Headscissors

Cross

2012-02-17T15:03:00.001Z

I did A-Level Media Studies.

You probably assumed that was the case, given my media savvy. I can turn on any television in the country. Not from here, but if I'm close to it. It's almost always obvious where the "on" button is. Occasionally, the TV might be unplugged, in which case I'll plug it in and then turn it on.

If the sound is too loud, I can turn down the volume. I barely have to look at the remote control. It's like an instinct. I'll never press the '4' by mistake.

I'm adept at all things medial (and remedial).

All kidding aside (and I mean all kidding - don't try to keep some tucked into your waistband or muff), Media Studies was by far the most difficult subject I took. The others were:

A-Level Government and Politics
A-Level English Literature
AS-Level Critical Thinking

(These three taught me what the West Lothian Question was, how to spell "onomatopoeia", and how to hate myself.)

It really annoys me that Media Studies is seen as a joke subject. People use it as shorthand to refer to the dumbing-down of society and contrast it with higher pursuits like Latin and bayonet proficiency.

It isn't seen as a proper subject. It's a soft option. It's a Mickey Mouse class. It's the choice for skivers and graffiti artists with broken wrists.

Part of the reason I hate this lazy reasoning is that I did Media Studies and I want people to think I'm cleverer than I am.

But the main reason I hate it is because it's FUCKING. STUPID.

What is it about the study of media that people think is so easy? It's the MEDIA.

The media is pretty big and pretty important. You may have noticed it. It's covers a vast swathe of art and culture and technology and intellectual thought. It's almost a wonder that it's not split into more subjects.

English Literature is seen as legitimate. That's the study of books.

Media Studies looks at film and television and journalism and the internet. It looks at language and text and still images and moving images and sound and the interaction between all of these.

Analysing a scene in Once Upon a Time in The West is just as interesting and thought-provoking and difficult as analysing a John Donne sonnet. Different, but still valid.

I'm not trying to defend it as a noble pursuit. I'm just saying that it's clearly very broad and complex. Why should the study of the media be so disrespected? Stop disrespecting it. You're making yourself look like an idiot. (Not you - you're fine - I was talking to that straw man over there.)

I suppose it's just that the modern media is quite new. Literature was not considered an academic discipline until relatively recently. Before that, it was probably thought of as a bunch of lazy idiots reading storybooks. Far from the traditions of classics and philosophy and the study of which demons live in which parts of the anatomy. You know, real subjects.

But now it is seen as legitimate. The same will happen to Media Studies.

In the future (and, for all I know, in the present), there will be a subject called Internet Studies. And though this subject would be really useful and wide-reaching and complex and important, it will still be mocked as a soft option for people addicted to Facebook.

It takes people a long time to understand things, and if you don't understand something it's easy to marginalise and mock it.

My Media Studies qualification should be just as respected as any of my other, more "serious", ones.

Even if part of the course involved me creating an ad campaign for a drink called Seaman's Brew.

***

My knowledge of the media has given me a keen eye. We looked at advertising and marketing as part of the course. So I'd like to talk about Jesus.

More specifically, I'd like to talk about Jesus, King of the Jews.

This won't be a theological or historical discussion. It won't be based on any truth or insight. It will just be an analysis of a table in the above Wikipedia entry.

INRI is the inscription which appears above the cross of Jesus. It stands for Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum. It means Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews. Pontius Pilate put it there because... well, because he was a bit of a dick, really. Controversial, I know. But I think - and I may be alone here - that Pilate was a nasty piece of work. There, I said it.

The grand inscription above the crucified Christ becomes a symbol of mockery. Probably. I don't know. I basically just read the Wikipedia entry, as I said.

What I'm interested in is the various translations of the inscriptions. There's a helpful table summarising the subtle differences between the gospels.

And whilst these differences may be related to the nuances of language, or social norms, or personal experience, I like to think of it in terms of a marketing slogan.

Imagine Mark, Luke, Matthew and John each having a crack at a snappy summary. In reality, I suppose it would be their interpretation of what Pilate wanted written there. But that gets in the way of my analysis.

