit too. ok, so i thought about sliding my lefty down to the yogurt spurting slab of throbbing gristle in my trousers when her boob slipped out a bit, but soon returned to the only state of emotion that's really possible when you're watching a drooling daddy slide off his little princess' knickers. total fucking ... ew.

oh but then there's the rage too. "you repugnant piece of mouldy cat shit, you. touch her. try and fucking touch her and your scrotal sack is coming on a trip down your local high street, stretched backwards over my cranium whilst i'm whistling 'animal hospital' and giving your mother the eye. you're giving beards a bad name. and on my time. you massive, utterly fucking brobdingnagian cunt".

but finally, came the relief; the three 'yes' code. lol took out the hammer, and i actually said 'yes'. she overpowered that hangin' creature, and i actually said 'yes'. she spilled his ribena all over the carpet and eventually sent him packing, and i actually said 'yes'. i could've thrown a party. fuck that, if not for a lack of willing sexual deviants in the room i'd have thrown an orgy.

it was drama, alright. the screen felt as though it wasn't really a screen, but some pervy window into the next room. rape, eh? deeply nauseating, especially for the second time in a week; the ebb of our shit humanity. disgusting you might say, but i'm more disgusted that it took shane meadows and gaggle of quirky haircuts and harringtons for me to realise it.

this is england 86's finale last night, in the aforementioned scene and the one with the character combo and the discovery of his dead mother, deserved BAFTAs for breakfast. bra-fucking-vo. what's more, the consensus seems to be with me. everyone knows it; most of that was fucking excellent. but in this feast of televisual plenty, it's just a shame that meadows starved a lot of the conclusion to this landmark series.

starved it of words, that is. and of real time motion. and of any kind of comprehension for the audience as to what in the good name of lambretta is going on. meadows created a drama where there was rarely a scene not worth your undivided idolotry, something to make you really kick the golden calf. how unfortunate then that half the time, the cinematography was classic fm on depressants.

ludovico einaudi may be a name unfamiliar to you, but his piano wankery won't be. eh well, maybe 'wankery' is too far, he's genuinely an excellent composer. here's my personal favourite, one surprisingly untouched by meadows but used recently for an ad campaign by the BBC:

beautiful music which suggests, rather than screams, of melancholy and tragedy. that's MELANCHOLY AND TRAGEDY. it doesn't, in any way, suggest an image of that character, that walking, talking, somehow respiring health warning against the bastardisation of down syndrome hamsters (affectionately known in the show by the name of 'smell') climaxing on underage cock in some sweat ridden, scribbled o'er toilet. that is however, what meadows used it for. that and every other scene with any essence of drama in it. ridiculous.

mericfully, the excellent dead mother scene was spared tinkling ivories. the attempted rape of lol had them, but for drama such as that, images were enough. at the pivotal moment when the character of trev revealed last week's antics to lol however, dialouge was essential; images were not enough. when kelly's crying over the death of her father, a man she both admired and despised, again, images were not enough. when shaun's losing his v to pie face, images were not enou... wait, no, any more of that and i'd have rubbed my eyes in dog mess. even so, each one of these featured einaudi, painful slow motion and all contributed to the idea of meadows' harbouring an increasingly unnerving fetish for cinematic fuckery.

maybe he's trying to make a trademark for himself, something to match tarantino's gratuitous violence, or scorsese's complicated catholics? all it needs is a name. 'meadows motion', perhaps? that's got a bit of zing. unlike the technique itself after it's been used for the fifth time in an hour. you don't want to have to lip read at 11pm, you just don't.

this was a series almost ruined but nevertheless, a brilliant piece of television drama. this was the milk, the bread, the chien's cahones exploding a load over 'silent witness' and other such gubbins, but without meadows splurging piano over the top, it was possible that it could have been so much more. this was however england, and it was good.

LET'S GO SEE RAOUL!

2010-07-14T20:36:00.004+01:00

come on, why not?! me and old sugar tits go way back. i've got a boombox, a packet of tic-tacs and my buffy boxset. our mate paul's bringing some chicken and his fishing rod down too. it'll be a right laugh.

wait, raoul moat's dead? oh, right. sorry, i hadn't noticed.

it's just, there's nobody mourning. or at least, everyone mourning is being called 'macabre' by a national media armed with a thesaurus and the moral integrity of a erstaz gas fitter for the elderly. pardon me if i'm coming across as a "sick ghoul" and all, but isn't it generally accepted practice for someone's passing to be met with a sense of sobriety and lamentation, especially when concerning a death, and indeed a life as tragic as raoul moat's?

"BUT HE DONE MURDED THEM INNE"

yeah, well spotted. the reasons why he isn't exactly getting a state funeral are obvious, but the reasons why a bit of decorum can't be shown aren't. david cameron wooped and raa-raaed today:

"it is absolutely clear that raoul moat was a callous murderer, full stop, end of story"

ok, that's that then. back to the defecit and pretending to like football. wait, no he wants to spout bilge a bit more:

"there should be sympathy for his victims and the havoc he wreaked in that community. there should be no sympathy for him."

sorry raoul's kids. daddy's gone and you can shut the fuck up about it. apparently feeling slightly sorry for a mentally unstable man, driven to murder, self destruction and a declaration of war on the police is not just wrong, but wrong enough for the prime minister to try and make you feel like the dog who ate the birthday cake.

mr. cameron is largely supported in the media for his stance on the 'distasteful' facebook group 'r.i.p. raoul moat you legend'; the same media that find it perfectly tasteful to publish with headlines of 'thank god he's dead'. need i say more?

the ironic thing about it all is that the harmless nihilists parading moat as a hero (i.e. me and my friends) are only doing so because of the media's fecal-defying, sleep-suspending 24-hour coverage of nothing but the 'manhunt' of a supposed 'madman'. had they localised the issue to the affected area and not glamourised his modest 'rampage', the hero worship there is now would never have registered with even the biggest rebels without a pause.

don't believe me? two minutes of research (a record-breaking feat for any hg article) brought up this; two dudes who beat one guy to death with an iron and stabbed their other victim whilst the man unsuspectingly watched television. that's double raoul moat's 'high score', but guess who's name you'll be hearing in the papers for weeks, perhaps months to come.

it'd be refreshing to believe that the media may learn from the past week of damage they've caused, but you've a struggle in attempting to even hope that.

i didn't mean for hg's return from hibernation to be quite so cereal, but fucking hell, there's some cunts in this world.

RED TERROR

2010-04-30T21:21:00.003+01:00

it seems like forever that i've been stuck in this achterhuis; writing intermittently for my stupid little blog, behind a dutch woman's bookcase with my orange armband increasingly beginning to itch. one day, middle-class oafs might read hello ghosts and think "...shit, the befreckled buggers really did have it hard, didn't they?", and from then on i'll be a synonym for suffering with my grave all adorned by jaffa cakes and portraits of mick hucknall.

but not if MIA has anything to say about it. armed with a tenuous grasp on world politics and an insincere threat to "take your money" (the arsenal of the every young activist, you might say), our tamil tigress has once again stopped the mcdonalds sponsored 'free world' in its tracks and called for the liberation of history's fall guy, the most oppressed of all the human races (my race nonetheless), the gingers. and all through the medium of her latest single's music video.

before any AS film studies experts pedant my fucking ears off; yes, I know it's a bloody metaphor. apparently, the suffering of every properly persecuted human line can be analogised through blowing up carrot-tops, whose experience of maltreatment begins and ends at the playground. such a representation generally produces one of two responses: either "wow, how shocking and profound", or "lmao fucking boom!! ya ginger". It's predominantly the latter, and who would've expected otherwise?

it's bad enough that my skin can't handle sunshine, that i'm perpetually covered in orange dots and that the rug inevitably matches the curtains; i don't need MIA making me even more of a fucking joke.

CARNAL KNOWLEDGE

2010-04-26T22:43:00.004+01:00

when bored and confined to the padded walls of my imagination, i play family fortunes in my head. today les asked 100 members of the imaginary public a question; 'what is a more attractive prospect than a night out at carnage, "the UK's no.1 uniformed fellatio-fest of a student event?". hmm, tough one. i answered..

shaving with a cheese grater?
diving into a shallow pool of horse juice?
finding a naked and limbless barbara windsor facing cunt-upwards on my bed?

ding. unsuprisingly, the answer was any of the above; and more.

carnage is exactly what i thought university would be like, except i didn't assume that absolutely everyone else would think so too. tonight is, i think, the fourth and final moron convention of the year, bigger and more enthusiastically awaited than the last. fortunately, people do exist here who don't furiously wet themseles at the thought of paying £10 for a 'free entry' t-shirt (... i know), and coincidentally i've come to know these people my 'friends'. none of this was a conscious decision, everything just fell into place. my friends and me aren't going. hence i've no desire to go to carnage, tick off my pulling achievements on a t-shirt like its an MOT, and face being cubed or sold for scrap if I don't finger enough police officers or live up to the other coital requirements.

otherwise i'd probably be acting quite sociable. and who wants to do that at university?

our survey says...

CONTINENTAL PORN MOUSTACHE

2010-04-12T01:07:00.008+01:00

music, man i remember it well! some days i'd listen to a lot of it, other days i'd eat healthy. provided the two were kept in a fine balance, i'd leave the house a relatively complete human being.

but then i went to university.

perhaps you've noticed hg hasn't even glossed over music since the heady and easy-blogging days of august, back when i was on bail (!!!!) and you could walk down the street without asylum seekers jumping out and fellating you. shit yeah, the grime posts; but then that's got low bass frequencies and black people and stuff, so it's not really music is it? i mean proper songs done by rich white people in emotional distress.

ah indie :') i meant to call, honest. why the fuck have you grown continental porn moustache? you're head to toe in american apparel too, i can actually define each part of your body by block colour. every knuckle in my quivering fist is screaming to cuntpunch you, but i guess you're my home. furthermore, unless i contract a skin condition other than acne and stop dressing in 'small', that's not going to change, so let's begrudgingly accept it.

after a sigh of defeat, i took up the daily task every indie back in 2005, by looking for unknown bands. not necessarily good bands, just unknown bands. since tom decided ripping music off his fancy player was inherently corrupt, even if you've made it which means i've lost '1UP' forever, falling in lust with myspace bands is ultimately frustrating. still, the price of ripping your cock off is probably worth it when the bands in question are these. check them out:

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PANDA LOVE UNIT
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now '(defunct)', as their headline mournfully declares, panda love unit are the slimmer, prettier and bigger-breasted ex-band of johnny foreigner frontman alexei berrows. usually when you atomically fusion spoken word, road noise and amateur math rock riffs you get a hyperexplosion of purified pretension, and i'm afraid PLU don't defy the laws of science here. what is quite magical though, is how you come out of it thinking they're a brilliant band who's life was cut far too short.

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WHITE SWALLOW
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'sam almond and bobby mambos new band are genuinely great' - marcus barnett, 8/4/10 22:35 via text message

marcus barnett texts me a lot of lies, but surprisingly this wasn't one of them. wait, it's not even surprising. sam and bobby were one half of chorley's best musical export, '3 black dwarfs'. they may have been grammatically challenged, but yes i'm putting them above starsailor and him offa liberty x. now white swallow is the new band, and they're the best thing to come out of chorley since trains elsewhere. maybe it's silly of me to base this on 'i scream', an initially out of time and part-improvised live recording on the myspace, but it's such a breath of fresh air it's like a douchebag for my lungs. someone, anyone, please give these boys a fucking break.

