The Genius Contingent

Eons ago, when myself and Lord Bunn were but students wasting our lives away and Geocities monopolised the free webspace industry, we ran a website. It wasn't a cool website, nor was it a particulary serious website, but we put alot of effort into it and nearly got it finished. It was called the Genius Contingent and was dedicated to the works of Steve Martin, Dan Aykroyd, Bill Murray and Chevy Chase. The idea was that we would review each and every movie made by these giants of comedic cinema in our own indomitable way - then leave the site and never update it again.


We got close. Almost. The first version went online around 1998 and it was last updated in 2002... by this time I had actually redesigned the whole site and made it smarter, funnier and more attractive, but I never got round to actually uploading the content and slowly, over time, the whole idea rotted away and the website was lost to the sands of time.

Until now. Lord Bunn has discovered, possibly to his and mine detriment, that the Genius Contingent is still alive and well and sitting on a foreign Geocities server somewhere. Well I'll be damned. And here it is, for all to see. Just make sure that when you read you should be imagining it to be smarter, funnier and more attractive than it actually is.

Rose Tinted TV

There were four shows that I particulary loved as a child, that I remember very well, but are now viewed as flops and are too obscure to be even be shown on Bravo. These three shows were also notable because when I got to university and began those oh-so-nostalgic "do you remember..." conversations no-one else had heard of them.

No-one else, that is, except the friends who would later form the Media Lounge with me. This was back in the early-internet days and so they couldn't be looked up and even confirmed as existing, let alone confirmed as being good. Now, through the genius that is YouTube, they can be shown in all their hallowed glory.

First up; Cop Rock - the musical version of Hill Street Blues. I adored this when I was about 8 years old, now I watch it and think that it's remarkable I didn't end up a fan of cabaret.



The second is Simon & Simon, a cop show featuring crime fighting brothers - one is smart and conservative, the other rough and ready. The opening titles below are the ones that I remember, hell me and my sister used to replicate the 'feet up while a car passenger' position as often as possible, but check out these credits too that are remarkable just for how much time they spent looking through binoculars. I wasn't even sure this show was even real until it was mentioned in an episode of South Park.



The third was Automan which was on at 5.15 on BBC1 on a Saturday afternoon. This was another show where I couldn't find anyone else who'd heard of it, until Tom from ML made a flippant Automan joke. In these YouTube days almost anything can be found in an instant, but you have no idea how satisfying it was to find another human to confirm my memories. I recently downloaded the first episode of Automan and watched the whole thing; boy does it suck ass hard.



Finally, there was Whizz Kids. A show featuring kids and computers waaaaaay before even Matthew Broderick narly caused World War Three... my principle memory of this is that the main star slept in his socks, something the 8 year old me found very strange indeed.



I'm not writing this post in a "wasn't kids TV brilliant?" kind of way, nor am I wallowing in nostalgia for the hell of it, and I'm not laughing at how bad it was either... I'm writing this because I find it genuinely incredible that I have a few brief memories of somethings I watched over 20 years ago, and with a few simple keystrokes I can see them all again. The internet is part of everyday life and we've grown accustomed to it mighty easily, but every now and then I'm just blown away by how much it's changed the world. Sure, being able to watch a few credit sequences is hardly changing the world, but I think back to how hard it was convincing myself that what I had seen was even real, and now I see that I have remembered them almost exactly.

Makes me wish I'd learnt French at that age, or maybe the piano, or anything else other than the gaining capacity to remember minute details of shit TV shows.

Octaganarian Profanity

A few weeks ago I was working night shoots on a movie that often had me getting home for around dawn. One morning as I was getting out the car, I noticed a milkfloat steadily climbing the hill that is my road. As I somewhat exhaustedly watched the elderly driver - easily in his early eighties I found myself with a sudden burst of nostalgia.

I realised that the milkfloat is rapidly decreasing sight in this day and age... I thought it wonderful that I could still catch one on the streets, and how it remembered them so vividly from my childhood. The driver had probably been doing this for decades, forced into a simple job when he reached the mandatory retirement age. I imagined him regarding his job as a vital service, as an honour and one that he would do until his dying day.

As a car came down the hill towards us he pulled into the space opposite my car, and smiled at me. I was suddenly overcome by that sensation that you sometimes get early in the morning; that you feel a part of a secret subculture that is hidden from the still sleeping world. That you are privy to a time when the city always looks the most beautiful, and at it's most peaceful, and is the quietest you've ever heard it. For a brief moment I was jealous of that old man.

The car ahead pulled into a space and parked up. The elderly milkman glanced my way, raised his eyebrows and revved the electric motor into a high pitched whine.

"Fucking cunt" he said to me angrily, "he could have told me he was fucking parking. Now it's going to take me fucking ages to get this bastard up the hill. What a cunt."

And with that he forced the milkfloat fowards and slowly it crawled up the hill. I blinked, and walked to my house. Just another day in Sheffield.

-------

This story reminds me of a monologue that Rob Newman once delivered on the Mary Whitehouse Experience. I can't remember it verbatim, but to paraphrase it went something like this:

"I was laying in bed with my girlfriend early one Sunday morning, unable to sleep. I was watching the dawn light streaming through the open window, and reflecting on the night before. We had had sex, but I had prematurely ejaculated and I was thinking of ways in which I could aplogise to her.

I wanted to explain that life was stressful, that I had money problems and it was a combination of many elements that had made me come early. It had nothing to do with her, she was beautiful and I loved her. As I considered my language I heard in the distance the sound of the rag and bone's man call.

"Raaag 'n' Booone."

His voice slowly came closer and I began to consider the man, how his call had evolved over many years from; "Does anyone have any rag and bone for me to collect" to his now near gutteral cry.

"Raaaaaaag 'n' boooooone."

As I thought about the slow development of his announcements, and my beautiful girlfriend who lay so blissfully in my arms, I rumicated over the two together. The old mans call and my own problems, his changing dialogue, and my intended apologetic language.

Soon my girlfriend stirred and blinked awake. She slowly took in her surroundings before turning to me and gazing, lovingly, into my eyes. I looked tenderly into hers and summoned my carefully planned words. Outside the window the rag and bone man began his mournful cry once more.

"Raaaaaaaaaaaaag 'n' boooooooooooone."

I stared deep into her eyes, took a deep breath and yelled "soooorry I caaame."

I love that joke.

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Been writing a few pieces for Watch With Mothers recently. Have a read if you have time:
Tesco Direct
The Peter Serafinowicz Show
ASDA Adverts
The X Factor

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Oh and I've joined Facebook. Everyone was right - it's really good and useful. That annoys me.