So as far as I'm concerned, the Four Evangelists are writing the sign themselves. That's heretical and incoherent. But it's Friday. I should get some leeway.

Mark's version is just:

The King of the Jews

Nice and simple. The King of the Jews. No room for confusion there. The King of the Jews. Nice, neat, functional. A good sign. People will look at that sign and think, "Oh. The King of the Jews has been killed. That's a shame/blessing." (Depending on their personal beliefs)

Luke, on the other hand, seems to generally approve of the expression, but feels it needs a touch more clarification. His reads:

This is the King of the Jews

Luke's attempt has the core of Mark's, but he's added a "This is" to the beginning. And you can see why. Even though the legend is attached to the cross of a specific man, there's no guarantee that people will associate the sign with the dead man beneath it.

If it's just "The King of the Jews", they might just think that it's a non sequitur.

"Hey, that man has been horrifically killed. Hey, there's a sign about the King of the Jews. Why have they put that there?"

By adding "This is", Luke has made the connection clear.

"Ohhhhh. That's the King of the Jews. I thought he looked familiar."

Spinal Tap later used the same technique when naming their documentary.

Matthew decides to up the ante. He goes for:

This is Jesus, the King of the Jews

He clearly owes a debt to Mark and Luke (even though I'm not sure which came first). He likes "King of the Jews". He's not messing with a winning formula. He likes the introductory "This is". But he feels that it's not quite specific enough.

It's important to include not just his title (it could be any King of the Jews), but his Christian name as well. (People forget that Jesus, in addition to all his good works and miracles, was also the inventor of the Christian name)

Matthew has covered: a) who it is, b) his job title, and c) the relationship between the sign and the dead man beneath it.

Finally, John takes it on even further:

Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews

He, like Matthew is keen to impart information. He has the Christian name. He has the job title. But he doesn't feel that this is enough. What they really need is the home town.

There could be dozens of Kings of the Jews called Jesus. It's important to geographically narrow-down the candidates. Also, it's important to attract the attention of any Nazarenes that might be nearby. I know that I personally would only be interested in a dead messiah if he (or she) shared my postcode.

But with all that information, it's getting a bit unwieldy. It's not going to be a big sign. This is Golgotha, not Vegas. So Matthew has opted to cut the "This is" from the beginning.

I suppose he thought it was unnecessary. He must have assumed that people would put two and two together. Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews is probably that guy there. The guy under the sign.

That's how signs work in the modern world. If you see a shoe shop, and above it, the sign "Bill's Shoe Shop", you tend to assume that the shop above which it sits is, in fact, Bill's Shoe Shop.

You don't need "This is Bill's Shoe Shop".

So, what's your favourite?

I feel that 'The King of the Jews' is better from Pilate's point of view. It's so sneering and dismissive. 'Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews' is too wordy.

I think Matthew's version is best: "This is Jesus, King of the Jews". It's informative enough to be clear to the neophyte, it's snide enough to appeal to Pilate, and it's dignified enough to provide a genuine epitaph.

Well done, Matthew. You win a £10 book token (which was worth a lot more back then).

***

I'm bailing out of this blog post.

I don't think I've done either of these topics the service they deserve. Actually, the second one doesn't deserve any service. Service on that topic is just flippant - like a sarcastic waiter. Any service whatsoever is underserved.

But never mind.

...

That's it: never mind.

I haven't got any further justification.

Pic 'n' Mix

2012-02-15T15:25:00.000Z

My blog has been a bit text-heavy lately, so this will mainly be a pictorial entry. Doing this also means I don't have to think of much to say. It's a "win-win-win" situation. (That's just like a normal "win-win" situation, but with the added third "win" because being in a "win-win" situation can only be considered a win.)

Let's begin our visual treat with a thing I haven't even decided upon yet.

***

Childhood car journeys were never complete without a trip to Happy Eater.