FIRST LOVE

2010-04-08T17:07:00.012+01:00

old people say so. the maccabees say so. even fried chicken says so; you never forget your first love. except i do, or at least i forget her surname. before you call me a heartless bastard though, it's probably a lot easier for you if your first love was that fake tan thong-fan in 8B, the brylcreemed boy next door or uncle frank with his special 'stroke the bunny' games in the garage. mine came when i was three years old, with a lovely girl that turned out ultimately to be a fucking fat slag called hannah.

before i dive head-first into heartbreak, you should probably know a bit about the three year old mark critchley. my favourite things are cars and big ted, my diet is strictly dairylea and i dont understand the difference between tuesday and thursday. when people start nursery, they're probably there to improve their counting skills and expand their knowledge of the alphabet, but i saw it as a chance throw wooden building blocks at people and link girls. naturally.

sometimes i was a bit of a bad boy. kieran murpher (my best friend, who may have had a different name but this one seems correct in my subconscious) used to lay the smackdown on other kids just so i could run them over with my trike. i was sent out of class a lot, i was usually in trouble with the carers and as mentioned, bashing toddlers heads in with dense wooden bricks became somewhat of a hobby for me. when i wasn't running riot though, i was an absolute freak. the day i met hannah, i was walking around the yard taking into the toggles on my mac pretending i was on the phone to peggy patch, and i like to think it was a combination of the bad boy and social outcast images that helped me pull her.

from then on, me and her spent all our time together, whilst kieran played gooseberry and i gradually tried to counter his blatent cock blocking. in winter, after finally shaking that bastard off, hannah came round to my house and we built a snowman. then we sat on my bed and she punched me in my undeveloped balls, so i smothered her with a pillow until my mum dragged me off. we sat down to sooty and sweep and twenty-five minutes later everything was fine. it was that kind of relationship.

even though she was my girlfriend, i didn't particularly care at first. yet by easter, i reached a romantic peak that i'm probably too cynical to ever try for again. when we burst out of spring term assembley to go play on the trikes, we were reprimanded for going too early. foolishly, i took all the blame and saved hannah from the punishment of being excluded for the last story before the easter break. sent outside, i started banging on the walls, probably throwing action men in the air and screaming "NO JUSTICE!", which meant not only would i miss the story, i'd also not get my complimentary easter egg when hometime came. all for a girl. i was already a sucker at four and half years old, and it only got worse.

on the last day of the year, the nursery had a fete. magicians, jugglers; all manner of cunts including mr. blobby (which is a different story entirely) came to see us all off before we went to the big bad world of sand pits and kiss chase, i.e. primary school. there was also a face-painter, and seeing as hannah and kieran had turned themselves into wildlife for the day, far be it from me to be the odd one out. half an hour after committing, the guy had finished my face. he'd painted me as a fucking beach. yeah, a beach.

i took one look in his mirror and bawled. what the fuck had he done to my face? everyone was a shark or a tiger, i'd been painted as the fucking title sequence of 'wish you were here'. tears had turned my face into something of a melted postcard, and when i found hannah she wouldn't talk to me anymore. some bear-faced twat was the centre of her attention now, and i'd been cast out to sea. life's a beach, eh?

annoyed, i sulked back to one of the carers and punched her square in the arm, my punishment being to sit on the tree stump outside to think about what i've done whilst everyone went to the final assembley. instead i just thought about hannah, and vowed to win her back. in fact i was completely confident i could, as long as i wiped the beach residue off my face. unfortunately, when kieran called me back in,i was sent straight to a talk with the head carer. everyone went home, my mum picked me up half an hour later and i thought i'd never see hannah again.

actually i did. by law, after a particularly emotional break up, the beleaguered boy inevitably sees his ex girl with her new man, and this was no different. only it was her old man instead. walking to primary school, our parents recognised each other and got chatting, whilst i turned mute. fuck her, she dumped me because i was a beach. all her questions were rebutted arshavin style, and at the earliest opportunity i jumped the school gate and escaped the bitch's clutches forever.

on reflection, perhaps it's my most surreal relationship ever. you know, maybe she's reading this now? back then she was small, blonde and the only girl that had ever willingly wanted my penis on demand. maybe she's still small, maybe she's still blonde, maybe she's still the only girl that has ever wanted my penis on demand? if you are reading hannah, how about a coffee?* we'll catch up, reminisce, it'll be exactly like the old times. and then i could paint your face like a beach and dump you, for a nice bit of symmetry.

so that's my first love, and even without her surname, i can't really forget it. but just wish i could.

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*DISCLAIMER: if you're a) fat, b) ugly or c) severely handicapped now, you should know i'm busy washing my cat most days of the week.

GET YOUR OWEN BACK

2010-03-08T17:16:00.003Z

football's own benjamin button was last week confirmed as having suffered an out of character knee-whoopsy, which will almost certainly rule him out of coming on as a late substitute in as many as 'several' of manchester united's remaining fixtures this season. it also means he'll be watching the world cup in hospital waiting rooms this summer, rather than his original plans of watching it from his sofa.

with such horrendous bad luck befalling on 'one of football's nice guys'™, it's hard to resist sending michael owen a sympathy card, perhaps attached with a pippette filled with your own tears and a rabbit's foot for future fortune. at least it is until you see this:

"well done, he's 13"

just because you pick on ginger kids doesn't mean i'm afraid of you michael owen. what goes around comes around, you utter prick.

ASK ARSHAVIN

2010-03-04T23:50:00.004Z

"so josephine bloggs, using all the sweeping generalisations and broken cliches you have in your vast arsenal of 'accepted truths', would you be so kind to tell me your opinion of premier league footballers?"
"well hello ghosts, they're all overpaid ignoramii aren't they?"
"well yes they are mrs. bloggs"
"if they're not crashing their expensive cars, fondling farm animals or headbutting pensioners in the street, they're having extramarital affairs with the ex-partner of their best friend and shoving a nokia 3310 up their anus"
"hear hear mrs. bloggs"
"worst of all though, they can't even form a complete sentence of the queen's between them"
"oh yes mrs. bloggs"
"it's all 'erm's, 'y'know's and 'at the end of the day's. monosyllabic morons. they out to be taken out and shot, the lot of them"

... so some say. and whilst it's hard for me to condone capital punishment simply for the offence of being a premier league footballer, i'm also not prepared to sit here and defend the IQ score of slobbering window-lickers like him.

yet the inability to form full sentences, for some footballers at least, allows their certain level of genius in other respects to be realised. comedic genius that is.

andrey arshavin's english isn't progressing terrifically if the Q&A sessions on his official website can be used as evidence against him. however in the probable scenario where his english is actually coming along quite nicely, the blunt, one word, borderline dream-shattering answers he gives to the questions from excitable young admirers are hilarious; a wit drier than wayne bridge's dick has been in recent months. some of my favourites are:

"Hello, Andrey! I was wondering whether these moving and changing advertising billboards on the pitch can distract from the game?"
Arshavin: No

"Have you ever been to Stavropol?"
Arshavin: No

"Hello Andrey, I’ve been playing football half a year now. All this time I played the field and now I begin to wonder maybe I should become a goalie. What would you recommend?"
Arshavin: To think about it.

"Hi, Andrey! I am 13 years old and I began to play football 2 years ago. Do you think I’ll be able to become a professional footballer?"
Arshavin: I do not know.

"My name is Maria, I live in Tajikistan, I play football too and I’m your big fan. I would like to invite you to Khujand and I’d like you to have a look at our team."
Arshavin: Thank you.

what a relentlessly dissmissive and dry man. i think i understand why i'm never going to be a professional footballer now; i care too much.

as well as this, one fan sent in a myspace-style quiz, where you put a plus sign for things you've done and a minus for things you've not. andrey obliged. his more exotic 'plusses' were:

over-ate strawberries to the point of sickness +
fell into a deep pit +
received a beautiful china doll as a present +

you can read more of arshavin's stunning wisdom and dismissals of lesser beings here, and afterwards you can grovel and apologise forever to the superior footballer race like the ignorant baboons you are. be gone! i'm off to discuss post-structuralist literary theory with steve stone.

SWING BADABADABADA

2010-02-15T01:10:00.013Z

OFFICIAL: P'S REAL NAME IS CLARENCE!

fortunately for you, i'm not one for writing blogs about an impending existential breakdown. you know, blogs about how none you probably care what i write and that ultimately, 'hello ghosts'™ is a waste of time that would be better spent compiling a top 100 countdown of my all-time favourite jam jars or recreating the blackpool tower in model form using only lollipop sticks and bull semen. this doesn't happen because i generally get the impression i'm interesting and you do like reading my blogs.

except for those about grime.

i've lost hope to be honest. i've got the impression even after my extensive dummy's guide that you, reader, are all too stubborn in your white (i.e. racist!!11!!1!1 lol) ways to care. smh. HENCE (love that word), i'll keep this short and vaguely to the point.

GHETTS VS. P MONEY
THAT'S RIGHT THEY'RE CLASHING!

the two biggest mc's in the scene as of when i said so are at war, and here's all the videos/dubs so far, and some small (promise), background explanation:

GHETTS: PLAISTOW TAKEOVER

ghetts kicked it off with some vaguely direct sends for p in this video at the beginning of february. gcse history teachers will note in the year 2082 that this was more of a 'spark' than a cause. also, filmed in a cell ...?

P MONEY: RESPONSE TO GHETTS

the mixer line made me lol enough to want to start a facebook 'i lol'd when...' fanpage, but i decided not to because i couldn't afford the price - i.e. my eternal soul.

GHETTS: ALL BLACK WINTER DUB

ghetts took the clash to an official level by going to dubs. not that impressive if you ask me. which you should.

GHETTS: SUICIDE (GHETTS VS. GHETTO)

despite taking two years to reply to p, ghetts couldn't wait even a week before putting out another dub, this a pre-emptive suicide one. basically b-rabbit's tactics in 8 mile; par yourself so hard you do a better job than your opponent ever could. thought there was no way back for p at this point.

P MONEY: THE DUB

there was. p recorded and dropped this in the same day. put himself right back in it with the best dub so far. don't think noel gallagher and robbie williams went in this hard did they, you fucking indies?

P MONEY: THE WARNING

so here we are. p's latest (and original) dub hits home, but was kind of dampened by ghett's suicide. on the strength of p's reply to ghetts vs. ghetto though, he's ahead in my opinion. just. even though i'm more of a ghetts fanboy.

hopefully two dubs each will call time on this stage of the war, and mean they'll clash live, head to head, either on radio or on stage, or maybe lord of the mics 3.

who knows, eh? bet you lot can't wait.

VALENTHEINZ

2010-02-14T20:59:00.007Z

cold baked beans. there's arguably no other british staple food that could be a sufficient metaphor for a failed relationship. i mean, stale bread? a diseased potato? BSE beef?

nah. none of the aforementioned quite do it like the ultimate meal for one; the only nutritional option at times when the thought of all those wasted train tickets, sickly intimate long afternoons and a forthcoming eternity alone destroy your soul so deep into its core that you can't even turn a microwave on anymore.

bearing this in mind, if each facebook status update bemoaning a person's loneliness or the devastating end of that 'whirlwind' three-week fling is like being force-fed a plate of heinz's finest, then reading my 'news feed' on valentine's day has left me feeling like one of those awful batty creases who sit in bathfuls of beans in the hope it'll mean some kid in africa will have at least one square meal, despite the fact they've got their fat arses sitting in about 80 of them.

jeeeeeesus. my dear friend oliver white summed it up in an erudite enough manner:

"YEAH ITS VALENTINES DAY...GET OVER IT! IF YOU WERENT SO MISERABLE ABOUT IT YOU MIGHT HAVE SOME ONE TO SHARE IT WITH"

honest guys. just because it's february 14th doesn't mean you should feel any more empty after your 8:30 wank/strum/poke (delete as appropriate) than you do on any other day of the year. there's clubs, bars, pubs, parks, strange men on night buses, scrawly notes in telephone boxes and even saturday night programming slots on itv that are only in existence so that you're not feeling like shit three hundred and sixty-four days a year, and which also try to keep you from peeling off your reproductive organs with dirty kitchen utensils for the twenty four hours that fall between the date '14/02'. that's a somewhat uncomfortable amount of assistance, so either get out and use it or shut up.

i'll agree with one thing the sad acts say though; thank fuck it's only once a year.

LET THE PORK SEE THE SCRATCHINGS

2010-01-30T22:27:00.006Z

I LIKE HOW EMPTY PADDY LOOKS

in the future, you're going to have a beautiful spouse. you'll have a wedding, you'll have kids and eventually you'll have dinner parties; you'll be soulmates. everyone will come to your dinner parties and everyone will drink your wine and everyone will ask the same question; everyone will ask "so, how did you two meet?", and you'll gaze into your partner's eyes, you'll simultaneously purse your lips and you'll reply in unison with three magical words: "via paddy mcguinness".

judging by itv1's new(ish) dating programme 'take me out', this is the path western civilisation has chosen and in about eight generations time we'll all base our sexual exploits on the maxim 'no likey, no lighty'. for those who haven't seen it yet, the basic premise is one guy attempting to impress thirty girls in a land where gays, the disabled and people who don't sing along to 'i gotta feeling' are non-existent. imagine britain after a fascist coup led by the saturdays. that's it.

each guy must go through three rounds of divulging information or performing tricks, whilst the girls judge the guy and display their sexual intentions through the medium of light. once they've turned their white light red, they're basically saying 'ew'. any guy who turns all the lights red before the three rounds are up loses, and whilst paddy, the disgusted girls and the audience wave him goodbye to the tune of celine dion's 'all by myself', he contemplates a tearful taxi home, where he'll cry a bit more and wank into a crusty sock whilst wearing a ready meal tub as a hat.

men who aren't seen as a physical threat usually have at least one light left on, and that's means a date at the mythical bar and 'heart of manchester', fernando's. those lucky ones with several admirers get to choose and eliminate the girls they are repulsed by, who naturally shit themselves giggling when they realise they're fat, ugly and alone. paddy mcguinness hosts TMO, it's on every saturday night, and i really like it. from now on in fact, i'm blogging every episode.

but i do feel like i have to explain myself first, so this doesn't read like some ironic prick's cultural jape. well, one reason i like TMO and i'm actually excited about watching previous episodes on itvplayer, is it pretty much has a cast. like deal or no deal contestants, the girls stay until they get picked. this means you can sit down and see the familiar ruddy face of 'fat northern sket #2' safe in the knowledge your life in general could be much worse. it also means all the various soap opera archetypes are present; you have the twins (natasha & alana), the old slag (jayne), the housewife (jo), the loud annoying one (siobhan), the eternally doomed to tables for one one (rian) and the lovable head figure, paddy.

he's another reason to like it actually. he's about as successful at attempting to sincerely convince his audience that he actually enjoys the show as this blog is (i.e. not very). the snide comments about their dress and intelligence are shrouded in all the performance that is saturday night entertainment, but deep down, he's got a burning contempt for them all. surprising, given that 50% of the people on this programme seem to be from lancashire. he's also responsible for one liners like this blog's title, the peak of any form of wit you can expect from TMO.

finally, TMO is so good because the format represents everything that real life dating should be like. let's line everyone up, let's make them dance to 'single ladies' and let's give them a light. white means yes, red means no; and everyone will start judging and everyone will start rating and soon after everyone will start fucking, and then people won't have to read 'signals' anymore like some dribbling autistic toddler with a hard-on. you've got to agree, wouldn't that be perfect?