For Sale

Anyone for a signed Bentley Rhythm Ace hoody?


I'll do it cheap for anyone who reads this blog...

Everything Went Wrong / I am 30

The two aren't connected, although there is something strangely appropriate about the blogs all being granted a forced make-over at the same time I enter my 4th decade... not that I've done much to them, just a different template and some better organised links... still, it makes it look like I'm better at web design than I really am...

Not a terrific update this time around, I'm afraid. I'm too tired and too busy to come up with anything overtly hyperbolic at the moment. I've found recently that I have less and less time to do any writing, which is beginning to bother me. I've always been a firm believer in doing at least a couple of paragraphs a day - it keeps the mind supple and the abilities at an acceptable level - but recently it's become hard to devote time and conciousness to it. I hope it will change in the near future... in the mean time have a look at the balloon pictures on the newly rustified Day of the Dave.

Oh yeah, and I'm now 30. Life and association with sitcom characters begins here apparently.

This came from Paul Wolinski. www.decayofthedave.blogspot.com. Isn't he a sweety?

Save the Tinsley Towers

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Walk Hard

Looks like a spoof oughta look...

Letter to HSBC

This letter has been sent to Mark A Loker (Service Manager), Jim Large (General Manager UK Operations) and the Branch Manager HSBC Beeston.

Dear Sirs / Madam

Please find enclosed my original letter of complaint. I suggest you read it before continuing with this letter.

Before I go any further I wish to make it clear that I understand that the persons reading this letter are not directly responsible for the mistreatment I have received at the hands of HSBC. However, since the corporation is deemed, legally, to be a human being and you employees are the earthbound ambassadors I have no choice but to vent my frustrations at you directly. It’s not personal. I hope you understand this.

On the 12th July Mark A Loker sent me a reply to my initial letter promising a response to my complaints about the mismanagement of my account and what I thought were unfair bank charges. My original letter was not (repeat: NOT) concerned with the ongoing public debate about bank charges in general and was instead about a very specific incident. I have now waited over a month for my matter to be looked at and instead of the personal and detailed response I was expecting I received your standard letter (dated the 10th August) regarding the ongoing court case involving the OFT and the accusation of bank charge mishandlings. In this letter you state that no open complaints involving bank charges will be attended to until the general court case is settled.

The level of anger and frustration I feel at your response is so great that I am struggling to keep my language under control. It’s so great, in fact, that I am struggling not to immediately close down my account with HSBC and refuse to pay any loan payments or overdraft fees back just so I get a human, real response from you. Talking to HSBC is like shouting at a brick wall. Trying to raise a legitimate issue with you is akin to whispering at the bottom of a mountain and hoping, just hoping, that my voice may be lucky enough to be carried to the top. It never is. It never never never is. All I get for my troubles, for the ‘loyalty’ that you seem to crave so desperately, is the written equivalent of the middle finger – fobbing me off and letting my complaints drown amongst the voices of a million other dissatisfied customers.

My complaint was a simple one. I felt that you had unfairly managed my account and that there had been, somewhere along the line, either a human or computer error. All my complaint required was for one person – assumedly the manager of my branch to whom my letter was originally addressed – to assess the situation and make a decision. Easy. Really easy. I laid all the information out for you, I coherently described my situation and I respectfully asked for a swift response. Instead I got an empty letter promising to do something, a questionnaire asking about my loyalty to your organisation and now a letter which dismisses me with one fell swoop.

Is this how HSBC practices their business? Is this an example of being the Worlds Local BankTM? Is this how you hope to ensure my dedication to your corporation? If the answer is yes to any of those then you have severely misunderstood the needs of the banking public. All I ever wanted was to be treated like a human being (again, something you were very interested in finding out about in your beloved questionnaire) and have my complaint looked at by another human being who could make a decision. Instead I find myself wasting time writing to you AGAIN instead of the myriad of other things – IE my job – that I should be getting on with.

While I am sure it is wonderful being one of the worlds richest institutions, with your political connections, bottomless cash supply and army of lawyers, I assure that it is not so much fun on the receiving end. My issue was over a £150 bank charge – not exactly a lot of money to you but a quarter of a monthly wage to me – and instead of dealing with my complaint in an adult and responsible manner you have elected to simply throw me on a pile and forget about me for as long as possible. If you think I’m going to wait while you drag this through the courts – delaying, amending, correcting and filing for a couple of years and then hoping that I’ll forget about it then you are grossly mistaken.

(On a side note, I hadn’t planned on pursuing my bank charges from the last 5 years – but after this insulting example of mistreatment you can be damned sure that I’m going to do my best to get every penny you ever took back).

I shall end this letter with a plea. I want the three people who will receive it to look at the following paragraph very, very carefully and drag up as many memories of what it is like to be poor and pissed off as possible. I want you to forget that I am just another number, just another ranting annoyed customer and instead look into your hearts and empathise with what it is like to be trying so hard to make your way through life and be countered at every turn by a giant, unfeeling company.

LISTEN TO ME!!!!!!!!

I expect a response to this letter – either written or by a phone call – within the next ten days. Do not send another dismissive, meaningless reply full of empty promises and legal excuses. Instead, please try to actually deal with the issue before you and try, just try, to satisfy my complaint. It would be a first.

Yours with thanks


David Holloway

Ernest Goes Online

Been very absent from this blog recently. There's no great reason for it other than I have a new house with a girlfriend inside and plenty of work to be getting on with. Simple pleasures.

I do plan to come back here very soon indeed, I just need to learn to manouever my time better and be of a clearer head. Until then I'd like to share with you this collection of 'Ernest' DVD covers that officially constitutes the most pointless thing I have ever downloaded.

God bless the internet, and no place else.

There is No Smoking Whilst Reading This Blog

Smoking ban. Fair enough. I have no problem with that.

No smoking signs in places that were formally smoking places. I have no problem with that.

No smoking signs in places where people wouldn't consider smoking anyway. Slight overkill.



I mean, what gleefully gloating asshole goes around putting up signs in greengrocers and doctors surgerys informing the world that they can't smoke in there? No shit, Sherlock. Smokers may be stubborn creatures but they understand the do's and don'ts of their habit... everyone knows you don't smoke in a creche, but the cackling moral majority have still felt obliged to put warning signs up in every potential place; common sense be damned!

I imagine armies of concerned (read: bored) mothers doing the happy dance through town, liberally slapping up signs on every building and flicking V's at anybody who looks like they might have once smoked. "Can't smoke here, or here, or here, or here... ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaa!"