Happy Eater was a roadside restaurant, a bit like Little Chef, that was a reliable fun-packed dining experience for children who had yet to experience Cordon Bleu cuisine. They had cool toys and stuff to play with, and a wide range of meals ending in "with chips and beans".

I remember having a plastic Happy Eater beaker, with a straw that curled around it like a helter-skelter, so you could suck liquid on an exciting journey from the bottom of the cup to your mouth.

I also remember our car breaking down outside one once.

(I nearly typed "czar" instead of car then. Just to clarify: our czar never broke down.)

Their logo is interesting. The face is slightly maniacal. There's an unnecessary tuft of hair on the top. The figure seems to be demonstrating the correct orifice in which to insert food.

The trouble with this box of matches is that the image seems to suggest to children that they insert the matches into their mouths. That's terrible advice: a real waste of matches. You'd never be able to get away with that nowadays.

I always enjoyed going to Happy Eater, but it's only in restrospect (that's restaurant retrospect) that I realise what an ordeal it must have been for my parents. The concept of a "family restaurant" now fills me with dread. I can only assume it's full of screaming and chiding and toddlers with scampi smeared all over their stupid round orange faces.

What's next?

***

Hey, it's Andrew Large!

You know Andrew Large, right?

Good old Andrew Large.

You can't see it from this picture, but he has an infinite chain of progressively smaller heads emerging from the back of his skull. He's done well to deal with that disadvantage.

Fun fact: Andrew Large is the only member of his family to have ever worn that tie.

More? More.

***

Neptune! The planet!

Imagine all the things that are happening there right now. I reckon there's some kind of fête.

Childhood car journeys were never complete without a trip to Neptune.

But we never made it there. So we all have to deal with dozens of incomplete car journeys, weighing us down like lead albatrosses. Those journeys will not be completed in my lifetime. I yearn for closure.

***

A cast photo from Family Ties.

***

A close-up of my thumb.

***

There's an interesting story about Family Ties and my thumb. But sadly, there isn't an interesting story about Family Ties and my thumb.

This hasn't been Vintage Me.

But I'll be back, stronger than ever, older than ever, wiser than Heather, apprised of the weather, eyes on forever.

I can feel something interesting bubbling away in my subconscious, When it's ready, we'll all have a ladle-full.

Case Study

2012-02-11T14:19:00.000Z

It's the weekend, so it's time for another tweet omnibus. That's what this is: an omnibus.

I've described it as a compilation, a compendium, a retrospective, a "word larder", but it's an omnibus.

Like one of those EastEnders ones that lasts for eleven hours. Everyone likes those.

I'm going to make some coffee.

That's not relevant to this post, but I thought you should know. I like my coffee like I like my jokes about how I like my coffee: overused.

That's funny. I might tweet that.

I just tweeted that.

On closer inspection, it's not that funny. I could do better. If I'd thought about it for a few more seconds. Oh well. It's Saturday. The day of disgusting laziness. I can't even be bothered to make coffee.

But who needs coffee? There's nothing more RICH and ENERGIZING than a stroll through the GARDEN OF FUNNY.

That's right! It's another edition of:

Granular Hilarity

***

The 2008 Hulk film is 60% good. The trouble is, it's not that 60% of the bits in it are good, it's that all of the bits in it are 60% good.

***

If you start calling your bellybutton your "tum-hole", you'll save dozens of syllables each day.

***

"They were there to see beavers, but died." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drac_River :-(

***

Legend tells us that if Richie Havens leaves the Tower of London, nothing much will happen.

***

I plan to spend most of today languishing.

***

Once bitten, twice bitten. Three times bitten. Please stop biting me.

***

I just heard my neighbour playing music with sleigh bells in it. I broke his door down and pointed to his calendar aggressively.

***

I look so cool when nodding my head to music that I've just been nominated for a Grammy.

***

Pullover; sweater; jumper. These are the items of clothing I wear when I'm a) being stopped by police, b) perspiring, & c) a suicide risk.

***

I love watching US sitcoms, because nothing makes me laugh more than misogyny in booths.