GRIME FOR DUMMIES, BY DUMMIES

2010-01-23T14:45:00.010Z

hi dummies. word gets round, and i'm sure you've heard. my last.fm weekly charts have just confirmed it, and in the eyes of heath linn of all people, i'm now a "grime master". despite this heavy endorsement, my learned superiors over at grimeforum.com would probably say i've still got some way to go. in fact, any of you could probably bring yourselves up to my level with a few hours solid 'parring', and this wee guide is designed to help you do that, so you too can become a massive white boy cliche.

serious though, grime is maybe the most overlooked independent music scene in the country. if you're ignoring it you're racist.

TRACK OF 2009
TEMPA T - NEXT HYPE

or easily the track of forever. tempz is the most hype mc you'll find on the scene, one listen and it's all so blood-boiling you're left with a burning desire to kill large man-eating animals and then sleep inside them. 'next hype' may be scary but it's also just fucking funny, featuring tempz parring absolute strangers and shanking a man for flying a kite. oh and in the video, he also wrecks tim westwood's office. pure fighting music. watch out for his mixtape '2000 and packs', which will drop sometime in 2010 presumably, even though we've already been waiting the best part of a year. don't think my strongly worded e-mails are helping either.

TRACK OF THE LAST 23 DAYS
GHETTS - ARTILLERY

or the track of 2010. whilst tempz' aggression is so dark it results in hilarity, ghetts (previously known as ghetto) carries more of a gangster chic and persona. if he met the guy with a kite, he'd kill him by hanging him from a tree by the string. maybe. not that it's all serious with ghetts. one of the best sets on logan sama's now shortened KISS show was the one featuring him and fellow movement man wretch 32; as good for its banter as it was for its bars. he's got a unique voice, a influential flow leeking its way down the scene, and an album on the way that could well be top boy by this time next year.

MAN WHO IS IN MOST OF DANGER OF A RICKITY PIP LAWSUIT
P MONEY

prick. above is '1up', from p money's album 'money over everyone'. admittedly this and 'if man's talking' are two stand-out tunes on a record that in no way leaves you wearing out your skip buttons, but fucking hell man; rickity pip need to be taking some royalties on this. p money actually featured on montana's latest release, 'world is mine vol. 2', which i haven't had the pleasure of hearing. all it proves is that the chorley connection is there, and this boy enjoyed his salty sessions too much. see you in court.

GUY WHO YOU THINK MIGHT BE BNP
DEVLIN

yeah he's from dagenham, but in fact he's anything but a nazi. this track's been around for years, but it's only in the past week that i've gone back to it and had an epiphany; and i could hardly complete a 'guide to grime' blog without a melancholic track that goes on about the ghetto. some say with tracks like this devlin's dangerously close to becoming the 'face of the underclass'. nah. unfortunately, 'community outcast' is too well true and informed for anyone in the media tostand up and take notice. indeed, devlin's only press exposure came in the half-hearted chart attempt 'london city', which was more about clubbing than council houses. shame, but try and find better social commentary in this genre. you won't.

WHAT THE SCENE'S RESIDENT PAEDO IS DOING
WILEY - MC PON 141

JOKES. wiley's not a paedo. he just doesn't always follow the 'half your age + 7' rule. he can't count past 3.

nah, whatever you hear said about him or whatever you think about that coathanger abortion of a song 'take that feat. fu man chu or whatever the name is', wiley is the grandad of grime. i can talk about ghetts, p money or the fucking real slim shady becoming 'top boy' this time next year, whatever, it doesn't really matter. realistically they're never going to beat wiley, even if he tries to damndest to fuck his career up.

so that's what he tends to do. when announcing his new crew 'the A-list' last week, everyone laughed. and not just because of the name. mz bratt, shola ama and wrigley (no matter how much i used to watch his and shifty's youtubes back in the day :') ) are hardly guys and girls who are going to rival the scene's biggest crews of the moment; OGz and marvell crew.

then 'mc pon 141' dropped. chipmunk samples and big verses from wiley himself; it rivals that ghetts track for best thing this year so far in my opinion. more of them plz eski, then i might be convinced that crew's a-list.

USEFUL BLOGS AND LINKS AND STUFF
butterz
rinse fm
grimeforum
puregrime
grimepedia
sb.tv
grimedaily
logan sama show

MY LORD AND MY LEADER

2010-01-22T00:32:00.003Z

take us forth into the dawn of a new age, where the rivers run with copper and the sun's uv readings are at most moderate.

GINGER AND PROUD OF IT

TWITS

2010-01-07T01:48:00.003Z

twitter.com/hllghsts

i'm using it mainly to spy on jozy altidore, but if you ever want to hear what i think about celebrity big brother or the FTSE, it's there.

22 MORE REASONS TO BE DISAPPOINTED IN US

2010-01-06T13:31:00.007Z

YOU LOOK DIVORCED, STEROIDS GUY AND BREASTFEEDING J.M.J
BULLOCK'S TOENAIL COLLECTION CONTEMPLATE LOSING ON PENALTIES, AGAIN

ARGHFFS. nobody's quite at home, nobody's quite at university yet. this week hasn't simply been death by boredom, it's been the sheer mutilation of my limbs, severed in front of my own eyes by blades of the absolute nothingness which has occurred since new year's. such gruesome imagery probably hints at the fact i've been reading about (i.e. not listening to) grindcore, and doing so reminded me of something i've been meaning to try for a while.

ever wondered what england's second round-reaching 1998 world cup squad would look like if their squad numbers referred not to them, but to song titles with the corresponding number on albums from anal cunt's discography? yeah? well here's how it looks:

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1. David 'Face It, You're A Metal Band' Seaman
2. Sol 'Punching Joe Bonni's Face In' Campbell
3. Graeme 'Kill Women' Le Saux
4. Paul 'Steroids Guy' Ince
5. Tony 'I Convinced You to Beat Your Wife on a Daily Basis' Adams
6. Gareth 'Flower Shop Guy' Southgate
7. David 'Dead, Gay and Dropped' Beckham
8. David 'You Look Divorced' Batty
9. Alan 'I Hope You Get Deported' Shearer
10. Teddy 'You've Got Cancer' Sheringham
11. Steve 'Rollerblading Faggot' McManaman
12. Gary 'You're A Fucking Cunt' Neville
13. Nigel 'I Lit Your Baby On Fire' Martyn
14. Darren 'Body by Auschwitz' Anderton
15. Paul 'Morbid Dead Guy' Merson
16. Paul 'Sweatshops are Cool' Scholes
17. Rob 'You Fucking Freak' Lee
18. Martin 'I Snuck a Retard into the Sperm Bank' Keown
19. Les 'I'm Wicked Underground' Ferdinand
20. Michael 'Breastfeeding J.M. J. Bullock's Toenail Collection' Owen
21. Rio 'Foreplay with a Tree Shredder' Ferdinand
22. Tim 'You Look Adopted' Flowers

NO WAY are you as bored as me.

2009: YEAR IN BANTER

2009-12-31T16:28:00.004Z

JANUARY
preventing the 'shanking of heath linn by the coward thomas morton' at a new years party
getting a somewhat underwhelming beating by a guy on liptrott
telling the examiner to fuck off a lot through the medium of my AS general studies paper

FEBRUARY
promotion with carshalton on football manager
rejected by manchester - dreams shattered

MARCH
last ever (?) rickity pip gig

APRIL
bullied hard at melody's birthday
threesome with charlotte and alex

MAY
leaving college :'(
NOT going to primavera - saving £200 on an emergency flight
barcelona winning the champions league

JUNE
playing football when i had something less important to do
storming the reichstag (a.k.a. lancashire county council)
losing my favourite bag to the nazis

JULY
witnessing the loss of all dignity once possessed by jimmy horrocks
getting an oyster card
losing my religion; nunning in lourdes

AUGUST
oh shit i got arrested
leeds fest night 3: a new low
leeds fest night 4: rebel without a pause

SEPTEMBER
reusing my oyster card
telling the horrors it was 'only me'
FRESHERS 09

OCTOBER
covering TSR's car in his own vomit
pissed off two ciders, watching liverpool v united with kieron curtis, being king of the pub
birthday = death

NOVEMBER
discovery of the raz
punched in warehouse
writing off a car with only a tortoise

DECEMBER
fifa 10 drinking game ruining my life
throwing up on swingers in a taxi
negotiating marcus barnett's release from a takeaway in exchange for my passport

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let's hope i do at most three interesting things a month in 2010

2009: MY FAVOURITE RECORDS

2009-12-31T16:27:00.008Z

last time i wrote a list, i was twelve. about fifty blank spaces in my merlin's barclaycard premiership 2002/03 sticker book were keeping me awake at night and helping me fail maths. the opportunity to send off for eyal berkovic, matt oakley and other missing stars using a form in my album proved too tempting. i made my list, found the nearest postbox and up to 28 days later, i had a completed album :')

unfortunately since then, lists haven't meant the fulfillment of a boyhood dream. they've usually just been an ascending scale of goodness applied to music. HENCE, here's a list of some of my favourite albums of this past year. in no order, mind:

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THE PAINS OF BEING PURE AT HEART
THE PAINS OF BEING PURE AT HEART

an absolutely dreamy album, strikingly crafted in every way. you know that ice cream that you get in blocks of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry? listen to this record as a whole, and it's like gobbling all three flavour in one bite. there’s the overpowering sweet taste (in this case, one of early MBV and ‘90s shoegaze pop), the subsequent sugar-rushed giddiness, and throughout, the hidden risk of a fucking massive headache at the end of it all. frozen your brain cells may be, but it’s still worth it, and POBPAH are just as good in small spoonfuls. ‘young adult friction’ is probably my favourite song of the year or decade or EVER; a story of losing your virginity in a library, featuring a succession of near saccharine literary metaphors, culminating in the repeated pitiful plea “don’t check me out” (LIKE YOU CHECK OUT BOOKS IN A LIBRARY, GEDDIT?). beautiful.

ZOLA JESUS
TSAR BOMBA (EP)

nika danilova a.k.a. zola jesus is good. really good. what's bad is that anyone else who's noticed how scarily talented she is seems to be of the opinion that her LP 'the spoils' is her stand-out peice, rather than this little 7-track EP or its equally excellent sister record 'new amsterdam'. dudes, why? 'tsar bomba' is my pick of her 2009 catalogue, and it comes down to the fact it has on it three of the best songs i've heard all year. 'last day', in a shortened form on this particular release, introduces her haunting voice, which in one of those recorded musical moments that make you go 'shiiiiiiiiit', seemlessly (and i mean seemlessly) mixes into the following track 'rester'. this song and 'sea talk', which follows soon after, share similar emotive melodies and vocal compositions. things like that, if i'm honest, i know fuck all about. except they sound off this fucking planet and make me want to bawl, and from that expertise i can definitely say it's one of my favourites of the year.

DANANANANAYKROYD
HEY EVERYONE

when describing 'danana' and their debut album to people, it's like being diagnosed with dyslexia and then doing a wordsearch upside down. you desperately jamble letters together to make "scream-punk?" or "fight... pop?". grr, it's pointless. and perhaps that's why they're so good. take all the screamo vocals you thought had died with that year 10 school band's myspace account, add enjoyable riffs, the power of two drum kits and here's your mosh pit without wankers. the highlight is 'some dresses', as good a pop song as it is one to break things to. opening with a group chant, it progresses into the usual head-bangery and concludes with a punk-paced bounce (fuckfuckfuck i hate describing music). perhaps it's to be expected from "the best live band in the country as of now and forever", but this record is brilliant.

FUTURE OF THE LEFT
TRAVELS WITH MYSELF AND ANOTHER

i thought for a long time this would be my record of the year. hip hop mogul heath linn had his reservations, which if i'm honest are now more blatently obvious than they seemed in the hype around its release. jilted and one-dimensional spasm tracks which try throw together as many absurd lyrical occurances together as possible litter the middle section of the album. 'that damned fly', 'yin/post-yin' and the laboured 'you need satan more than he needs you' don't warrant a twenty fourth listen. but that's the thing; it took me quite a while to tire of them. this possible filler is never the less cancelled out by inventive synth number 'throwing bricks at trains', mclusky reminder 'iam civil service' and fuck me, if there is a better pair of opening and closing tracks this year than 'arming eritrea' and a song far too biographical to me, 'lapsed catholics', then i've not heard some fucking great '09 music. for casual listeners, this record is perfect. strip down to your underwear, tickle yourself with a feather duster whilst puppies licks your toes, and enjoy up to track 6. make a cup of tea and come back for the end! sorted.