Like I say, I have no problem with the smoking ban - I think it's a good idea - but any impression that it is an understanding reached between the smoking and no smoking factions of modern society has been ruined by the fascistic enforcement of the ban. And this being England, the only way we know how to fascisticly enforce rules is by stickers. Lots and lots of stickers.

These people take the fun out of everything.

Photos

There's 3 new photosets on my photoblog Day of the Dave. Glastonbury, Hull and the sheltered view of the Sheffield rains.

Still haven't got an internet connection at home, but it's coming. BBQ at mine this Sat? Excellent.

Animal

I'm writing this from backstage at a Red Hot Chilli Peppers gig in Holland. And how was your day? A girl just walked the van in the most see-through top I've ever seen on someone in public. The air is thick with the smell of a well oiled machine, and weed. Behind me a white rapper is berating the crowd for playing football and not basketball. I think they're throwing sandwiches at him.

Earlier someone from the crowd stopped me and asked why I was wearing sunglasses when it was raining. I showed him my eyes. "I understand" he said and patted me on the back.

So I've been busy, quit bugging me. It's been a hectic few months... moved house again, making the big step into cohabitation with Isobel. It's bigger and better than I ever imagined it could be. To think I was worried and stressed about the decision, how foolish I was. All the time I was driving to Holland I was thinking why am I driving away from her?

I am now worried that I'm getting soppy. I'm also worried that my previous statements about the nature of relationships will come back to haunt me. I was wrong. There. I said it. Happy now?

So what's a great thing you can do whilst in the middle of moving house - an activity behind only divorce in the list of most stressful things to undertake. How about go on tour? I've done two tours since 65 last month - one with Brett Dennen and this current jaunt with Dirty Pretty Things - and I'm beginning to tire of it. It's a good way to earn some extra money, but damn does it take alot out of you... I mean, it's much more fun when you're an artists, but as a driver you just feel tired and put upon much of the time. Which is a shame as that's your job.

Yesterday we were mud soaked in Glastonbury. Since I was driving overnight to Holland I tried to get some shut-eye in the back of the van, which was attentively parked directly behind the Pyramid Stage. Did you watch Lily Allen? I was asleep pretty much right behind her... and when I woke the clothes horse herself was stood right by my window. I stuck my tongue out and although the glass was tainted, I thought she saw me.

I'm too old for this shit. I mean, I still love touring, and festivals and gigs, but I need to have hospitality now, and nice toilets, and a good bed at the end. I don't mind camping, but it needs to be a quiet field. I can't be doing with mud and shouting and no sleep anymore. Let this be a lesson, it happens to us all.

It's my birthday in September. I keep saying "I feel so thirty." Maybe that's got something to do with it.

Holy shit. 65daysofstatic are supporting the Cure in America. They're playing the Hollywood Bowl, and Madison Square Gardens. Fucking Madison Square Gardens. It's become very easy to be blase about their success now, as most things that are happening now are a natural progression and expected for a band in their position. But the fucking Cure? In the Hollywood Bowl? I don't think I could be more proud of them.

"Whose cock do I have to suck to get on that tour?"

Joe called me on Thursday and he told me about it. "It's a secret" he said "until it appears on the Cure website I won't believe it." So much for sneaky insider information, the next day I had several phone calls and texts telling me about it. And here was something I thought I could smugly mention in a few months time when it came out - "Oh that? Yeah, I've known about that for ages..."

This is a list of things I've learnt recently.
- There are no seasons anymore. Just weather.
- Americans actually have a highly developed understanding of sarcasm.
- British roads are staggering overcrowded.
- Saxondale is a dead on take of most roadies.
- Gary from Dirty Pretty Things is a lovely guy.
- Receiving a laminate that says 'Red Hot Chilli Peppers World Tour 2007 - Dave' can make a guy pretty happy.

Life's actually pretty good at the moment. I'm finally earning a liveable wage off Medlo, I have an awesome new house that I share with my best girl, work is plentiful and the result of our own efforts and I have a sideline that takes me to all manner of strange places across the world.

Told you I was feeling thirty.

Last week I had a great joke idea for a TV show - I wrote it down and sent it to two people, thinking they'd find it hilarious. No replies came for a few days, and then suddenly both got back to me. "Love it", they said, "we should do it." Hey. That's the Medlo way.

I've just finished reading Joe Eszterhas' autobiography 'Hollywood Animal.' It's amazing. This is my favourite line: "(there were times) when we didn't want our boys trick or treating at Kenny G's or Gary Busey's house."

Loved it.

Think I'm going to go and get another one of those salmon kebabs that they have in the hospitality tent. It's a hard life. See you back in the real one.

Liverpool Lord Nelson Hotel

Whilst on the 65dos tour Dave Wolinksi and I took to making short tourlogs that documented the day, we aimed to make one for each show and I think we achieved 14 in the end - which is pretty impressive. We set up a YouTube Director Channel and uploaded them whenever we could find an internet connection, and we've had about 4000 or so views so far. I left the tour last week, but Dave carried on with them into Europe and is still making videos as fast as he can.

You can see the 65crew movies here.

A few days ago he uploaded this brief tour of one of the venues they played at, so I have replied in kind with my own.



Classy.

The Distant and Mechanised Glow of a Van on Fire

There we are... happily tootling along the M6 and suddenly there's this burning smell and the van speedily fills up with an acidic white smoke. We pull over and choke for 5 minutes. The power adaptors are burnt, and the wires are melted.

That'll teach the merch guy to rewire the Playstation.

It's exciting on the road.

Hello...? Is anybody still there?

So. Been a bit absent for the last month or so. Yessiree, a little absent. Leaving your blog unwritten is sort of like correcting an untruth, the more time passes the more you are happy to let it be and not make the changes neccessary... In fact, I have to admit, that I'm personally putting myself under duress to sit here and write, lest I never return again. It's not like I've grown tired of blogging - far from it - I've just grown a little tired of writing about my own misadventures. I've been doing some reviews for Watch With Mothers which I've really enjoyed doing much more.

But anyway, I've also been a bit busy and distracted which is another reason why there has been no updates around here. I toddled off on tour with 65daysofstatic at the start of the month, came home for a few days and now I'm back out on the road driving for Brett Dennen, the support act for Rodriguo y Gabriella. The 65dos tour was great, although not as action packed and exciting as perhaps I was hoping for - the boys have been on the road for a very long time, and will be for a very long time more, and some of the novelty has now passed on. It was still good to be out there though, doing visuals every night and feeling vaguely like an artist for the first time in a long time. We went over to Ireland at the start of the tour which was really nice - I sure like that country and we met some lovely people, and I think I may have left a little bit of my heart in Galway which was, like, just gorgeous.