***

"You had me erect at hello."

***

An orchestra is like a marionette: remove its strings, and people are going to get angry. Like conductors. And Geppetto.

***

I'm all in favour of progress, but sympathise with the Luddites smashing the "family air loom". Too many plummeting kids.

***

I emailed Jim with the subject line "Late" and he emailed back with the subject line "RE:Late" and I was all "relate to what?!" & we laughed

***

At school, there was a boy in my class whose family owned a drawbridge. No castle - just a drawbridge. Everyone liked beating up THAT kid.

***

Murphy's had to change their advertising strategy when they realised that bitter people comprised a lucrative demographic.

***

I've just eaten some potato salad. That tells you everything you need to know about me.

***

I broke my pact to forego all pacts immediately.

***

Which letter would be "the letter of complaint"? The X connotes intolerance, but O captures the shock. Perhaps it would just be a terse W.

***

I was so funny on Twitter last night, the Queen has appointed me her personal sword receptacle.

***

Monday is the one enemy we can never defeat.

***

Putting subliminal commands in your tweets is totally self-indulgent and maSTABaTORY.

***

The first thing you do after finding a patient who's been smothered to death is wash the pillowcase. Then check the pulse or something.

***

I'm not as twelve as I used to be.

***

I just need a moment (and a specially designed glove) to catch my breath.

***

I want to leave my body to mad science when I die. My mechanised corpse can educate and terrify! (Always carry a cyborgan donor card)

***

♫ ♪ Binoculars, binoculars! Binoculars, binoculars! Binoculars, binoculars! Bin-bin-bin-bin-noc-noc-noc-noc-u-u-u-u-LARS. ♪ ♫ #binoculars

***

That song always reminds me of binoculars.

***

I'm in love with my own refraction.

***

One of the lesser-known wartime landmarks was Ctrl+V-Day. The enemy took one hell of a pasting.

***

One of the most hilarious pranks is shaking someone's hand whilst wearing a joy buzzard. And the more talons, the funnier it is!

***

POEM: Mia Farrow / Gave bone marrow / To a sparrow / A bungled reading of the tarot / She can't undo / Time's arrow: too straight & narrow

***

Poetry is just a list of rhyming words, right?

***

I used to be a prizefighter. I had dominant victories over four rosettes and a certificate, but retired after getting impaled on an Emmy.

***

Would you rather pay: a) your way, b) the piper, c) attention, or d) lip service?

***

"A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!" That Richard III sure did like his gymnastics.

***

The 6 on my phone is broken, so I've just started dialling 3 twice. (33 is my quick-dial for the phone repairman)

***

The young are wasted on youth.

***

I wore my new stripey shirt today, but no-one mistook me for a bearded prison.

***

For lunch: LIQUID FOOD. It's like living with Buck Rogers! Futuristic! All flying dogs and space-couriers! LIQUID FOOD! (soup)

***

Is it too early in the day to start drinking "night milk"?

***

Whenever I hear a siren outside, I immediately demand that my neighbours buy a mast and tie me to it.

***

I just said to the guy outside with the leaf-blower "blow MY leaf!", but I don't think he heard me.

***

I'm considering going back to my job as a battery painter. It's a tough decision though - there are a lot of pluses and minuses.

***

Orange is the only word in the English language in this dystopian novel I'm working on.

***

Thinking about it, people would probably just learn French or something. Damn. 700 wasted pages.

***

I keep getting glacier and glacier.

***

For consistency's sake, all playground apparatus should follow the see-saw's "present tense-past tense" model (swing-swungs, slide-slid etc)

***

Nothing would be more fun than a go on the swing-swungs.

***

I have webbed toes. I just haven't got the heart to evict a spider.

***

Does anyone know a lewd monarch who might be looking for a pen pal? (Arse King for a friend)

***

I don't like to look to the future in case I get hit in the face by all the problems my future self is putting behind him.

***

"The signs of ageing" is the most depressing lesson at any school for the deaf.