NOSFERATU D2
WE'RE GONNA WALK AROUND THIS CITY...

shamefully (?), the only peice of music i've exchanged legal tender for all year, bar joe mcelderry. and the latter i paid for in stamps. BUT before you start, my single new year's resolution of 2010 is to 'go straight' in reference to this, and start paying for a bit more music. also, yes i do have a lawyer. anyway, reminiscent of gerard houllier's liverpool transfer policy pre-2002, nosferatu d2's debut screams 'money well spent'. released two years after brothers ben and adam parker brought an end to the band, 'we're gonna walk around this city...' is lyrically the most contemptuous yet comical record of the past decade. from hanging yourself off kitchen appliances over a band's biography, to inexplicably machine gunning everything in blockbusters EXCEPT your infuriating girlfriend and leaving the shop "littered with fragments of die hard 2", ben's knack for black humour makes this album. the parker brothers are musically talented too, as the stripped drum+guitar (plus invisible bass?) sound provides a perfect backdrop to ben's dark musings. if you've ever felt like you want to strangle a girl, you need this record.

JOHNNY FOREIGNER
GRACE AND THE BIGGER PICTURE

kind of the opposite to future of the left, as i really didn't like this when i first heard it. jo fo's debut is 43 minutes and 20 seconds with roy keane, tim westwood and audley harrison; HEAVY HIT AFTER HEAVY HIT. well, perhaps not harrison. either way, 'waited up til it was light' was explosive, original and excellent; meaning this follow up could only ever be shit. live, the new songs didn't quite seem the same and on record, i didn't like them. guess what though, it's a grower! or rather it stayed exactly the same and i kind of grew into it. whilst the song titles are horrible examples of "that sounds rad! hey, let's write a song and call it that!" and all have a certain, inexplicable maritime influence, tracks like 'he awoke on a beach in aberystwyth', 'the coast was always clear' and delightful ditty 'more heart, less tongue' excel above the standard of old jo fo favourites, and make me think even more OMG I WISH I WAS THIS BAND.

THE BEST WEBSITE EVER

2009-12-23T02:59:00.003Z

mellow roasts

damn critics

THE WORST WEBSITE EVER

2009-12-23T01:20:00.004Z

THE CLEANEST PICTURE I COULD FIND, AND IT'S RACE HATE

some of you have probably heard of omegle, this website that just connects you with a random stranger for a one on one chat. you are also probably aware of how much a seedy scumbucket of a place it can be.

i've been on it twice i think (yeah, i went back for more), and basically if you're a boy, you're going to get nowhere. the inevitable disconnection that comes after conceeding your a/s/l is 18/m/uk leaves with a few clues as to who's on the other end. to jump to the conclusion that it's some 44 year-old bearded divorcee sat with one hand on the mouse and the other interchanging between a bag of doritos and his cock may seem like an obvious move to make. except with the invention of chatroulette, you never knew how right you were.

chatroulette is omegle but with webcams and microphones, bringing endless possibilities to your inner e-pervert. i read about it on a football website, and then bore witness to some of the weird predicaments you can find yourself in after an hour on this thing. so then i thought, why not give it a go myself and blog about it?

here's how it goes. i'm going to partake in five different chats with webcammed strangers, see what kind of stuff comes up, and then scrub my eyes and brain with chlorine. sound ok? by the way,i don't and never have had a webcam, so they're getting fuck all out of me. yeyeye here goes:

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CHAT #1

Stranger: hi
> Your partner disconnected. Press "Next" to find a new person!

cunt in sheep's clothing. pseudo-intellectual, smug, dick face who was generally impatient. more of these to come i think.

CHAT #2

You: soup
Stranger: Soup indeed
Stranger: Tomato?
You: ye
You: how u know?
Stranger: ^^
Stranger: Sweet
Stranger: dunno
Stranger: hunch
You: nice one columbo
Stranger: : O
Stranger: Why the columbo nickname? :)
Stranger: ^^
> Your partner disconnected. Press "Next" to find a new person!

in retrospect, i can't believe i passed up the chance to flirt with daniel bedingfield.

CHAT #3

You: OH SHIT
You: hi
> Your partner disconnected. Press "Next" to find a new person!

I SHIT BRICKS. look at that tatt, and the sports bag, and the fucking vest. if he had got what he wanted and i was some 14 year-old girl weighed down by tissues in my training bra, he could seriously have done some damage. total pussy beater. anyway, he decided just not to reply to me, and after about two minutes of tense silence, as i waited for him to start beating down the webcam with a badminton racket, he gave me two fingers and disconnected. charmer.

CHAT #4

You: OMG
You: i love that song
Stranger: what
Stranger: xD
You: is it limp bizkit?
Stranger: do you have webcam? or is it not loading?
You: my dad is using it
Stranger: :I
Stranger: its aiden
> Your partner disconnected. Press "Next" to find a new person!

ZOMFG A REAL LIFE TALKING GIRL! and a hotty at that. omg my luck was so in! can't believe dad ruined it!

CHAT #5

You: yo dude
You: your flies are undone
> Your partner disconnected. Press "Next" to find a new person!

and on the last connection i can be arsed with, we have our upfront seedy motherfucker. jean button undone, he also wiped his face with a tissue during the 10 seconds he was on. i hate to think what the implications are for what residue is now lying on his greasy little mug. it's just a good job he didn't want to stick around.
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so to sum up, i'm sorry to bring this website to your attention. you're probably appalled by this shady underworld of the internet, and i bet you'll never want to even think about 'chatroulette' again. or at least you won't tell anyone you think about it. you disgusting cunts.

FUCK YOU I WON'T BUY WHAT YOU SELL ME

2009-12-14T15:22:00.007Z

MOTHERFUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRR

largely due to my loss of a television and subsequent gain of something better to do on a saturday night, i haven't watched the x factor much this year. once or twice, i've managed to catch it and properly get into it for a night or two, and fuck me it was awful.

whereas it's taken nearly a full twelve months for 3/4s of last year's contestants to be barged out of my brain by things like a-level revision, football rumours and my eleven times tables; this year i'm already struggling to remember anyone outside the final three and those heroes john and edward. honestly, who else was there?

even so, x factor is about as close as you can get to a national hysteria which consistently results in everyone having a fucking good time (instead of depression, like england world cup campaigns). this, coupled with the fact i think i still like pop music, means i like the x factor.

there you go, i said it. i'm not even being post-modern or an ironic indie shit about it, ok? i think maybe i've just (pro/re)gressed to the point where i can listen to joe mcelderry sing a miley cirus song, follow this up by listening to a pissed jeans album, and honestly enjoy both. in fact, i did the very same thing about two hours ago. IT WAS GREAT.

which is kinda why the battle between popular culture and sub-popular culture, which is emerging between fans of x factor winner joe and 'fans' of rage against the machine, confuses me a bit.

firstly, how could you hate joe? popjustice pointed out the legendary joe mcelderry head tilt:

JOE'S 10o TILTED GAZE: CONFIDENT, THOUGHTFUL, READY TO LISTEN

the very essence of a nice young lad, who you'd love to have living next door, no? in fact, i bet 90% of people, including those in the rage facebook group, have heard his songs and heard him sing more over the past few months than they've ever heard zack de la rocha bleat obscenities.

the people downloading their copies of 'killing in the name of' after being told to by the NME, are probably the very same who laughed, scorned or just numbingly sat there confused when any sensible music fan chose to watch rage at reading/leeds 2008 instead of babyshambles, gallows, dans le sac vs. scroobius pip or any other act whored under the rag's tent that year.

again, these are the very same people who've claimed they 'don't care' about the charts ever since they heard razorlight's debut single; so they are now getting a single to number one to prove so. and if it didn't already REEK of indie-snobbery enough, like the kids with 'fuck starbucks' stickers on their macbooks, THEY'RE BOTH ON THE SAME RECORD LABEL ANYWAY, SO BUYING RAGE'S SONG MAKES ABSOLUTELY NO DIFFERENCE.

how stupid does the campaign's slogan (the title of this blog post) look now?

since buying joe's single, i've been called a 'prick', an 'ASS' and told, sarcastically, i'm 'so cool'. thanks guys. here's to joe being number one.

HEY GIRLS. HEY BOYS.

2009-12-06T21:14:00.010Z

THIS IS MY ONLY FRIEND IN THE DJ WORLD. HOLD TITE GRANDMASTER TIBBLES.

moments ago, just as i was making a long overdue visit to my blog, my thunder was stolen. bradford cox (aka. bradford COCK! hahaha), the man who fronts deerhunter and atlas sound, and has never heard the words 'quality' and 'control' in the same sentence, has only gone a put a mixtape out. mixtape numero 24; full of bands who've not even heard of themselves, and then a gratuitous fall track. oh, that's just like the other 23 mixtapes then bradford! seriously mate, you need a girlfriend.

anyway, the real purpose of this blog entry was to tell you all that i'm the superstar dj around these parts now.

(yeah, i'm determined to tick all the boxes on the 'hipster student' checklist, so consider 'shit dj with illegally downloaded software' knocked off. all i need now is a 'bedroom music project', some buddy holly glasses and i'm done)

in the spirit of the whole 'best of the 2000s' thing that everyone is going about, i chose undeniably the two best songs of the decade, songs which are in no way easy to mix and the most convenient for me to use, and i mashed them up; yes, partly for your pleasure, but mainly for my own enjoyment. it's a great way to procrastinate.

um yeah, so here it is:

hello ghosts
'i luv daniel bedingfield'

there's parts where it's all gone pete tong (and not in the preferrable way), so see if you can spot them. after hearing it again, the levels are a bit off, dizzee's quiet, so i'll probably do it again. and i fucked up dubbing the 'i love you's because they were a spontaeneous addition. i'm so good at being a dj.

who knows, maybe you like it

lol

HAND OF FROG

2009-11-19T10:28:00.008Z

THIS IS A NATURAL & INSTINCTIVE REACTION THAT EVERYONE WOULD
TOTALLY DO ANYWAY SO IT'S NOT A BIG DEAL, OK!?

hot today, init? well actually, it was raining fucking hard last night, the entire county of cumbria faced the apocalypse, don't you know? still, some of us are sunning ourselves. i'm basking in the heat and glory of being a smug 'i told you so' twat. here's why:

the highest point in my journalist career (lol) so far was this article i wrote on BBC 606, back when i was 16. basically, it's me writing like one of the god awful 'pub experts' you get ringing up the god awful football phone-in which goes by the god awful same name. i'm writing about how much thierry henry's 'model professional' image pisses me off, when he's a sly a cunt as any.

it may not look like much, and it may read like shit (capital letters for fuck's sake, who uses them? and since when did i like diving?), but it was the leading article for the 606 website that week; it was featured on the BBC football front page ahead of all the pieces written by their top brass sports commentators, and got more comments and ratings than everything mark lawrenson's ever penned on there. combined.

the article's popularity can be explained easily; i am the king of kings when it comes to writing.
...
oh, and also by the fact that it was very controversial back then to lay a finger on henry, the sporting media's darling of the time. it was especially controversial if you were criticising his character, revealing him as a sinister little shit who's just as bad a cheat as your drogba's and ronaldo's of this world. he was billed as the good guy of football, a fine role model and a commentator's perfect excuse to bishop-bash their way through a match, rather than, you know, actually commentating on it. most people held respect for him, i just held contempt.

this led to me writing the article, my argument in it basically claiming ol' thierry was
a. a cheat
b. a hypocrite, with a faux 'nice guy' image

ratings ranged from a healthy amount of 1/5s, to a (slightly) healthier amount of 5/5s. i'd successfully split the opinion of imbeciles, and left them to club each other to a virtual discussion death, with weapons made from league permutations and the opta stats index. this must how writers at 'the sun' feel everyday. had i wrote the same article this morning though, it wouldn't have been a fair fight. my pack of 'experts' would have merked it. thierry henry is now the anti-christ, and quite right too.

RICHARD. I'VE ER... *SIGH*... YEAH, I'VE GOT SOMETHING TO TELL YOU

so i want to shoot down any fellow 'experts' who've appointed themselves henry's defence solicitors. and we'll start with the easiest bit.

it's no defence to say "you'd do the same" or "it's because he has great desire to win" (yeah, he's really shown that in his oh-so-passionate national career, hasn't he?). it's also not an "instinctive reaction". jesus christ. instinctive reaction? HE'S A FOOTBALLER. fuck knows why his first reaction to seeing a ball bounce is to touch it. especially when his left leg could so easily have controlled the ball, or heaven for fend, he could actually have let it run out of play for a corner.

henry's own defence of his actions is we can't blame him, because he's "not the referee". well if we're working with that kind of fucked up logic theirry, how about i divebomb my local swimming pool whilst eating a burger, and follow it up with some heavy petting? wait, you can't blame me, i'm not the RLSS qualified pool lifeguard.

rules in sport are primarily there to be observed, and only when in the failure of this, are they to be enforced.

it's strange too how henry's tune has changed from the FA Cup Final 2001, which arsenal lost 2-1 against liverpool. adamant back then that the game should be replayed after stephane henchoz's far less blatent handball denied him a clear goalscoring opportunity, i'd be amazed if this opinion emerges to have stuck with him all this time. yet when he's the one committing the foul, i doubt it.

the final desperate shield for herny to hide behind is the 'heat of the moment', which seems to have lasted for anything as long as 2 seconds to 20 minutes for the convenience of mr. henry and his crack defence team. one possibility during all this time, was that his model professional inside him could've shone through, and forced him to admit his crime to the referee. unfortunately, it didn't. instead he waited until the final whistle, until france's qualification was assured, and then came the most stomach-turning moment of the night.

in a bid to salvage what remained of thierry 'nice guy' henry, his va va voom and his precious million dollar advertising contracts, he slumped next to the dejected irish captain, richard dunne, who had just been robbed of his final chance at a world cup appearance, by the very left hand which rests metres away from him, teetering close to being wrapped around his shoulder in some kind of (sym)pathetic embrace. in scenes more patronising than teaching small children how to read, henry seeked reconciliation. amazingly, he got it.

now i could go into some rant about how noble richard dunne is for that, but i won't, and that's because he's not. there's no nobility in it, it is just football. positive emotions towards players are unfounded, based in nothing, as all they can do is win. they can never really be 'saviours', they can never really be 'brave', they can never really be 'heroes'.

however, they can be absolute twats. i'm afraid that last night, thierry henry proved my point.