I've just realised that the days touring schedule states that the Finnish are arriving at 10.20. That is meant to mean we finish at 10.20... but I think I prefer the idea of nordic vistors. Oh, and Daily Motion have featured 65daysofstatic Don't Go Down to Sorrow on their front page so go over and have a look...

Scraps from a Wasted Mind

Two things.

A couple of days ago I received an email from my Dad, the majority of the text read like this:

"I am getting increasing hassle about my forthcoming birthday which is beginning to p*** me off somewhat.

The two most frequent questions are:
What are you doing?
What do you want?

The asnwer to both is a resounding and very serious NOTHING

I have no interest in celebrating this birthday - it's just another day and I'm not being persuaded to do anything special - it's nothing momentous and with a bit of luck I won't even be in the country.

So, rant over, PLEASE do not do anything or get me anything - other than a luxury yacht and a mediterranean villa I don't want or need anything and I'm not celebrating."

I hope this goes someway in explaining to the people I know why I am the way I am. Parents, they fuck you up for life.

Secondly, this was my to-do list this morning:

"Cancel house viewing
Do proper ceiling bracket test and find big hook from scaffolding place
write letter to tax people
email and guest list?
tims survey thing
finish european dance parties
speak to warp about atp
arrange aston shoot
email Dad
chase up undegroove invoice
Pay rent
BUy box for bracket
buy bag for camera
Call Baart
Make intro rumble
collect Litte Victories
money from hux
Go on Tour"

I hope this goes someway to explaining to the people I know why I've been the way I have recently. Nothing personal, just busy.

Off on a 3-week UK tour with 65dos in about 5 hours. I'll hopefully write more from the road.
Peace.
Dave

Humbug

Interesting Penn and Teller episode of Bullshit on language, swearing and the history of profanity.


Found at www.pistolwimp.com

Strongbow

Also published on Watch With Mothers. Or it will be soon.

Adverts are a really easy target. They have a limited time to deliver a very specific message and that must be prioritised ahead of normal storytelling logic; you don't need to know why the Englishman is involved in the mass exodus of a city during a Latin America Revolution, you just need to know that wearing Lynx makes him calm doing it, and it impresses the shit out of really hot women who are also inexplicably caught up in said revolution.

It's a form of social contract between the advertising industry and the audience. The audience accept that the adverts will not stand up to scrutiny and therefore do not ask for greater detail than they are given. In return the advertising industry get to rape all that is good and holy in the world, and are allowed to systematically destroy societal values, culture, language and laws until the population bow down before the almight God of consumerism.

Anyway. Their simple nature gives them a form of exclusion from too much dissection. A man could go mad trying to chart and satirically write about all the logic flaws contained in adverts, and who really cares? Blot on the landscape of life they may be, and sociological fascination most definately, but the simple narrative is too insignificant to spend too much time worrying about.

The internal world that TV adverts exist in are very fragile. Mostly we'll accept the fictional version of reality as they present it, but if they step outside that carefully constructed world the whole thing falls apart. It with this in mind that I'd like to discuss the new Strongbow advert - the first from their new "aaaaaah, first pint" campaign - and one specific section of it.



First off, it's quite a good advert. The idea is clear and concise, the target demographic well catered to and the presentation slick yet charming. The basic concept is a good one - we've all experienced that lovely first hit of a cold pint on a summers day, and they are saying that by drinking Strongbow you can prolong and heighten that sensation. The man in the advert goes into some kind of orgasmic trance when tasting the stuff, but that's a good enough representation of the idea.

Or is it? I have issue with the background action of this advert, and I believe it's broken its contract with the audience and has failed to stay within the confines of its set universe. The first question to ask is how long does this take place over? Judging by the amount drank by the two lager fans I could estimate no more than ten minutes, which I think is a fair time to consume a quarter of a pint. Ten minutes is statistically a long enough time to run into a charity collector in a pub. It's low odds, but it could happen so I have no problem with that indicator of the passing of time - what worries me is the football match.

There is no football match playing when they enter the bar, nor is there one playing when the main character comes out of his alcohol induced coma. This can mean one of two things - that either a flash mob of sophisticated football fans overran the place for ten minutes before beating a hasty retreat, at the exact same time as our man first sipped his Strongbow (statistically very unlikely) or he was engaged in a buddhist experience of the liver for well over two hours.

This would mean not only did he miss a good portion of his evening out, but also that he didn't see the football and his two friends will be a good three pints in by now and probably quite pissed. What is the message that Strongbow are trying to send out? That their drink is so fucking good you will become paralysed for several hours and totally incommunicable to the outside world? Maybe their grand plan is to create a nation of zombified alcoholics, pubs across the land will be filled with exhaling Strongbow drinkers, grinning like petrified corpses and making noises like the recreated humans in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

Of course that's not the case; the football match was just used as a visual indication of the passing of time - but this is what I mean by a poor narrative within adverts. The advert has failed to make me want to buy the product as every time I see it I think " Christ! Poor bastard, how long was he there for?"

Of course it could be argued that since I'm talking about it the advert has succeeded in raising the profile of the product. Then again, the fact that it tastes like sugar fermented in pomane and mixed with piss also guarantees that I'll never drink the stuff, no matter how good, or how crap, their adverts are.

Быстрая Поездка в Москву

It doesn't seem really real, going to Moscow. I know I was there, I have photos to prove it as well as a CCCP Zippo, but the whole trip feels like it happened to somebody else with their memories filtered through me. It may have been the furious week of work that preceeded it, or the immediate return to reality that followed it, or even the fact that we were there for only two nights...

Moscow was great. The city fulfilled pretty much every expectation I had, and kinda upheld most of my preconceptions too. It had a bleak appeal, charming but outdated and stunning yet depressing. There was an amount of old dusted over everything that reminded you, paradoxically, that the country had not yet reached a quarter of a century. Many Eastern European cliches were abound - the Ladas, the industrial weather, the stern expressions - but the city had true character, and a sense of achievement and satisfaction about it.

Max, our permanently wasted, emotionally broody, sexually satisfied promoter was a great host, and the gig was terrific - despite the fact that I hadn't played with 65days for 4 months, and it showed. I did have the great pleasure of telling two Jack Daniels girls - all leggy and in cowboy hats - to fuck off as they were in my way, which was extremely satisfying.