***

You know it's time to do laundry when you find yourself wearing Christmas stockings as socks. And a kimono made of mangers.

***

Have you ever tried to describe yourself to a sketch artist? They hate it. "It's redundant," she said. Some people...

***

I like to read the introduction of the book I'm about to read. I rarely mix and match.

***

Those joke shop "arrow-through-the-head" tricks kill more people each year than actual arrows. They're toxic.

***

Similarly, fake tan blinds more people each year than the sun.

***

Whenever a seamstress visits a space station, she has to enter through the hemlock. It's lethal. :-( That's why astronauts are so frumpy.

***

I think I overstuff my tweets sometimes. They can be difficult to digest. I should work on a more manageable twanapé.

***

Fen?

***

Sitcom Pitch: HISLOP 'N' HERLOP - Ian Hislop and his identical twin sister (played by Helena Bonham Carter) own a British Lop pig sanctuary.

***

Film Pitch: MOUNTAIN AGONY- Someone falls a long way and is badly hurt for ages and you wonder why you're watching. Starring Téa Leoni.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: THE BAG - Contestants must complete a variety of tasks whilst holding a bag, such as changing a tyre or holding another bag

***

I've got more guts than Brains (from Thunderbirds).

***

We've been out for muffins and museums at a ratio of two museums for every muffin.

***

I was carving a pumpkin today, and someone looked at me like I was crazy! To be fair, I had carved that expression myself.

***

It's funny how many spiders have parlours. How do they afford the upkeep?

***

DICKENS FACT: The Artful Dodger's full name was 'The Arthurful Dodger'.

***

Red spot at morning, leopard's warning.

***

You can't be tried for killing the same big cat twice. It's Double Leopardy.

***

I have two other leopard jokes, but there's no point in blowing all your minds at once.

***

Arthur Scargill is one of the only union leaders whose name is a composite of three Disney characters.

***

I could do with a Full English. But we only have the ingredients for a fraction of an English.

***

I keep finding solace in my beard.

***

The most inspiring way to die is being jettisoned into space at your own request.

***

I've just designed a hilarious comedy apron that says "I MUST WEAR THIS OR ELSE YOUR LITTLE BOY'S BLOOD WILL STAIN MY CLOTHES". Random! LOL!

***

Improve your eyesight by eating carrots instead of your glasses.

***

I'll let you know when I think of anything.

***

UPDATE: I just thought of anything.

***

yeah yeah cute we've all seen a robin

***

Watts are so vulgar. I only measure power in pardons.

***

I keep a picture of a locket inside my true love.

***

You're the [BLANK] to my [BLONK].

***

More words have been written in condensation than in Falmouth.

***

I love the smell of freshly-cut grasp.

***

"I've been following the news for some time now." - The Weather

***

I like Maya Angelou, but I wish she'd stop bragging about her syrinx knowledge.

***

I just bought an audiobook version of the dictionary. Says it all, really.

***

Work days are like conga lines: the more idiots you encounter, the longer they get.

***

At lunch, there was a man sitting on the next table who looked exactly like Lenin. But it wasn't Lenin. He was adamant.

***

POEM: On the night // that Sharon // found out she was barren // England appointed Steve McClaren

***

I'd hate for anyone to think that I was or was not

***

I don't really ""get quotation marks.

***

The best technique for removing a door is tying it to a friend's tooth and slamming their mouth shut.

***

We think of the sound a clock makes as "tick-tock", but in other countries, they might think of it as something else for all I know.

***

Someone should do a film where Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde swap bodies.

***

You never see James Bond holding a carrier bag.

***

At school, anyone with a wrist injury was accused of excessive masturbation. Even if their parents had been killed in the same car accident.

***

Apart from brains and nerves, not a lot gets wracked these days.

***

You should never turn over a new leaf. It's new. Give it time. If you want to turn something over, it should be an OLD leaf.