CIDERCIDERCIDERCIDER

2009-11-14T01:40:00.005Z

ANOTHER QUIET NIGHT IN AT THE LIBRARY.... NOT!

two weeks (a.k.a half a month, 1/26th of the year, whatever of the decade) ago, i kind of promised i'd tell you what happened the day i left behind the hedonistic, free-for-all, illegal substance fest that was my 18th year on our dying space rock. it was the day my life should suddenly get serious, the day i turned 19 years old.

in terms of blogging, sincere and calculated planning went into that day, with leaps forward never seen before in chorley blogosphere, waiting to be made. i was going to 'tweet' about it for fucks sake! yeah, you didn't see that coming.

yet as you can see from my most recent outburst on social networking's answer to a bird coop, the minute-by-minute reports never actually came to fruition. mainly because i actually have a life. for those interested though, a rough draft of my timetabled day would look something like this:

29 - 30 October
1000: getting up for lecture
1220: missing my lecture
1400: buying lots of cider
1401: drinking lots of cider
1600: erm...
1900: think i wen... no, can't remember.
2000: flatmates' presents :'''')
2300: DEFINITELY went out at this point
0030: being kicked out of heebie jeebies
0100: in er... nope. gone again
0540: four vom bombs down my toilet
1000: part of my soul died

and so did my spirit for writing this fucking thing. my blog, yeah? what's the craic with that? it's 19 years since my egg hatched, and in that time i've done what? had some mutated scribbles teach me how to write, formed a basic vocabulary derived entirely from MATCH! magazine and churned out some pseudo-brooker ramblings for you, proving how much of a emo, cultural abyss i am. that's it.

so then i sat back and i counted to ten. deep breaths.

i am a star in the perpetual night.
i am a star in the perpetual night.
i am a star in the perpetual night.

and now i'm calm. i'm ready to blog; if only i had the inspiration. possible future titles are:

can you play football in an altered state? (e.g. drunk, stoned, on e)
penny lane: the graffiti years
starting XIs: rhyming surnames
where is the jam? (a sonnet)

plus gig reviews, and me generally chatting grit. let's just hope i get round to it, yeah?

p.s: there was never really a big crisis of confidence. this blog is more popular than ever and ever (hold tite tom prior, and sim and rachael in c block. yeahhhhh boiiiiiii). i'm just lazy, that's all.
more soon xxxxxx

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

2009-10-29T01:56:00.002Z

dear mark,

happy 19th birthday. let's not fuck this year up.

love,
your blog

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i'll blog about the raucous celebrations such an anniversary brings about tomorrow. one lecture, one seminar today. i'm going to be drunk in both.

LOS CAMPESINOS! @ THE DEAF INSTITUTE - 26/10/09

2009-10-27T20:07:00.007Z

PLZ CAN YOU PLZ STOP HURTING MY FWEND PLZ :**(

the amount of people who don't know that pigs wear nose-rings is something else. no, i don't know why a farmer would put a ring through a pig's nose; BUT IT HAPPENS, OK? perhaps these people were all swept up with that unpierced powderpuff 'babe', and his shit excuse for a full sheep pen. perhaps they never read 'the owl and the pussycat', and so did not witness the integral role a punctured-piggy has to play in that. perhaps they're just fucking philistines.

if you are one of these people, you should've come to see los campesinos! at the deaf institute last night. there, your (agri)cultural deficit would've been filled. you would've seen a real life nose-slit swine, and not only that, but one that talks. one that has real human friends. one in a disguise as a short&porky bi-curious skater bitch, when in reality, 'she' is a troff-munching, swill-swilling P.I.G.

TAKEN BY A DUDE WITH A SHIT CAMERA PHONE, WHO I PROBABLY PUSHED

FAO NOSE RING GIRLPIG:
- no i won't "stop taking the piss out of [your] friends"
- me and my friends don't take the piss out of blind people anyway.
- especially blind people we know.
- but if you're just going to assume we do, from now on we will.
- p.s: you're fat

cheers.

i'm glad i keep my invaluable immaturity present and correct in this blog.
(bullying girls on the internet - a new low?)

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anyway, shortly before this sow-er note to the night; myself, marcus and kieron had just trotted our way down to the deaf institute to catch the last few songs of copy haho, the second support act of the night after sparky deathcap. sparky is the man who last night took on broken britain (i.e. two teens shouting their way through his entire set) and 'won'; by asking 'give us a chance, ey lads?', literally five seconds before finishing. where was his cock-sure attitude one song in? pussy.

back to copy haho though. they are, surprisingly, indie rock. this genre-cast had deceived my ears on their top little ep 'bred for skills and magic'. i suppose whilst listening to that, i got a bit lost on quite how to pin them down, thus giving me the urge to go all NME and claim they sounded something like cheerios being shot through a panda's vagina or something.

in copy haho's case though, why create an embarrassingly wacky simile when a simple formulae explains their appeal?:

(good beat + good dynamics + good melody) - shit hair = copy haho

ah, i forgot. add technical difficulties into the equation. poor souls had a few guitars break, which would honestly not have taken anything away from the performance, if only the lead singer had STOPPED FUCKING APOLOGISING FOR IT. man up ffs, this is a los campesinos gig! yet overall, very good.

HEY PHOTO-MAN, EVER HEARD OF A DIFFERENT ANGLE?

steven wells' favourite 'fourteen legged abortion' came on stage half an hour later, with two new legs (kim campesinos!, gareth's sister, refilling the ginger quota after aleks left in the summer) and two extra ones (wee sparky joined in).

when faced with crowd of melodramatic twee-mos, who carry the weight of food tech, texts back and training bras on their pre-pubescent shoulders (quite literally in the latter's case), the dainty 'you'll need those fingers for crossing' was perhaps not the sugar-rushed opener you would've expected to match the saccharine audience. no matter how much you dance like you own a zimmer-frame gareth, that song will never get the kiddies doing the same. the song was however, a welcome antithesis to the inevitable dance madness that would later meet old favourites 'death to los campesinos!', 'knee deep at atp' and of course, 'you! me! dancing!'.

foolishness such as this is to be expected, nay required, if an evening out watching live music features the words 'los' and 'campesinos!', so to complain would be silly. it would also be hypocritical; we pushed our fair share kayfabe friends around, who proceeded to exhale and roll their eyes in unison. who knew being "those wankers" could be so much fun? my only disappointment being the lack of under-developed, 14 year-old boob slips in all the pushing and shoving. and yes i do blame the band for this.

actually, two disappointments. unfortunately, for the second time in my history of seeing them, lc! managed to prove you can have too many instruments. my frustration was however only confined to a few opening songs, as the sound guy managed to pull harriet's violin out of the indistinguishable racket it was making, and transform it into the stand-out element of the band's sound that her instrument has the potential to be. it's just a shame it was near non-existant for '...fingers'. my heart melts at that strings part :')

last night was also a big showcase for the new, 'darker' material they have coming out in february. heh, yeah. in all fairness, it's darker because they're like mid-twenty-something now and haven't wrote these songs on two litres of cherryade. and it suits them better. charlotte greene now has TWO songs about her, there's less chance of the ultra-fast tempo violin dying mid-set, and far more lyrics about football. all in all, an improvement.

overall then, on a night where you tickle the guitarists armpits, throw people at the lead singer and offend a girlpig, how can you possibly give a bad review? especially when in the middle of all that, one of your favourite bands play a pretty rad rock show?

twee-mo 4 lyf.

9/10

NICK GRIFFIN'S BIG DAY OUT

2009-10-24T02:24:00.009+01:00

"WAIT A MINUTE... THIS ISN'T A QUESTION OF SPORT"
REALNICKGRIFFIN

perhaps it's understandably slipped out of the british public's wide political conscious by now, but does anyone remember 'expenses 09'? back when the thought of your hard-earned tax dollar paying for a microscopic percentile of the bexhill and battle MP's bath plug, made your brunch taste particularly bitter? hopefully i'm ringing some bells. if you'd forgotten all about it, don't worry. the lovely folk at question time fixed it.

what happened was, one day in may, they got a room full of angry people on £50k p/a, and had them shout a bit at 'theiving politicians™'. approximately one hour later, everyone was back home in time for news at ten, proud to fulfill their 'democratic duty'. they were also ready to sit on their arse when the polling stations opened in june, because 'they don't trust none of 'em'. things like susan boyle, manchester united and the FTSE were important again. politics was off the agenda. problem solved innit. thanks QT!

only, it was june like a week later. those polling stations opened, and the 'british public' now cared more about crossing simon cowell's boxes, rather than those next to the names of political parties. result: quasimodo and the 'bloody nazi pricks' now represent us in the european parliament.

'TRAVESTY!', 'OUTRAGE!', 'DISGRACE!' cried liberal england; admittedly in a muffled fashion, from behind a guardian 'mushrooms wallchart' just before adding they were aware their previous statements contradicted freedom of speech. where could they now turn to fight the tide of fascism (p.s: with the smallest possible chance of being arrested)? why, back to david dimbles and the QT boys of course!

fast forward a few months, and we're in london. it's been decided the best possible way to ridicule mr. griffin and friends, is to give his views a national platform on question time. the british public will then unanimously judge these views to be wrong, because they're far too intelligent to elect fascists like the BNP into a position of pow... oh, shit. wait. they already did.

probably shouldn't have had him on then.

ah well anyway, it worked a treat.

the problem with last night was, the grilled griffin burger some expected to be served up was more a smoked ham. the middle-class pulpit present was all too ready to heckle and harrass poor quasimodo, instead of challenging his ideas, and the ideas of his fellow panelists which allow fascism to breed. just look at some of the hardline questioning offered up from the floor:

"how do you define an ethnic minority when everyone is an ethnic minority?"
"how much travelling have you done nick?"
"dick griffin, where do you want me to go?"

MERCY AUDIENCE, THE MAN SWEATS ENOUGH ALREADY.

and now it's all over, what have we gained? and don't tell me it's not about that, because the BNP have gained 3000 members out of it. so what have people who oppose those ideas been able to take from all this?

do we oppose them more?
erm, no.

do more people oppose them?
i doubt it. if anything, it was evidence for the argument that this country's accepted consensus is 'BNP = bad'.

was it therefore a success?
again, no.

the most ugly of p.r. excercises seems to have backfired, and we might now have to face the consequences. how, you ask? we'll discuss it on question time of course.

RAWR!