After the gig, though, was one of the more surreal moments of my life. We hopped into three street taxis - unwarrantied Ladas driven by men with moustaches - and were spirited away to an industrial estate somewhere near the set for Hostel. About 2am we were standing in a deserted street watching the packs of wild dogs and waiting for the third taxi containing Max to arrive. Moments later we were led through a steel gate, up some concrete stairs and down a Twin Peaks Black Lodge corridor into a wasteland room with a bar, neon lights and more passed out Russians than conscious ones. A few industrial strength vodkas and bubblegum pop tunes later and we left... as we stumbled through the hallway a group of Russians yelled "bollocks" and Spider wrote "Release the Kracken" on the wall... outside John rode a small tricycle and Joe found a 1970's Cuban hat... the doors on the taxi would only open one side and the gin in the hotel bar tasted like Tequila... we fell asleep at dawn and when we woke it was snowing.


There's a legitimacy to being nonchalant when you're in a country for a purpose other than a holiday. Seeing the sites, staying up all night and being social are not the point of the trip - so you can afford to be dismissive and not feel obliged to do whatever you're meant to do. Paul remarked to me that he found it hilarious that we could all be in Red Square, could stand outside St Basils cathederal and then casually decide to go for a coffee... travelling with a band have made us all a little blase about visiting countries, the enormity of the locations you find yourself has diminished and even the thought of "how the hell did I end up here" begins to fade.

In saying that, Moscow is the first country I've visted with them this year. So far they have managed Ireland, the US, Japan, Germany, Holland and Belgium. Quite how they're coping I have no idea.


They asked if I wanted to come along next week and sell t-shirts for a week in Europe. Very few things seem more appealing than touring Europe for a week with a rock band right now, but there's visuals to be made, work to be attended and money to be earned.

And how are you?

More photos from Moscow at Day of the Dave.

Aaron Stout - Spacestation

Released by Monotreme Records
Illustrated by Phlegm Comics
Produced by Medlo
Directed by Tza Parmee and Dan Phlegm

Where to be, what to did

(click)

Whaddup. How've you been man?

(static)

Yeah, all good thanks. It's been a hectic few weeks, though. How's about you?

(static)

Well I headed to London for a few days, saw a whole bunch of people and talked alot of work. Went to see Radioactive Man and bumped into Andy Digitonal, hooked up with him the next day and went looking at cameras.

(static)

Nah, I don't have a pin number for the business account so I couldn't buy it.

(static)

Well, we talked about doing a few projects - another rescore perhaps and maybe a music video, plus a super sweet but super secret idea of Andy's for next years Big Chill, which was very cool.

(static)

No, I'm not telling.

(static)

I went to the cast and crew screening of Sunshine on the Sunday with Dza and Nicky, Andy came too and we saw Violet, Gia and loads of people I didn't recognise but Dza insisted on hugging.

(static)

Yeah, it's really good. I totally enjoyed it. Have you seen the trailer?

(static)



(static)

The next weekend I went to Cromer in Norfolk with Isobel - shit, that reminds me that I totally forgot to call her - and had a lovely weekend away at her parents cottage. Lots of roaring fires, walks on the beach and kisses, it was awesome. Really good to actually relax the ol' shoulders for a while and sleep on a real mattress at a proper time. There's some photos on my photoblog if you haven't seen 'em... Day of the Dave.

(static)

Um, about a year and a half now... it's brilliant.

(static)

Yeah, I'm still cramming the hours at the Showroom as well, which is really starting to suck. I've just been there too long and I'm starting to hate the place, which doesn't make me a great person to work with. I'm off on tour in May and I'm taking the month off and am hoping to just not come back. We'll see...

(static)

If I can afford it, definately. It's all about making sure I can bring enough money in for Medlo so that I can get paid... I have a few plans, it's all a matter of time...

(static)

Well this weekend I've been doing some promo stuff for Sunshine which has been a load of fun - nice to be able to dedicate four whole days to one project actually, instead of juggling about six simultaneously. I'm going to Moscow on Thursday with 65 and we'll be performing seven new tracks, which means Hux and I have got a hell of alot of work to do before then.

(static)

Yup. Moscow. I'm unbelievably excited. It's a Jack Daniels sponsored festival.

(static)

Heh. Nice knowing you too..

(static)

Cool, ok mate. I'll talk to you later. Better get back to the visuals...

(static)

Peace.

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65daysofstatic - Don't Go Down to Sorrow

The Jeremy Irons Story

I like telling stories. I like telling my own stories. It's kind of my downfall and the prime reason people become irritated with me. I have a habit to intone Yoda style the metaphorical wisdom learned from my own personal experiences at the most inappropriate times. Luckily, most people are far too polite to interrupt or inform me they've "already heard this one" so I usually get to finish with a few seconds of smug satisfaction before the crippling fear of self-obsession and indulgent monologues strikes.

I always planned to write down all my stories, put them in a book and hand them to my friends so that the next time I felt compelled to wax lyrical I could simply tell people to check a chapter at their leisure and not have to bore all those within earshot.

The Jeremy Irons story is my favourite or all my stories, however I have fallen into a near-perfect pitter-patter recollection of it and the whole thing is becoming very tedious. Thus I shall recant the tale one more time before retiring it to the bin marked "not to be touched until the grandkids are old enough to know what speed is" and replace the top slot with the story of me, two strippers and a videocamera in a dressing room. It's not nearly as dirty as it sounds, but it will still have to wait for another time.

Before I tell this sad tale of woe and celebrity embarressment, though, I should issue a warning to all those who may be related to me, or those foolish enough to hold me in any high regard. This is a story of misspent employment, foolish alcohol consumption and illegal activities. If you would prefer to know me as that nice boy you raised from birth, or that charming young man who is currently dating your daughter, you may wish to scroll down to the previous post which is all about International Womens Day and paints me in a far better light.

----------------------------------------------------

The Jeremy Irons Story

Way back in 2001 I was working as a runner on a small independant film called Dream which starred Kelly Harrison, Sinead Cusack and Matthew from Eastenders. We worked 11 day fortnights, which means we had the weekend off, then Saturday off, then the weekend etc. Towards the end of the shoot, on one of the intermitent weekends, I was very stressed and tired and needed to seriously unwine. Since I had the luxury of two days off I went to the pub, drank my bodyweight in booze and went and partied my way across town. I would love to tell you where I went and what I did but I have no recollection further than that. It was that good a night.