***

Any actor who plays someone with sensitive teeth in an advert is doomed to suffer the affliction in real life. #littleknowncurse

***

If you break a mirror, you get seven years of your mother telling you to be careful whenever you're near a mirror. #littleknowncurse

***

If you see a magpie smoking a cigar, you get made into a brooch. #littleknowncurse

***

If you do a voice-over for a bank advert, your larynx will become blocked with coins. #advertcurses #littleknowncurse

***

I've bitten one of my nails so much that my shoulder is bleeding.

***

Reality Show Pitch: CAPE CANAVRIL LAVIGNE - The spunky singer-songwriter is full of astronauts and spells shuttle with a 6 for some reason.

***

Sitcom Pitch: WAIST NOT WANT KNOT- Bill Waste, an overweight refuse collector, attempts to lose weight by tying himself to a treadmill. Not.

***

Film Pitch: POWDER KEG - The drunken college adventures of a telepathic albino frat boy. (You all remember that film, right? Powder?)

***

Quiz Show Pitch: GOING FOR GOULD - 70s heartthrob Elliott Gould is hunted for sport by contestants with a variety of amusing accents.

***

This "BLANK Pitch:" device is a good way to tweet terrible puns under the guise of media satire.

***

Mid-sauna is the worst time to realise that you have a fatal allergy to towels.

***

You're so handsome when you're me.

***

Instead of taking your mirrors down, you could just cover your face in wallpaper. I'm an Ideas Man.

***

If you've just come back from the dead, please contact your family IMMEDIATELY. (They're thinking of turning your room into a gym)

***

If you've just come back from the brink, remember: it's colder here. Pack woollens.

***

You should all try playing "Street Buckaroo". It's basically just sticking Post-Its to a cat until someone gets clawed.

***

POEM: Claude, bored, clawed Maude.

***

What an adventure! We've all become closer as a result of this experience.

But I never want to see another canoe again for as long as I live.

Further Bleeding

2012-02-10T12:16:00.000Z

I'm not bored. I'm excited. There's loads going on.

***

That was a lie. All of those three things were lies. You could probably tell by my tone.

Let's write a screenplay. Read this first.

***

INT. COFFEE SHOP - DAY

A steamer steams, the steam obscures our view. When it clears, it reveals the image of BRISTOL NITRATE. He's gaunter than yesterday. He's wearing a wristwatch with no strap. He's shaking.

A beautiful BARISTA wearing an Alice Band slides into view.

BARISTA

Can I help?

BRISTOL

Do you sell?

BARISTA

I'm sorry?

BRISTOL

Do you sell?

BARISTA

Do we sell what?

BRISTOL straightens the tie in his pocket and clears his throat.

BRISTOL

Napkins?

BARISTA

They're over there.

She points to a pile of napkins in an area dedicated to napkins. 

BRISTOL

How much?

BARISTA

They're free.

BRISTOL's eyes widen so far that every branch of Caffè Nero in the Northern Hemisphere is forced to close down.

CUT TO:

EXT. THE PARK - 10ISH

The mouth of PELLICA DAVENPORT is full of food and laughter. 

She's sitting on a park bench. In front of her, BRISTOL is wearing a cloak made of napkins.

PELLICA

You look like something the 

cat dragged in to a seminar 

on "Pathetic Findings".

BRISTOL
Where were you last night?

 
PELLICA
I was fraternising.

BRISTOL
With who?

PELLICA
Why, my brother of course! 
Your French is terrible.

BRISTOL
I have a headache.

He taps his temple and a fly emerges from his opposite ear.

PELLICA
Anyway, I'm glad you're here.
I have a proposition for you.

BRISTOL
Can I sit down?

PELLICA clicks her fingers. Nothing happens.

PELLICA
Your last three cheques have bounced.

BRISTOL
That's impossible.

PELLICA clicks her fingers again. This time a leather wingback chair plummets from the sky and crushes BRISTOL with a sickening crunch. He twitches and struggles to his feet as she continues talking.

PELLICA
Unless you've been living in 
a GOLDMINE, you'll have realised 
that we're in a recession. 
Obviously the government has 
decided to take away your funding.

BRISTOL
But why would they keep
sending the cheques?