2009-10-15T00:31:00.007+01:00

BACK FROM THE DEAD

sup,

someone told me i had to hit university life hard; you know, take to it like a duck to water/dad to daughter/jew to slaughter. i did it. i hit it fucking hard.

point is, because i was out on FRESHERS 09, these blogs kind of stopped. now i know how much of a loss to the blogging community the end of 'hello ghosts' would mean, it has achieved so much in such a short space of time (e.g. getting chorley on the shortlist for the uk capital of mutha' fuckin' culture!). that's why i'm kick starting things again.

i mean, hello ghosts never really went away. things ain't going to change. remember when rio ferdinand couldn't play football for 18 months, because he was an corn-rowed, dopey pseudo-crackhead shit footballer? and remember when he came back the same corn-rowed, dopey pseudo-crackhead shit footballer? yeah, it's going to be a bit like that.

so, rest assured. after three/four (?) weeks of fun, on some weeknights at least, my social life can now be confined to the scaled prison gates of facebook again. i'll therefore be blogging a bit more.

but only a bit. i'm not an anti-social freak like you.

x

KANYE WEST DOESN'T CARE ABOUT WHITE BLOGS

2009-09-18T00:57:00.003+01:00

proof: kanyelicio.us

THE ODYSSEY /// A HALF-WAY THRU REVIEW

2009-09-17T00:38:00.005+01:00

homer's 'odyssey' is a fucking shambles.

on hearing the title, i think it's pretty fair of me that i assumed i'd be in for a tale of a long journey, filled with the overcoming of fierce challenges, the downfall of old enemies and the reckless nature of adventure. you know, something similar to my beavers' retreat to great tower in 1998.

everyone on that trip was at least two years older than me. they beat me up at football, they pushed me over on the tyre swings, they called me 'gay' and i had no idea what they meant.

so if i was to write an 'epic poem' about this particular self-esteem damaging odyssey of my own, IT WOULDN'T FUCKING FINISH HALFWAY THROUGH.

that's right; i've read just over half of the twenty-four 'books' that make up odyesseus' journey, the second oldest piece of western literature to date, and guess what, he's already got home.

in fact, the actual journey took up only four chapters, and that was all in the protagonist's retrospect, as he tells one of the many far-too-hospitable kings he meets on the way back to ithaca about his so called ordeal.

the rest of the epic is odysseus dressing up as a beggar, and murdering the men who've had the cheek of even wanking over his wife, who he's left sexually ungratified for the best part of ten years whilst he's presumed dead. now that's hardly justified, is it?

so ignoring the underwhelming second half fit for a 1:45pm slot on itv2 and nothing else, i think i can summarise some good and bad points about homer's odyssey:

good

scrounger man odysseus likes to visit every mythical mediterranean land mass and moan exhaustingly about his shit existence. of course he shuts up when he gets some free food and treasure ffs. one time though he goes a step too far, and whilst prostituting his dignity to some cyclops, the one eyed giant grabs two of his mates, cracks their skulls open and eats them.
equally as good, when odysseus' men try the begging game on again, this time to a goddess called circe on some other island, they all get turned into pigs. and then they all cry! pussies.
one guy gets pissed on circe's roof, tries to get down when he hears his mates, but misses the ladder and again, homer fully describes a skull breaking and brains gushing out everywhere.
six others get chewed up and spat out by a cave monster; they scream for odysseus whilst they are each devoured in segments by the beast. the gore in the poem is generally the best part.
only other good bit is odysseus' idea to escape from the cyclopses, by tying themselves to the bellies of sheep. fucking genius, where are guys like this in fallujah?

bad

these bold warriors, these mythical men of untold courage; every single one of them cries when the slightest bit of shit hits the fan. they do it when they're hungry, when they take a detour to the underworld, when someone breaks a fucking oar. it's ridiculous conduct from characters i presumed would make frank bruno look all feminine.

and then obviously all the 'hey honey, i'm home' shit in chapter 14. maybe the rest will be better. i mean, it's not actually that terrible and challenging a read as some would have you believe. actually it's entertaining in parts, but it's just not the simpsons.

HOWDUNNIT?

2009-09-10T00:32:00.003+01:00

i don't know if you saw it, but earlier on tonight derren brown predicted the national lottery draw.

he got all six balls correct.

now some of you may find it entertainment enough to witness something unexplainable happen.
that is nowhere near as entertaining as witnessing idiots trying to explain it.

here's a selection of youtube theories:

ruperthead
"its funny how the upright part of the stand is like a tube, perhaps there is hot air blowing up the stand and onto the balls thus melting away a small covering and revieling the numbers he wants. hes def talking into his sleeve as the numbers roll out of the machine then some 2nd person is setting the temperature of the hot air to reviel the correct numbers on the balls."

nyahoni
"the balls are blank. the numbers are added digitally and tracked with the camera movements. He moves every ball individually by touching them to add to the effect. the balls will have a target marker on them that the camera can also detect and track convincingly. that's what i reckon and i'm sticking with it!"

nbrader
That's stupid.

He's recorded every combination and spliced it together.

samdanielphoto
watch the bottom left corner, the camera shake appears to freeze between 5:08-5:11 - spliced?

LOOK AT THE GRASSY KNOLL!!!

... urgh. internet.

NEW LOS CAMPESINOS!(!)

2009-09-09T11:41:00.009+01:00

TWATTIEST PICTURE OF THEM I COULD FIND

once the most insincere, childlike "fourteen-legged abortion" of a band, los campesinos! are now attempting to give evidence of serious musical credentials. they've done this by making an insincere, childlike, fourteen syllables a bar emo-rock song. here it is:

it's alright init. i like them more when they're happy though.

DOWNLOAD / LOS CAMPESINOS - THE SEA IS A GOOD PLACE TO THINK OF THE FUTURE
(right click - save as)

MY BATTLE WITH ACNE

2009-09-03T17:51:00.004+01:00

MAN HEY MAN!

for the past eighteen months, i've been at constant war.

you might have already assumed who my very unworthy adversary may be; fascists, the loose women, martin keown; all justifiable targets. but my true enemy is greater in strength than all these combined. it comes from within, it is my acne.

whilst lesser veterans wap out easy-on plasters at the first sign of chemical outbreak, i've been making do with the red, white and black blotches defying differin and gourging on my face for the best part of my young adult life.

still, not yet am i a certified pizzaface, i have some way to go before i'm more cratered than all of jupiter's sixty-three moons, i mean it is only 'mild'. nevertheless, it's fairly disabling.

and yh you can call me insensitive if for some reason you're reading this from a hospital bed whilst a room of balding heads and moist mouths watch yr indigified final few hours, but amongst my six followers, that seems quite unlikely. besides, who do people with terminal illnesses need to impress? their bed pan nurse? exactly.

what if i've met my 1tru<3 but she's too scared of my face?
what if i've walked round chorley, pussing and bleeding without even knowing?
fuck that, what if i scar?!

or what if they're just spots, they'll go away and i should just get over it?

yh, probably the latter.

FANTASY NOVELLAS

2009-09-03T17:20:00.002+01:00

WOW YH, DRAGONS!

apparently "everyone" is writing them!

are dragons cool?
are elves hot?
is games workshop the new action records?
is jonny green the new nathan williams?

are you writing your fantasy 'epic' novella now? i am.

looks like i've tapped into a whole new sub-culture that VICE hasn't even scratched the authenticity off yet. fuck you.

LEEDS FESTIVAL 2009: REVIEW

2009-08-31T20:59:00.010+01:00

leeds festival is a fucking HIVE of blogging goodness.

STAPLE DIET: YORKIE PUD W/ CHIPS&GRAVY; GREEDY CUNT W/ FORK OPTIONAL

it's a bit like cheerios or yakult, but offers up an emalgamation of everything 'yoof culture' instead of whole grain and good bacteria.

so this o.d. of fertile blogging fodder means this is going to be both a long and divided blog post. i'll cover the two main talking points that leeds festival throws up every year; music and fashion.

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MUSIC
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GOOD SHIT
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BLOOD RED SHOES

thursday night; i'm pissed, i'm in a mosh pit, i'm kissing some beautiful, random girl who apparently lives the down the road from me (but unfortunately got punched in the face and was never seen again). then to top it all off, i was watching my favourite performance of the weekend. wayda peak early, doofus.

CRYSTAL CASTLES
only disappointment was me not vagging alice glass like i said i would. and that buck stops firmly with me; if anything her crowd-surfing antics were a green light. yet aside from the insufficient finger fun (and the absence of 'untrust us'), crystal castles were brilliant.

you just wish all the horrible little indies, who liked 'cc' two years ago but now think they're shit and they listen to 'chase and status' instead, simply because they followed this image that wasn't even... fucking... 8-bit alt fuckin'... argh.

sorry, that was merely an abject reflection.

i just wish they'd shut the fuck up.

DANANANANAYKROYD
congratulations festival republic! you scheduled the best live band in the country to play at midday, on the second biggest stage, about fifty metres away from their feverish, energetic crowd. a wonderful achievement for time management and your file-a-faxes. have a biscuit. a jammy dodger. laced with fucking arsenick.

thankfully, danananana(...one, two, three, fou... yeah that's right)ykroyd worked their way around this stalemate set-up, through the 'wall of hugs'. i was maxi-monged out at the time they were instructing the crowd on how two separated lanes of stinking teenagers should crash into eachother's arms and declare love, so to get caught up in the amourous aftermath was a sweet and sobering wake-up call. as was the music itself. 'hardcore scream pop-punk' apparently. these lot are onto something.

THE MACCABEES
fao blood red shoes, maccabees and other bands: if you play well, i tend to pull good looking girls. kutgw yh?

i was put off the maccabees when i was put off listening to what the nme says. good choice. also my associations with their first album is mostly to do with fucking up and being naive about girls.

music + romance so intertwined for me right now :')

ahem. but honestly, they were good. second album material especially. the bellowing chants they pack into three quarters of their songs work especially well in swaying festival hordes, and they're bascially everything i would've loved rickity pip to be. uncomplicated indie pop for the people. much love.

NOTABLE MENTIONS...
RADIOHEAD
WILD BEASTS
BEAR HANDS
YEAH YEAH YEAHS
TITUS ANDRONICUS
THE XX
AIRSHIP
PULLED APART BY HORSES

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BAD SHIT
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THE HORRORS

duuuudes. if you're going to make a really good album, pack it full of synths and pedal shit and make it sound like a my bloody valentine b-side compilation; learn how the play it live. please.

look, i even said it politely. such disappointment was felt in the pit of my belly from the jaunted, out of time and feedbacked performance these lot gave, i'm probably going to choose volunteer work over seeing them again this weekend at offset. that's right. i'd rather sweat and not get paid for it. a real let down.

LETHAL BIZZLE
bastard was supposed to do an interview with me, but bailed. apparently he read my peice with sarajevo, found it far too boundary pushing. chatted shit about 'gonzo' or something? why would i want to talk about the muppets? whatever, i did it anyway:

LETHAL BIZZLE, WHO DO YOU THINK HAS DONE THE MOST IN FORWARDING HIP-HOP; AFRIKA BAMBAATAA, GRANDMASTER FLASH OR DJ PIED PIPER?
LB: DO YOU REALLY LIKE IT? IS IT IS IT WICKED? I'M SHIT.

THANK YOU LETHAL BIZZLE

he boycotts my interviews, i say boycott bizzle.

THE COURTEENERS
can't blame anyone except myself, i'm not sure why i watched them. these guys are just the carletons, except they're in their late 20's/early 30's, have better haircuts and write worse songs.

because all the courteeners' songs focus on pretty much one subject: the libertines.

they're telling you how shit you are if you don't like them oneminute (like the eyeliner-clad 'fallowfield hillbillies') and how shit you are if you do the next ("moulded libertine dream" bands attacked on 'acrylic'). liam fray (a.k.a. other-liam-lite) isn't "morrissey with some strings" as he would like to have you think, he's 'mark morrison without some blings'. i just pray he doesn't return.

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FASHION
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WHO WORE IT BEST?
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walking round leeds this year, there were some sights. all were viewed with sore eyes, and in most incidents the uncomfort was necessary. about three days in and having already lost valuable blogging time, i decided to record in photgraphic form the best garments i saw about, and erm, i don't know, put them up here and try pick a winner? here's the shortlist (or at least all the pictures of clothes i have):

1. WHAM! T-SHIRT: HOMEMADE /// WORN BY RAD DUDE

2. BREATHALIZER T-SHIRT /// WORN BY RADDER DUDE

3. RED CHECKED SHIRT /// WORN BY ME, THESE TWO AND 79,997 OTHER DUDES

4. TENT SLOGAN /// 'WORN' BY TENT OWNERS

(IF THE TENT IS ROCKIN', DON'T COME KNOCKIN')

5. POTATO SACK/DRESS /// WORN BY NEIL GARRY

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in my eyes, there is one clear winner. but as a wise old film director once said, "it’s up to you to decide, and you know why? because this is a democracy and we have choice."

bye leeds

LEEDS FESTIVAL: PREVIEW

2009-08-26T23:09:00.002+01:00

lack of blogging: lame excuse
pretty sure my arm is broke. not healed properly since my arrest. it all deteriorated on sunday night. i was kicking the shit out of this moth who was flying round my room, but eventually i came off worse.

my strategy of whacking a towel around was a poorly chosen one. self-inflicted myself some significant damage on the arm. typing's been a struggle, but i'm match fit now. here goes:

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LEEDS FESTIVAL 09: DOES IT REALLY METTERS?

THOM YORKE AND THE CREEPS: HEADLINING ALONG WITH LESSER BEINGS

this; my barely moist armpits, ink-stained palms and the eight acne blemishes on my face that i'd really like to oust by tommorrow; this is the cleanest i'm going to be until (approximately) monday, 1400GMT.

LEEDS FESTIVAL IS TOMORROW, and i can't really be arsed.
there's like nine bands i'd really like to see on the marcus barnett scale of desperation, two of them on the thursday night ffs. so here is, in ten words each (i need to go to bed), a selected few of the good and the bad and the bad bad bad bands of leeds festival 2k9.

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BLOOD RED SHOES
good. laura mary carter, does facebook mutual friend constitute add?

THE RAKES
bad. harry holden watching the best band in the world.

PATRICK WOLF
good. he writes songs in bed naked, with a boy!

CRYSTAL CASTLES
good. i should try to touch alice glass on the vag

LETHAL BIZZLE
bad. 'grindie'; uniting rich white kids/poor black kids everywhere.

CHASE AND STATUS
bad. 'dubstep'; uniting rich white kids/poor black kids everywhere.

LIGHTSPEED CHAMPION
meh. 'dev'; uniting rich white kids/rich black kid everywhere.

FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE
bad. posh girl howls, climbs scaffolding, hopefully breaks limbs/neck.

RADIOHEAD
boring. will have to watch or i must hate music.

DANANANANAYKROYD
good. on stupid stage, at a stupid time, stupid leeds.

LA ROUX
bad. bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad
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off to enjoy my holiday. blog when back.