Anyway. Two days off so plenty of time to recover, right? Wrong. I got a phone call from the Production Manager the next morning saying she needed me for an urgent task. Could I drive down to Sinead Cusacks house in Cornwall (which is about 350 miles away) and pick up some childhood photos of her to be used as set dressing? Her husband would have everything ready but I had to leave now and could I take the Renault Espace as my normal location car was in use. Thanks.

I stalled a couple of hours or so, made sure I was ok to drive - drank the usually hated coffee and forced food down down my throat - but I was still out the door by midday. Driving may have been a mistake, I was really tired and the drive down to Cornwall had to be punctuated with frequent stops and a never-ending supply of luxury service station water. I vibrated, I hung my head out the window like a beagle and I played punk-rock really fucking loud and somehow I arrived at my destination.

All this time, though, I had one thought on my mind. Who is Sinead Cusack married to? I knew it was someone famous, but in my sleep deprived, booze addled brain I couldn't remember who. Obviously this is called The Jeremy Irons Story, therefore she is married to Jeremy Irons, but I didn't realise this until his super-silky tones emitted from the gate speaker and he buzzed me into his house.

On opening the garden gate to this modest faux-rustic farmhouse it all hit me. Everything. The late night, the drinking, the 3 months of 16 hour working days, the stress, the drive, the starch in my stomach and the shock of knowing I was about to meet Hans Grubers brother.* I think I was probably also reeling from the realisation that in coming down here I had done something incredibly stupid... and all of a sudden I was really really thirsty.

Jeremy Irons welcomed me into his house, generously gave me several pints of water and didn't seem fazed when I gulped them down in quick succession. We sat for several awkward minutes and made small talk; how the film was going, Sinead, the weather, the drive etc. It was around the point of the 30 second silence that I realised I was shaking horribly and Jeremy Irons was staring at me with a mixture of fear, horror and bemusement.

No doubt wondering what kind of man he had let into his house, let alone who he was entrusting with his wifes precious memories, he made his excuses and went to get the photos. Immediately I dashed to the sink and splashed water on my face, and it was this dripping, vibrating mess that Jeremy Irons faced a few seconds later when he returned. Mumbling something about being very hot, I offered my trembling hand to take the photos and as he passed them, for a split second, I saw a look of contempt flicker across his face.

Not wanting to piss him off further - I've seen Reversal of Fortune, I know what this man is capable of - I practically fled the kitchen and into the fresh air. Jeremy Irons followed me half way down the path and the last thing I heard was his clipped instructions to close the gate behind me. I pulled it shut without looking back and hightailed it to the nearest cafe for a mainline of sugar.

A hearty sandwiche, can of coke and half hour of sunshine set me right and I felt fantastic. With a smile on my face and a song in my heart I headed back to Sheffield, stopping only once to phone my friend Matt and tell him what had happened.

I haven't met Jeremy Irons since, and for that I'm blessed. Drinking is bad for you kids, it makes you do stupid things infront of RSC actors and no-one should ever sink that low.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is the end of The Jeremy Irons Story. I thank you.



*Note to readers. In 2001 Jeremy Irons was still a moderately respectable actor. Dungeons and Dragons had been shot but not released and we were years away from the Time Machine, Eragon and Kingdom of Heaven. I think I'd recently seen him in Lolita, which is an excellent movie.

Different Strokes

Recently I have become figuratively addicted to a couple of blogs - both written by women, both offering totally different viewpoints about life on this planet of ours, and both serving as pertinent reminders of the variety of life experience.

The first is the much heralded An Arab Woman Blues which is a remarkably well written and personal insight into a "Middle Easterner ,an Arab Woman - into my 40's and old enough to know better." It is such a passionate blog, every entry drips with emotion and rage and the text is intelligent and informed. While news reports on the Middle East simply fill me with guilt and anger, this blog challenges every preconception about what I thought I knew and gives a genuine, heartfelt and terrifying insight into life in the Western occupied Iraq.

To contrast that I have also been reading News From Chilli which is the blog of retired lady living in Chillicothe, Texas. She updates every day, writing in minute detail about the trivial and important day to day affairs of her life. While it barely moves away from a well-written list of activities, it does give us a snapshot of her character and what life must be like being a middle-class, elderly American.

What separates News From Chilli from An Arab Woman Blues is the absence of opinion. An Arab Woman speaks her mind about politics, about equality, about imperialism and the invasion with striking clarity and an outraged stance, News From Chilli is happy to talk about her husbands fishing trips, her poker games and the haircuts of her dogs ("the girls"). Together they demonstrate the incomprehensibly different experiences of women, and indeed people, in this world. They also represent the fundamental relationship between the West and Middle East... the exploiter is indifferent, unaware and complacent while the exploited is angry, informed and indignant.

Friday was International Womens Day, and so to note this I'd like to compare a short excerpt from each of their blogs on this day.

An Arab Woman Blues
"I declare today "International women's week of Independence... from men."
And I invite you to experience it first hand the Iraqi way, the way it is applied in the "new Iraq."
By the way, any similarities to other countries are purely coincidental.

And since, by the authority bestowed upon me, I am the natural representative of God on earth, I will not only control your body and the way you dress ...
Did you not hear what I just said ? Cover this strand of hair now! Loose man that you are! Why do you insist on behaving like a slut? Have you no shame? Or are you just after your vain, earthly desires?...
That is it, be good so I can always approve of you and be pleased with you...
Sit straight when am talking to you and uncross your legs and keep them tightly closed... and don't interrupt...

As I was saying, since I am God's representative on earth, I also decree that you no longer have any political, legal or economic rights...Yes you heard me right.
What do you need them for? Everything you need is provided for, you are a father, you have your children ... and your natural place...

News From Chilli
"This morning, Jim and I took off for the new Bass Pro Shop in Olathe - at the intersection of I-35 and 199th street. He also drove me around the relatively new shopping center on the other side of this intersection. We made a quick stop at the Half Price Book store, but struck out on what we were looking for.

I took a book to read with me to the Bass Pro and ended up spending about an hour reading in a very comfortable rocking chair - in front of a fireplace. I did look around the store a little, but the rocker kept looking more and more enticing. Afterwards we headed east on 119th until we reached Metcalf and then south to 135th - and then to WilJenny's for lunch. The place was packed today with most of the business in the bar area as the KU game was on tv. Jim had a shaved, prime rib sandwich with beef broth for dipping - it was divine! I had the usual Louis Mueller - brisket with all kinds of extra hot things on it - hopefully I won't pay too dear of a price tonight, but seem to be doing okay now. We were back in Chillicothe about 3:00.