PELLICA
Because they're CONSERVATIVES. 
They're petty and cruel.
Remember when they had your
father blacklisted and then
killed and then blacklisted 
in Heaven?

BRISTOL
Yeah...

PELLICA
The long and the short of it 
is this: you owe me money. 
I don't need money, but I'm owed it.

BRISTOL
Do you want me to sell another 
one of my organs? I've only got 
three left. And the upright piano.  

PELLICA
That won't be necessary. I have an 
errand that I want you to run.

She pats the bench next to her, and BRISTOL (bleeding slightly, napkins tattered) warily takes a seat next to her.

BRISTOL
What's the errand?

PELLICA
Tell me, my boy. (BEAT) 
What do you know about 
Abraham Lincoln?

She pours herself a scotch somehow.

BRISTOL stares into the middle distance. Then the far distance. Then three-quarter distance. (Mix it up a bit - actor's discretion).

A fly buzzes around his head. It starts to rain.

***

Well, great. Now I'm stuck in this font. If I knew more about HTML, this would be no problem.

This is me now, by the way. Your blog writer. DiamondBadger. Paul.

The script extract is over.

Pretty exciting, right?

What's going to happen next?

What's with the flies?

What's with Lincoln?

What's the errand?

What's the point?

This is a real page turner. Though I suppose that term is obsolete now. 

It's a real page scroller. That's what it is.

Have you given any thoughts to casting? I was thinking Pellica could be played by Morwenna Banks.

Bristol seems like one of those Ben Whishaw roles, but I think it would be better played by Leicester (and former Southampton) midfielder Matt Oakley.
 
 I don't know if he can act. But with a script of this quality, it doesn't really matter.

Yes, that can be taken in a couple of ways.

Take it the other way.

I'm too productive. It's making me weak.

Products

2012-02-08T11:14:00.002Z

I suppose you're all wondering why I've called you in here.

Someone has died, and the killer is in this room.

I intend to flush out the perpetrator and expose his or her villainy. Justice will prevail.

It was Nicola.

Don't look at me like that, Nicola. You know it was you.

Case closed.

I hope you've all kept hold of your return tickets.

Take a goody bag and get out of my sight.

***

It's annoying when you lose the end of the sellotape. You were given custody of it and now it is gone. The judge granted you full access in good faith. He is probably full of regret right now.

I don't care if you have the roll. The roll is useless without an end. The end is the door and the lock and the key.

If you trap your only daughter in an air-tight concrete casket, I'm not going to give you credit for keeping an eye on the casket itself. Without a way in, it's useless. She's dead, and your reputation is in tatters.

Responsibility is important. You can't play fast and loose with something like that.

And now? I need to stick something to some other something, and I can't access the tape. If you had played closer attention to the end, we'd all be sharing a beer and a laugh right now. But you lost the end. So all we're sharing is a feeling of disappointment in the one of us that isn't me.

I don't want to make a big thing about it.

It's just annoying, that's all.

Your daughter is fine.

***

My head's all over the place today. I'm not feeling very well ("Well, that's all very well..."), and I can't commit to any activity. That's why I'm writing this. Creating sentences is a noble enterprise, even if they're this one. I want my day to be as productive as possible. I don't care what I produce, as long as it's something.

I've been thinking about going through my old blog posts and properly labelling them. At the moment, I only label my "tweet" posts, but it might be useful if people could look for specific topics.

I might even introduce some kind of Retroscissors feature where I can highlight past entries.

I'm sure there are one or two hidden gems from three years ago which no-one ever read. The trouble is, I'll have to wade through all of the hidden non-gems to get there.

Of course, doing this would be the most self-indulgent thing ever done by a human.

More self-indulgent than someone commissioning a sculpture of themselves commissioning a sculpture of themselves.

More self-indulgent than the Queen using a bank note to pay for a stamp.

More self-indulgent than Cameron Crowe.

I might do it anyway. There's nothing wrong with being self-indulgent. I don't just indulge myself, after all. I'm just quite indulgent. I'll indulge all manner of things.

