Been a mega set of days. Caught The Silence Of The Lambs Friday night. Did you? You'd have had a job I suppose, we watched it on DVD. That really is a film point five (film and a half. Get with it Grandad). Right up there with 'Chitty Clitty Gang Bang', 'Will He Bonk Ya In The Chocolate Factory?' and of course, 'The Rawshank Infection'. I caught Derek. I caught him twice actually, it's the beauty of Sky Plus. Where were you when I was a teenager watching Eurotrash??? Anyway. People of the internet, Derek is dog shit. As a comedy anyway. I've seen funnier cycling accidents. But el vino did flow that night, made one realise it works better if you treat it as a drama. Doc Martin type deal. Was interesting that Gervais didn't touch religion in it, unusual of The Chubby Funster. Give me a chance and I'll tell him this: the most succinct, accurate description of religion was told to me during a fag break in 2008, the philosopher in question said "I don't really like Jesus. Just think he was a bit of a fruitcake". And there you have it. Jesus was a bit of a fruitcake. Next!
So there I am, at the toilet door at Ardrossan ferry terminal for Arran on Saturday afternoon. "Do I go in here?" "Mmm" "Aw, just cause the other two doors" "Mmm" we used the facilities. "See you later" "....See you later?" Person #1 was me and person #2 was a dodgy wee eight-or-so-year-old boy who was a few sentences short of calling me Daddy. Gutsy little bastards these days. He didn't even wash his hands after his business. Next thing, Bunny Dread and I are wandering around a ferry bound for Arran to break my Arran virginity. We did some Fisherman's Walk thing and saw nowt but sand and smiling locals. A ballhair from Brodick Castle and we submitted to our hunger for Arran's local cuisine (we ended up getting chips and curry and chicken chow mein from the local Chinky) This is all following society paying me back for my earlier cynicism in the toilet. We're sat in a swing park, I'm trying to exit the swing park and at the same time let a young scallywag into the swing park. "It opens that way" as he opened the gate that was giving me jip. Cheeky bastard!
The car ride home was a belter. After driving onto the set of Night Of The Living Dead (see below) I'm on the way home. Not normally my preference but not bad, on goes Radio 2. Some Willy McSpeely or whatever his name was (Dave Pearce) was doing a Dance Years feature on the year 1992. The tunes were utter classics. I felt the Jazz Wagon was found wanting neon lights and a ten foot spoiler with those dance anthems blaring through the speakers. The highlight for me was SNAP! - Rhythm Is A Dancer. My old man used to sing that to me as a little nipper - "Rhythm is a dancer, Dread is a chancer" God, that one quote is worse than the entire Australia journal, is it not? Dance gets a hard time by little indie shitheads who have their very selective tastes which won't change unless one of their heroes says it's ok, but they weren't there. They weren't at the Haçienda in the late 80s, listening to acid house and acid jazz, popping Es and feeling like the only fucker in the world. Mind you, I wasn't even born, but I've bought the album (Haçienda Classics - you need to listen to it). Listening to that SNAP! song now and I just heard the following: "I'm as serious as cancer when I say rhythm is a dancer!" Oh Christ. OK, moving on.
I'm taking up a new career. I'm going to be a guy who writes television programme scripts. The Inbetweeners should never have ended, I reckon. Emily Atack needed a bigger role. When I heard the movie was the last of the show, I was inconsolable. But I've wrote a new episode and sent it to the writers of The Inbetweeners. It takes the focus off the four lads and puts Emily Ata-er, Charlotte, into the spotlight. The high school life all gets a bit much for her and she decides she needs to go away to get herself together emotionally. That's what people do on telly, get themselves together emotionally. The rest of us have to go to fucking work in the morning, you know? But they just need some time, to get themselves together emotionally. So Emi-Charlotte does this, goes away to a private island to get some time. Only to discover that the island is owned by an eccentric Scottish blog author. Do you think it'll fly? I think it's got legs myself.
|I've never heard it quite put that way before|
|Hard to see, but it was a fucking terror|
In a bit.
The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Je suis désofuckinglé. You know Google Translator reckons 'eat my ass' is the same in German as English?
Saturday 27th December 2008
Really nothing beats a lazy day...Especially one with a trip to the beach where I learned to 'bodysurf'. Felt more like drowning to me. Three hours under an overcast sky and we're back home, with promises to find a better day tomorrow. No, I'm not songwriting. Following another jam with the modfather inspiring, we got a Dominos and watched Children of Men opposed to 8mm. I may have enjoyed it more if 'Jarryd' didn't come to cure Mark's boredom and they pissed off for some 'D&M' (deep and meaningful, cheers cuz) Felt like another of those parties, I seemed transparent all over again. Am I really such daunting company?
"Push it along, I'm gonna ride the train"