I had good intentions of not napping, but after having trouble staying awake coming home, the girls and I went down for a two hour nap. The Texas/Baylor basketball game begins at 8:20 - so I know I'll be up late tonight."

The internet is great, it connects you with millions of people and helps you learn about their lives - it can give you ideas, knowledge and insight into experiences you had never even considered before. It does make me feel awfully insgnificant sometimes, though.

Jesus Camp

This.
Is an incredible film.


I don't care how you see it; download it, rent it, buy it
- just make sure you see it. And then have the most amazing inner-dialogue with yourself about every subject raised...

It's a documentary focusing on an Evangelical summer camp in North Dakota that trains children to be Christian soldiers as part of Gods army. Here children as young as 6 are taught the lies of evolution, the evil of abortion and the reverence of our lord George W. Bush. As far as the morality of it all goes, I can only splutter with indignation and struggle to find the words to even begin to describe the injustices being dealt upon these children. As a piece of filmmaking, I can say it's an exceptional piece of work.

The movie focuses entirely on the summer camp and its Pastor Becky Fischer. The only voice of dissidence is a Christian talk radio host who argues that Evangicalism has gone too far in Christs name. There is very little misrepresentation in terms of filmmaking - or as far as I noticed - and the staff and children are given ample chance to explain themselves. Opinions are left to the audience to decide, however since the material is so remarkable in terms of displaying and explaining fundamentalism it's very hard to look upon the subjects favourably. Their rational is clear and concise, but their argument dictates that they hang themselves with their own rope. Which they do. Frequently.


What I found most remarkable was the humanising of the subjects; despite that these children are effectively brainwashed, terrified and forced into a belief of Christ, their eloquence, intelligence and dedication is remarkable. Were it not for an indoctrinated faith and coherced alligance they would be exceptional children - smart, mannered, educated, opinionated - but the fevered rocking and speaking in tongues is enough to make you fear for their adullthood.

Not to make grand statements about religion or anything, but those interested in state control and cult movements should take a look. Not all fascism looks like Hitler, and this is a terrific, front row view into the makings of an indocrinated youth. Their dedication and feverent belief makes you wish their efforts were more positively placed than banning abortions and the creation of a Christian state. The movie is frequently hilarious, and frequently terrifying, when the Pastors explain their methods for ensnaring the young minds - there's nothing like the blood font to explain sin, and you can't beat a 2 inch plastic foetus strapped to a 6-year olds wrist to drive the abortion point home.

This movie makes it harder to laugh at those religious nutballs out there, it puts a face to those silly fools who claim dinosaurs are mentioned in the Bible and it gives a legitimacy to a movement that demands ignorance and blind-faith over anything else. It's also a fascinating sociological document, and a very well made movie.

Official Website
IMDB
Wikipedia

Adam Curtis' new series The Trap starts on Sunday night, 9pm, BBC 2 - don't forget to watch it. I'll be at work. Bollocks.

Catflap

Just spent the last hour and a half trying to coax the cats through their new catflap. Hobbes is happy to use it so long as someone else pushes it for him. Mooch is terrified of the door now it's changed and is refusing to come out from under the bed.

Them some weird-assed cats we be raising.

Hopes for the Future

I don't have many ambitions in life, but I have always wanted to have a severed head in my fridge. Not for long, really - just long enough that I can have a friend over, offer to grab them a beer, open the fridge and take the two cold ones that are next to the severed head wrapped in plastic. Maybe I could offer a weak in-joke by throwing the beer to them and saying "heads up."

As you get older you begin to realise that not all your dreams are achievable, and that some must fall by the wayside. More practical ambitions offer a better chance at success... this is why last year I finally gave up on my long-standing wish to snort coke of the breasts of a dead Hollywood hooker.

I think I'll keep the severed head fantasy a little while longer, I'm not quite ready to give that one up yet.

Shutdown Day 2007

Can You Go One Day Without Using a Computer?



Shutdown Day 2007

What a shite initiative.

Movie News

Gossip is gossip is gossip when it comes to Hollywood news, but this little snippet caught my eye this morning which looks like it could be quite exciting. Preacher is an outstanding comic book series written by Garth Ennis and illustrated by Steve Dillon, it's possibly my favourite ever comic-book series, and a movie version has been threatened for a long time.

The problem is that it's far too complex, far too fucked up and far too offensive to ever truly capture on screen - it features a corrupt god, an obese Allfather, a retarded messiah, sex investigators, vampires, beastiality, a suicide-deformed teenager (see below), gay angels, the Saint of Killers, a villain with a penis-shaped head and a cameo by Bill Hicks, to name but a few elements. And that's not mentioning the enormous and very bloody body count. Like I said, favourite ever comic book. For a while it looked like Tank Girl/Freddy's Dead director Rachel Talahay was going to make it, which was a bad move, and would star serial borefucker James Marsden. This was a very bad move.

Turns out, though, that HBO are on the cusp of making a mini-series out of it, using each issue as an episode. This is a very good idea, the only way you could come close to capturing the detail and subtext of Preacher is to follow the story very closely. The bad news is that Mark Steven Johnson - the piss-poor director behind Daredevil and Ghost Rider - is the man handling it. Yhen again, right now he's making all the right sounds:

"JOHNSON: I'm just trying to finish the pilot for Preacher at the moment. It's for HBO. It's VERY faithful to the comic, nearly exact. I think if it went, it would be one of the most amazing shows ever on television."

"I gave [HBO] the comics, and I said, 'Every issue is an hour. And it's exactly the book. ... I had my meeting yesterday, and Garth Ennis is on the phone, and we're all in the room, and Garth is like, 'You don't have to be so beholden to the comic.' And I'm like, 'No, no, no. It's got to be like the comic.' So that's what's so brilliant about it. It's just like, HBO, who else would do it but them? Nobody. ... HBO is just like, 'Bring it on.'"

Should I get excited? HBO make the best TV in the world, and if they're prepared to do justice to the comic by staying faithful, it could almost work. I dare not hope.



All the gotta do is cast it right now; Johnny Depp, Robert Carlyle, Cameron Diaz, Clint Eastwood, Patrick Stewart or nothing, thank you.

Mood swings

Three days ago I was stressed and irrational.
Two days ago I was maudlin and contemplative.
Yesterday I was angry and pissed off.
Today I'm optimistic and cheerful.

I think I might be pregnant.

Down and Out in France and Sheffield

Peace.

Been a long(ish) time, how've you been? I'm behind on everything. Bills, work, emails, money, updates, technology. Time. It's been a busy year so far. I am sat here, tired and longing for bed, but unable to hit the sack until it gets a little later. There's so much more I could be doing, but I'm choosing to catch spend my time watching episodes of Reno 911. I should have gone down to Isobels instead of updating this here blog. I'm a fool.