FACEBOOK FIRST IMPRESSIONS

2009-08-23T20:34:00.006+01:00

most people probably know where they're going to uni now, and moreover where they are staying, perhaps even who with. yh i didn't, until about an hour ago when liverpool uni sent me an e-mail with a very generous accommodation offer of everything i NEVER wanted and more.

expensive catered halls, 3 miles outside the city, in one of the smaller houses. wow, <3u2 guys.

so in full expectance any appeal i make will not be accepted, i've opened up to the inevitability of it all, and decided on the pro's and con's of living in morton house.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
pro's - the name reminds me of my greenock morton save game, on football manager 2005

con's - the name reminds me of tom morton, a chorley person last relevant in 2005
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

that's it.

well really, it all depends upon what the people i'm staying with are like.

so now i'm checking out the 'morton house 09/10' facebook group, and its hefty 4 members, with the intent of trying to make extremely unbalanced, ill-informed first impressions of my new friends based soley on the limited information their profile gives. and naturally i am blogging them.

for a cultural slant on this blog, look towards the effects of social networking on the ability of judgement in the post-crash bandicoot y2k generation.

enter housemate numero un... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ JON MITCHELL ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
WOO TUX SHOT! all i get is a profile picture, but there's so many questions to be asked already. why is he wearing a suit? high school leavers' do, surely? so either he's kept the picture up for two years (takes pride in looking smart) or he's a fucking overachieving little bastard who's 16 and up for being bullied.

or he went to a sixth form? endless possibilities. in fact he's the spit of a boy from my school, just without the pizza-face acne.

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RYAN HILTON
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i'm sure we'll talk for hours and hours

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RACHEL MELLING
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a fucking new rave ballerina?! wow. she seems particularly happy, natural smile; unlike me ol' mucker jon in the first pic. good to see gingers are represented in the halls though, we can trade factor 50+ and discuss our years of childhood torment.

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FIONN AMHAIRGHEN BALL
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hmmm. hipster or gay?

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can't wait until i become best friends with these four and show them the blog.

funfunfun

BRADSHAW & BROOKS: STFU

2009-08-22T22:45:00.007+01:00

i'm pretty sick of writing self-deprecating introductions which attempt to justify what i'm on about in every blog; but in the realm of film, i need to do it.

my knowledge of film is not so much a vast desert of emptiness, but more a sewage pipe. it's dark, unknown and filled with shit. this is why this isn't the 'culture blog' ffs.

so basically what i'm trying to say is, if you want to hear about inglorious basterds, quentin tarantino's new fasch-bashing film, you're better off going to peter bradshaw or xan brooks for a more informed and educated movie review.

oh, wait. no you're not.

guardian film reviewers: shut the fuck up. those reviews are simply unexplainable; beyond any decent comprehension once you've actually witnessed the 'kosher porn' cinematic jewel that is tarantino's best film since 1994's pulp fiction (well erm, out of all the ones i've seen at least).

there seems to be no consideration in either review for what the film's narrative is, an alternate history and what's more, a complete piss-take. to even attempt to criticise it on historical grounds seems somewhat naive, considering this film ends in the most magical act of retribution that history itself did not and could not ever have truly fulfilled.

in fact, it's almost as if it requires the imagination of tarantino, just as refreshing and fast-paced as ever, to provide such an undeniable justice as the final confrontation between eli roth's character, donny 'the jew bear' donowitz and adolf hitler, the fuhrer himself.

fellow critics (getting ahead of myself now) have targeted roth's performance as a source of rare criticism, but aside from his seemingly soft approach towards a bat-wielding 'bear' character in his introductory scene, enough of roth's angst presents itself as the film progresses to justify his performance alongside brilliant depictions from christopher waltz (colonel hans 'jew hunter' landa, the film's main antagonist and charming, multi-lingual nazi bastard), and melanie laurent (shosanna dreyfus, the cinema owner and principal character outlet for tarantino's jewish retribution).

in retrospect, perhaps the only disappointment is brad pitt. despite possessing a character with near limitless potential (albeit not quite as much as that of hans landa), pitt at times seems insecure in the role of aldo raine; at odds with more than just the accent, which subtly struggles throughout. even so, he provides some of the films funnier moments, without which bradshaw and brooks might further mistake this film as a sincere account of the fall of the third reich.

now here comes the outlandish statement, which in a few words, captures all the controversy another four or five paragraphs could. inglorious basterds is the film of the year. in fact, it's one of the best films i've ever seen.

by being a tarantino film, it carries a certain integrity before you enter the cinema. once you leave, the destruction of such integrity through a film filled with sliced scalps, bashed-out brains and the perforated profile of adolf hitler, is completely enthralling. the ending alone is worth the long running time, which flies by thanks to tarantino's deep characters, split narrative and regained technique in the building of tension.

go out and see it now, and fuck the guardian.

SARAJEVO /// INTERVIEW

2009-08-20T00:15:00.005+01:00

woo garage rock! yh, sarajevo are a band from preston, who've recently been hitting the mad ferret pretty fucking hard.

frontman richard and drummer jenny were heroic enough to email me back the other day after i'd give them some questions to mull over.

RAWWWWWWR

check it outttt...
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THERE’S NO BETTER PLACE TO START THAN THE BEGINNING; BUT IGNORING THAT AND WITHOUT SOUNDING PESSIMISTIC, HOW DO YOU ULTIMATELY SEE SARAJEVO ENDING? (E.G. DRUG-FUELLED BITCH FIGHTS, AN OFF-THE-WALL 37TH ALBUM, ETC.?)
r: i think everyone has a different view on what it would be like. my views are if we did someday make it ‘big’ i’d be happy just to gradually withdraw and retire almost. if we did split we’d make it some fuck off huge scandal like we were all married to jenny without knowing it or something stupid like that.

HOW WAS SARAJEVO FORMED?
r: i met will around july 2008 and we talked for 3 hours in preston topshop (yes, topshop) about music, bands etc., then when he started college we got the ball rolling. matt and will had known each other through school and then after a week of asking for drummers we found jenny. she proved she could hit the shit out of a drum kit and the band was formed.

SARAJEVO ISN’T THE FIRST NAME YOU’VE HAD. WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THE OTHERS? AND WHY ‘SARAJEVO’?
r: we started out as ‘the skrapperjacks’, which was a name will had used for a few projects. i think between september and march we went through about 6 names, from ‘the cardiacs’ to ‘the rough’uns’.

none of the others had any staying power, we chose a name and liked it then once the novelty had worn off we were after something different and sarajevo seemed to work. plus there was the fantastic matt murphy line of “if we play with franz ferdinand, do we get to shoot them?".

WHAT GENRES AND BANDS INFLUENCE THE SOUND OF SARAJEVO?
j: well we struggle to answer questions like this simply because it’s such a broad range. will was brought up on t. rex and the smiths, richard grew up following britpop bands then discovered joy division, the smiths etc. matt’s always been into the heavier stuff and i’m a massive bowie fan.

i think our sound if it was to be described as anything is largely post-punk and garage rock. i often describe us as the horrors playing joy division, which seems to fit nicely.

THE SONGS THEMSELVES, WHO WRITES THEM? WHAT’S THE WRITNG PROCESS LIKE AND ANY PARTICULAR TOPICS THEY’RE BASED ON?
r: the music is written by will, but matt chips in with his own baselines from time to time. lyrics were predominantly will’s musings about what he sees/does and then i’d edit them into a suitable structure and melody. i’ve started to write again recently so some of the lyrics are again my musings about life/preston/women.

POLITICS IS ONE TOPIC THAT FEATURES IN YR SONGS. WHAT ARE THE BAND’S POLITICS IN GENERAL?
r: well we’ve had one or two friendly political debates from time to time mark, and as you know i’m slightly more than moderately right wing. i’ve found solace in UKIP i believe that politics isn’t/shouldn’t be about statistics and figures and what have you but about what’s going on out there on your doorstep. i get slated when i say i voted for UKIP but if i’m honest having read various parties policies and manifestos they seem to be the party which addresses what I see to be wrong with the country which is ultimately what politics should be about on a public level. if more people felt they could get involved then british politics would be completely different.

william like you holds quite strong socialist values and i do have a socialist streak to myself. and it makes for good conversation. jenny and matt seem to take a back seat on things, although they do hold concern with the lack of patriotism shown in this country at present and the fear of showing it.

YOU’RE LOCKED IN A ROOM WITH DAVID CAMERON, GORDON BROWN AND A PISTOL, BUT ONLY ONE BULLET. WHAT HAPPENS?
r: i’d knock them out with it and then angle their heads so that the bullet goes through brown’s skull and then continues into cameron’s. i have lost respect for the both of them. brown took on a mess and made it worse, cameron just seems to be using it to his advantage as a kind of ‘look at me i wouldn’t have done that’. he’s a smarmy bugger. i’ve no time for either of them anymore.

I HEARD A RUMOUR ‘ARGUMENTS’ GOT PULLED OFF MYSPACE BECAUSE OF A COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT. IS THAT TRUE?
j: you are correct, it’s a fucking stupid scenario. basically the song, along with ‘not for the good times’ was co-written by will and members of his previous band ‘the drawback’, who now have two members remaining. one's in cambridge and the other's in blackburn. they haven’t even gigged for nearly two years. anyway, they say that they don’t want us using it. its not copyright infringement as such, but we are dropping the song, which is a waste of a good song. and so friday’s gig at the mad ferret will be the last time they will be played by us.

we should keep it by rights, because they’ve nothing on us. but to avoid bad blood and hassle it’ll be easier just to drop them from the set. sad I know, but that’s life i guess.

BEST/WORST GIG EXPERIENCE SO FAR?
j: the best was undoubtedly our first mad ferret gig, with ‘mobius loop’ ‘mindshock’ and ‘jelly’s last jam’. we played out of our skins and made a lot of good friends. the worst one was the one last saturday (august 15th), at ‘CODA’ *crosses self*. it was a three day ‘beach themed’ festival and we were on at about 3pm. the audience consisted of mine and richard’s partners, the sound guys, three random girls and a guy who’s name evades me. but he’s a top bloke.

DESCRIBE THE FEELINGS IN YR STOMACH AND BLOOD PRESSURE LEVELS UPON READING THE LIVE REVIEW FROM KATE MATTHEWS IN LEEDS
r: it was you who drew our attention to that if i’m not mistaken, i showed it to them next band practice and we were all a bit dumbfounded by it. she didn’t strike me as impartial when reading the paragraph on ‘asking dan’. i was fuming in my intoxicated state when first reading it but like i always say, everyone has the right to their own opinion. mine needless to say is a negative one!

WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF THE LOCAL SCENES IN PRESTON AND BLACKBURN?
r: they are poor. i’ve been saying this to a few people, that I think they get over looked due to their proximity to manchester, but there are some fucking good bands in both preston and blackburn. i think an alliance or something needs to be formed by a few dedicated bands and venues to try and bring greater exposure to the two towns.

j: i agree there are so few venues and places for alternative music, aside from warehouse, the mad ferret and the now closed coda, which I believe is turning into a cabaret bar. there is very few places to go listen to bands/music and mong out on the dance floor, without anyone giving a shit and without people looking at you funny because you aren’t dancing ‘right’.

I’VE RESEARCHED, HONEST, BUT WHAT THE FUCK DOES ‘JACKSONIAN’ MEAN? AND HOW’S THAT EP COMING ALONG?
r: i believe its with regards to the ‘jacksonian seizure’, which is associated with epilepsy.

"jacksonian seizures are initiated with abnormal electrical activity within the primary motor cortex. they are unique in that they travel through the primary motor cortex in succession, affecting the corresponding muscles, often beginning with the fingers. this is felt as a tingling sensation."
(i did just look that up on wikipedia)

j: it’s coming along nicely. obviously with all the shit that’s been happening with the recordings we have we’ve had to scrap material and write more stuff to fill the ep, but we have the number of a good guy and we’ll be going into the studio september/october time.

WOULD YOU RATHER EAT CHOCOLATE-FLAVORED POO, OR POO-FLAVOURED CHOCOLATE?
j: where’s matt when you need him?

(HG: fucking bullet dodgers)

FINALLY, ANY GIGS SOON WE CAN CATCH YOU AT?
r: obviously as I mention earlier mad ferret on friday 21st august, with ‘torrents’ and a few other quality bands which should mean a good night. about 8pm i’d say.

j: we’re then taking time out for the recordings and stuff, but we’re back at the ferret in october on the 23rd, which again should be a top night.

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props to these two for taking my interview cherry :*)

mad ferret, 8pm this friday, get on it. i'll be there in a corner if anyone's lonely. apparently they have a surprise for me as well. not that you'd care.

www.myspace.com/sarajevo1967

GANG GANG DANCE @ THE DEAF INSTITUTE /// 18/08/09

2009-08-19T23:06:00.004+01:00

remember target setting at school? it was quite a pointless excercise where you set yourself achievable goals ("osmosis will be my bitch by 'xdate'"), and in the summer, evaluated how you got on ("lolosmosis... what?"). i guess it was some post-1997 new labour education³ bullshit; whatever, i never met a target.

still if there's one thing i'm coming out of this blog with, it's the ability to review gigs. no date set though, as i'm a free spirit/shit reviewer. this is gig one, here goes...

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GANG GANG DANCE
w/ SIAN ALICE GROUP
the deaf institute
18.08.09
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^^^ PICTURE WHICH POSES AS ONE FROM LAST NIGHT BUT ISN'T REALLY ^^^

first northwestern rail, lend a brother a hand? i'm afraid my whole GGD experience was overshadowed by the fact i had to leave painfully early at 22:35. that's 38 minutes in gang gang's set, and it disables me somewhat from actuallywriting about the gig.

but it'd be tl;dr anyway, right? i'll do a short post for once.

support came from sian alice group; five experimental folk who look like they've each travelled from opposing musical poles to form a band somewhere between electrelane, and anybody else played on bbc 6 music on sunday afternoons in february. in actual fact they kind of have formed that band, and it works pretty well. ambient and noise interludes keep the whole set consistent, whilst delicate keyboard melodies and the undeniably, erm, good voice of vocalist sian ahern offer an endearing air and character around the band.

they just have to fucking do something with it. for half an hour, i waited for massive symbal crashes, for bass slides and for all the tension they'd built all set to be unleashed. inevitably they did, with the last song's outro, but a bit too late. shame.

gang gang dance had no such problem. my memory stretches to vocalist lizzi bougatsos inhumanly beating tall bongos for ten minutes straight, whilst the guitar and keys around calculated their ways into the song. once she started singing, what i think was 'bebey' (...mint review this), everything picked up a new rhythm. i could feel my own body slipping into hipster nod, consciously against its will but doing it all the same. the other two (?) songs i saw, i couldn't recognise, and i assume was new stuff rather than old. what surprised me mainly was how close it all sounded to record, right down to lizzi's voice, but i guess that's what an arsonist and being forced to reorder yr whole load of equipment does to a band.
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oh shit.

this has very much not whet my appetite for the festival blogs. i'll get better, and i'll watch it all next time. promise.

HIP HOP VS. LIVERPOOL FOOTBALL CLUB

2009-08-19T01:17:00.010+01:00

dj kool herc, sat on his bronx corner in 1971, never saw this coming. dead prez and their knife-licking, blood-drinking wolves never saw this coming. flavor flav and his totally-fightin'-the-powah tv show, again, never saw this coming.

(but i imagine he doesn't really care)

YH I KNOW YOU KNOW 'HIP HOP IS DEAD'. nas said so. but shut the fuck up for a minute because it's not that simple. my point is hip hop was murdered. so whodunnit?

well first, don't listen to people who claim to know stuff about hip-hop (a.k.a. white boys from home counties suburbia, with nicknames which highlight their immatuirty/infantile persona, e.g. lil' ron, toddla tim, baby p). they're all wrong.

no matter what they say, crack didn't kill it, the corporations didn't kill it, 'kanye west and the daft punks' didn't even kill it.

liverpool football club killed hip-hop.

this isn't even some reference to the anfield rap, which you've probably been expecting to see ever since glancing at the title of this post. that thin veil for inter-regional/racial hatred only serves as additional evidence in the case against the redmen.

the main suspect is a man who treats the ball like a lover; in that he chases it, rarely receives, and when he does leaves witnesses to the event without enough sympathy to even groan for him, after he inevitably disappoints. the man is ryan babel.

look, here he is. liverpool's own flying dutchman, despite being fantastically shit at his day job, somehow believing he'll be better at his part-time hobby:

where the fuck in the four elements does it mention cryuff turns and flicking a ball over some fat dutch guy's head? it doesn't.

worse still, some unknown hip hop hermit thinks he's 'sick' and as of today, ryan's getting another record.

i may be a liverpool fan, but have the lines between right and wrong ever been any clearer?

save hip hop, sell babel

CODNOR CALLING: FREE MARK CRITCHLEY

2009-08-16T19:09:00.007+01:00

FUCK THA PO-PO

i could write a large, very personal account of how i went to codnor, protested against the BNP red white and blue festival, got arrested, sat in a van, sat in another van, sat in a cell, sat in a room, sat in a car, and at some point sat in bird shit. but the thing is, this guy does it so much better.

not to mention being arrested is to date most boring experience of my life.

whatever. there's not much to say. i'm out on bail, due to go back to derby on the 28th september to see if they drop the charges (plz, don't need the hassle) or choose to continue it further (abc backwards).

thnx for texts, phone calls, facebook groups, profile picture changes, and the drunken singing of 'hey critch' to break the awkward silence on the drive home with my parents. it was actually the best part of yesterday when they all came through.

following the blog's own rules, i'll STFU about myself for the next post.

PERFUME GENII

2009-08-14T23:05:00.004+01:00

"QUEERS IS PIMPS TOO"

every platform my shit writing gets, i use as a chance to talk about this guy and his music. think he's already got a mention on here, but only indirectly. this is PERFUME GENIUS.

actually this is PERFUME GENIUS⁴...

INSTRUCTIONS
let all four load and then set them all playing with about a 5 second delay between them all. makes it sound xxxtra dreamy.

if it only sounds shit just play one. i'm probably ruining it for you.

PERFUME GENIUS - NO PROBLEM
DOWNLOAD

A-Z OF POKEMON: A-M

2009-08-13T18:11:00.008+01:00

external agents have termed this blog the beginning of 'culturehaus', meaningfully exploring 'alt-yoof art' and acting as chorley's own culture commentary in the world of 'VICE', 'PLATFORM' and 'EVERYTHING IN CAPITAL LETTERS'. outside words, not my own.

this post purposely and successfully disproves all of that...

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A TO Z OF POKEMON: A-M
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DISCLAIMER: BY NO MEANS EXTENSIVE OR DEFINITIVE; ONLY A VERY PERSONAL RECOLLECTION

ASH KETCHUM
just a stupid dadless cunt. if pokemon in the pokemon world holds a parrallel position to religion in our own universe (as i like to think it does), he's the soft shit at school who wants to be a priest; giving up a life of sex, drugs, cock and dole so he can catch a jynx.

BLUE
because if you bought red, i'm afraid you were a devalued commodity. everyone saw a pretty charizard on the cover and rushed to buy it, without considering the hyper inflation that would ensue. meanwhile, the value of a meowth and of other 'blue exclusive' pokemon soared, leaving 9 year-olds like myself as economically stable as the euro.

CHARIZARD
I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE GETTING HIM IN SHINY 'TONIGHT' FFS. YOU SAID THIS AT DINNERTIME YESTERDAY.

DIG
it really don't matter whether you've got a lvl. 200 mewtwo strapped to yr chest or 9000 rare candies, i use dig and you're fucked.

EVOLVING
pokemon pretty much introduced me to darwinism... and social darwinism. never any black trainers were there?

FILMS
taking influence largely from the german expressionist genre, the first film was basically mewtwo and mew getting angry and fighting over the ethics behind cloning (advocated by mewtwo) and the ethics behind poke-human relations and pseudo-beastiality (supported by mew). whilst pokemon clones fight each other around him, ash inexplicably gets involved, towing a line of absolute pacifism; so much so he throws himself in front of mew and mewtwo's psychic beams to end their conflict, but the power of the beams turns him to stone. pikachu cries, as do all pokemon, and the tears resurrect ash. such altruism and unwavering love means pseudo-beastiality wins the day, and everyone leaves the cinema with their brains significantly slower than when they entered.

case in point: this youtube freak made a video of the scene, and thought speeding up linkin park's 'numb' over the top of it would lend it even greater cinematic gravitas

GAMBLING
finally a 3+ game where you have to simulate using slot machines and bet in-game money in order to fully complete the task at hand!

HOOT-HOOT
one-legged owl from gold/silver, a.k.a. the first sign of writer's block in the dudes that create these things.

NONONONONONO

IMPRINTS
of 'A' and 'B', engraved into my thumbs any day in the years 1999/2000 when i wasn't at school.

JOHTO
and...

KANTO
were the names of the two pokemon lands; kanto in red & blue, johto in gold and silver. icy foreign policy relations between them so i've heard.

LINK CABLES
if i really have to use one of these nintendo, please make them out of something more durable than crocodile clips and melted fridge magnets.

MISTY
when i was 9, one of my best friends and fellow pokemon addicts took me up to his room. he slid onto the bed, grabbed a unusually large teddy bear for his age, straddled it, pinned it down to a missionary position and began to thrust whilst wailing 'OH MISTY!'.

we aren't friends now.

GLOBAL SKATEBOARDING NEWS

2009-08-13T13:15:00.009+01:00

SHIT HAPPENS WHEN GAYLORDS SKATE

are you like this 'rad dude' above? are you a white boy, rocking a pair of black con's, jeans cut straighter than yr orientation and yr hair permed so you don't look EXACTLY like marcus barnett?

props bro! you were out there ollying in 1999 when the real losers bought 'tony hawk pro skater'.

this week's GLOBAL SKATEBOARDING NEWS ep. is for you...
fucking unembeddable fucks

EMILE HESKEY

2009-08-12T22:56:00.002+01:00

JUSTIFY YOUR LIFE

sack of shit tonight

DO FASCISTS FEEL PAIN?

2009-08-12T14:08:00.007+01:00

codnor is mere days away, time is of the essence, and yet one of the big questions facing the left still remains unanswered.

it is the same question that the humble fisherman has faced for centuries. whilst battling high seas, broken sails and a disabling lack of vitamin c, they have also faced a moral challenge. do fish, their mortal enemy, feel pain?

evidently yes. look at that picture, they fucking bleed! i didn't know that. but you show a fisherman that photo and it's simply aquatic propaganda. against all scientific truth, in fisherman's books, fish are numb and gawping imbeciles, floating around and acting only on the most primitive of instincts.

much like fascists then.

and so, UAF, the SWP, bloke's faction and the left at large should adopt 'the fisherman line':

fascists are, genetically, fish
fish do not feel pain
fascists, therefore do not feel pain
therefore, hurt fascists

WRESTLING FASCISTS/FISH: SAME THING

no matter what evidence comes out in the conservative media which suggests nazi's are 'humans too', they aren't.

keep this in mind for codnor.

NU WAVVE

2009-08-12T12:59:00.009+01:00

ecstasy + valium + xanax = lo-fi p4k darling and genuine little shit Nathan 'WAVVES' Williams

he's got a new song, presumably about skating or blowjobs from goth girls. taken from his blog GHOST RAMP*. click the title to download:

wavves - cool jumper

*GHOSTS AREN'T COOL, NATHAN

GRRRLS GRRRLS GRRRLS

2009-08-11T13:27:00.003+01:00

Q: are we not men?
A: well actually most of us are, but mainly we are bands with the word 'girl' or 'ladies' or *add other synonym for female* in our names, and we're alright.

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5 GOOD TO FIRM BANDS WITH A FEMALE WORD IN THEIR NAME
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1. VIVIAN GIRLS
sleater-kinney don't do it with harmonies. if the shirelles had ever taught themselves guitar, saturated their ears in C86 and had their punk rock dream come true, it wouldn't sound half as good as this. perfectly penned pop.

HAIR COLOUR ADVERT
vivian girls - never see me again

2. WOMEN
"i know, let's call our band 'women'! you know, even though we're four young men"
"but, you have a beard"
"and?"
"oh... ok"
"i just like subverting shit"
"yeah yeah, me too"

... very VU, from the tambourine shakes to the destroyed vocal diction. p4k, DiS and apparently even SHOOT! magazine have all rated them somewhere between 'padawan apprentices' and 'near tribute band quality' on their animal collective scales of goodness. i'm undecided.

women - black rice

3. PARENTHETICAL GIRLS
i could honestly try and be a bit flippant about them, but it's parenthetical girls. so i won't. in fact, writing this has made me realise i don't listen to them anywhere near enough. sweet classical pop. barouqe on.

parenthetical girls - the weight she fell under

4. GIRLS
four men as 'women', and now two guys as 'girls'. new band on 'turnstile records', same label as swanton bombs and perfume genius; both of whom are also quite dreamy. solitude is the one and only song i can ever find, but if the other tracks on their aptly titled forthcoming album, 'album', are at all similar... well you know, i think everyone will like it.

girls - solitude

5. PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES
OH REALLY? 'pretty girl grave' was a consideration as title for this blog, but ghosts > graves. and its a shit name. PGMG songs are layered and intricate, but lose none of the melody and rhythm you might expect them to. 'this is our emergency' was one of the first songs i really got into once i started listening to REAL MUSIC, and it remains a favourite today. check 'em outttt.

pretty girls make graves - this is our emergency

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BONUS: GIRL TALK
i like the number 5, but i don't really like the number 6.
i like girl talk, but i don't really like leaving girl talk out for the sake of numerical aesthetics.

so, girl talk. he divides opinion quite easily. i said i like him, but listening to 'feed the animals' is similar to being repeatedly told you're a cunt for two-thirds of an hour. for every hip-pop sample you recognise and duly tick off your list, in a small corner of your eternal soul, the lights go off.

but fuck it. the closing sample to 'no pause' is worth the darkness.

MUTTON DRESSED AS HIPSTER
girl talk - no pause

HI

2009-08-11T13:04:00.001+01:00

hello ghosts will try.

i have the best intentions to update this regularly, and write about topics more interesting than what my politics teacher has sent me in the post. or how i saw a girl get run over outside college. or generally my life.

lez go

VICE SAYS DO