So we shot the new 65daysofstatic video yesterday. "Don't Go Down to Sorrow" took 10 hours to shoot in a very cold basement venue somewhere in deepest Sheffield. Save a bassist strucken with severe food poisoning who had to go home early, it all went very well. We put out the Mirimar Disaster video earier this month and completion on our Phlegm Comics collaboration 'Space Station' by Aaron Stout is due anyday, thus I've been spending quite alot of time producing and very little time actually making anything. It was really good to get to direct something again, even if it was just a case of saying yes to some questions, no to some others and watching a small monitor incessantly. Secretly, I think that's all there is to directing anyway.

All I have to do now is find a camera to transfer the footage, edit it and get it duplicated and down to the promotions company by 23rd February. Easy. Did I mention the work shifts, family birthdays, leaving parties, gigs and meetings I've also got lined up? Plus we have a secret staff only screening of Hot Fuzz on Thursday night... how can one man cope?

I did have a holiday, mind you. A skiing holiday at that, so I guess I can't complain too much. It's not like I'm overly stressed - work is really fun at the moment - it's just that there's a hell of a lot of things to get done at the same time, and it never appears to let up. I'd like to breathe a little more, but I guess you can breathe when you're dead.

Here's the Mirimar Disaster video. Produced by Medlo and directed by Paul Huxley.

Busy Bee

Hello

10% of my brain here. The other 90% has been distracted recently by such common burdens as work, money and life in general and has been negligent towards its blog responsibilities. Since there appears to be currently no way to gain the 90% attention, I thought I'd just pop out and assure everybody that it's all going swimmingly and not to worry. Whilst I am largely considered to be the introspective percentage of my brain, I have found my mass greatly decreasing of late until it has reached this minimal 10% threshold. I am hope to gain a further majority in the coming weeks, but make no mistake - it will be a long and painful battle.

Just stay alive, I will find you.

65/5/2007

Awesome TV

I've said this before, and I look forward to saying it again; just when you think 24 can't possibly get anymore insane, it goes and defies your expectations again. For all it's po-faced seriousness, repetitive dialogue and exceptional plot holes it remains the finest thing on TV. Season 6, long may you reign.


I'm currently in the delighful throes of Reno 911, a take-off of Cops from Comedy Central. It's a really good show - largely improvised and painfully funny. It's introduced me to the comic talents of Kerri Kenney who plays two roles on the show and is without a doubt the funniest female comic I have seen in a very very long time. They have a movie coming out which looks a little "mah" but we'll see, the TV show is genius.


Call me a geek, call me whatever. The new Battlestar Galactica is has given sci-fi what it really needed; a bastard hard kick up the ass. I think it's best described in the words of the Peabody institute when they said: "It treats contemporary issues from an angle that really make you think about those issues…issues of race, gender, all those things are dealt with in that context... 'Battlestar' considers them in a dramatic narrative."

Damn right.

I also recently watched Crank which is, frankly, an absolutely brilliant action movie - it's ludicrious from start to finish and it knows it, which makes it all the more fun. Mike Judge's Idiocracy is a much maligned, badly treated flick which deserves recognition far beyond the release it was granted - it has some great ideas and moments of genius but the film has clearly suffered at the hands of the studios editors. Let's see... what else...? Last King of Scotland is excellent, so is Casino Royale and if you're in the mood for something gentle I can definately recommend Robert Altmans last film, A Praire Home Companion.

New Photos

There's 3 (count 'em, 3) new photo sets over at my photo blog Day of the Dave. Feel free to swing by and have a look...

16 Years Ago...

To this day, 12 January 1991, my mum died.

I was only 13 at the time and as a result, I have to confess, I don't have that many active memories of her. I mean I remember her and everything, but they're more flashes of moments, of sensations, or conversations than anything else. I don't have a full-fledged minds-eye image of her... and that was the thing I feared the most when she died, that I'd forget her. Now I'm older and have lived more years without her than with, I find that more comforting than anything else. I may not recall the sound of her voice or what she smelled like, but I do remember, very vivedly, what it was like to be with her.

I think I find that comforting because my precise memories are much more of how I was a dick to her, than of her being nice to me. My dominating memories are of how unsympathetically I reacted to hearing she had Leukemia, or of making her cry during the school holidays circa 1986, or how, critically, I chose to go swimming on the day she died, not go and see her in hospital.

I don't have guilt. I was a 13 year old boy going through a rough time and, overall, I handled it very well, but my memories naturally lean toward the negative. We had a great relationship - that much I which I am sure - and while I may have only a handful of moments that remind me of that, it's all I need.

In hindsight it's very easy to wish you had an adult mind throughout your childhood - those ex-girlfriends would be rationalised, those significant moments seized, those bullies put in their place - but the truth is you did't, and it is those experiences, good or bad that form you. When my mum died I became an adult very quickly. It established my healthy attitude towards death, it made me a stronger person and it, crucially, formed my character. I don't look upon her death as a terrible thing that happened to me anymore, I look at it as one of the many good and bad things that's happened to me during my life.

Normally I make a point of remembering this day, of taking a few minutes at 1.21pm to just sit down and raise a glass to her, but this year I forgot. It's not like I forgot forgot - I knew it was coming up, obviously - but this year it wasn't all prevailing, as it is normally. I didn't remember until late into this evenings shift. I don't feel too bad about that - it was a busy day and I was distracted - but I can't shake the inkling that forgetting this year is the start of another stage of forgetting... the kind where it slips into the back of your mind and it takes more and more to remember each time. I wouldn't like that.

This has been an unusually personal post for me. My apologies to those who found it to be cringingly embarrassing / too much information and / or a reminder of why heartfelt confessions really should be best kept in the head. I've found it quite cathartic, personally, and I never really understood the point of writing something if it wasn't going to be read. Warts n'all.

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Crossover Advertising

Next time you see that advert on TV with Ray Winstone (the one for Special K or Whole Wheat or Shredded Wheat or something) where he's talking about eating healthily and it being your choice, look in the background. As he picks up a newspaper there is a headline that says "Pommegranate is the New Blueberry" on an enormous Evening Standard posterboard.

Now look out for the new Burger King 'Angus Burger' advert and check to see which paper is delivering the all important headlines... why, it's the Evening Standard again.



Good to know that they can be relied on to deliver impartial news and not be influenced by advertising interests. Anyone spotted any more Evening Standard cameos?