I should give some examples of my indulgences, but I've written the word 'indulgent' so many times that I've forgotten what it means.

Is is short for 'indul gentleman'?

Is it some kind of slur?

Language is running away from me, and I can't catch it without tripping over my tongue.

***

There's nothing more dehumanising than running out of ketchup.

***

Keep your distance close, and your proximity closer.

***

Two little vignettes there. They could have gone on Twitter, but you get them instead. This blog was here long before Twitter. You guy(s?) get preferential treatment. In fact, when I'm unveiling something spectacular, you'll get priority tickets.

I haven't got any plans to unveil anything at the moment. Perhaps a murderer hiding as a bride. Nicola, for example. She's exactly the kind of person who would do a thing like that.

A thing like bride-hiding.

***

I keep coming back to this post, like a fiercely loyal prince beating a dead horse with his sceptre. I should end it somewhere.

Or maybe I could just keep updating it for my entire life. It can be thousands of pages long. People will have a real insight into my existence, provided I remember to hit the 'Publish' button on my deathbed.

I probably won't remember.

I should end it now. Life is like steak: more easily digested in small chunks and smothered in creamy peppercorn sauce.

***

I wrote all of the above yesterday, but forgot to hit 'Publish'. I wasn't even dying.

Oh well, at least I've had a day to generate some new thoughts.

...

...

Wednesday has a 'd' in it.

Every Now And Then

2012-02-05T14:32:00.000Z

There comes a time in every man's life when he must decide on which side of an arbitrary line he will stand.

That time may also come in every woman's life. I don't know. I feel more confident making sweeping generalisations about billions of strangers if they possess similar genitals to me.

We must all chose a side, even if both sides are wrong about everything and neither of them have a fashionable uniform.

From a young age, I found myself subconsciously, but fundamentally, aligned with one of a pair of opposites.

I always preferred life to death; BBC to ITV; Coke to Pepsi; WWF to WCW; Marvel to DC; Skinner to Baddiel; Nintendo to Sega; Labour to Conservatives; The Beatles to The Stones; dialecticalism to common sense.

These preferences seemed to be instinctual - I had a genetic predilection to lean to a particular side. Scientists have yet to discover the Pepsi gene, but if they do, I almost certainly don't have it. (Pepsi tastes like ham)

Of course, what my preferences really show is that I'm middle class. All of my choices are those of the middle class (except perhaps Skinner over Baddiel - but to be honest, I can't imagine anyone choosing Baddiel).

The trouble is that, as you grow up, these instinctive distinctions (instinctions?) become less obvious. Lines blur, society becomes more complicated, you start eating olives and your armoury of allegiance collapses like a house of card-armour.

It's disconcerting. Shades of grey are considered a sign of cowardice by the world at large. Cowardice is usually seen as a yellow streak - but at least yellow is a strong and unequivocal colour. There's a certain bravery in proudly waving the yellow flag of the wimp, the chicken's head coat-of-arms rippling from a fearful shiver.

Grey is distrusted as a colour. That's why we hate the elderly and Eeyore. That's why Earl Grey is the least respected of all teas. The Americans tried to bolster the colour by replacing the weedy 'e' with a stronger, brasher 'a'. But it couldn't stop the rot. Gray or grey, no-one would dye their moustache that colour.

So the world is complex, but complexity is viewed with suspicion. You must choose your side. That arbitrary line is calling, imploring you to make up your mind. Even though the line is twisting and twirling and curling, like a piece of overcooked spaghetti on the underside of a roller coaster.

And I find it difficult to choose.

Some things are clearly wrong and right. It's objectively wrong to torture people. It's objectively wrong to prefer pears to apples. It's objectively wrong to like, watch, or be Piers Morgan. But some things aren't as clear.

I think the main problem is that I started this blog post by talking about an arbitrary line, but didn't really have any idea what I was going to talk about. I still don't.

This would be the time where I get to the meat of my discussion. I should have a specific dilemma to relate. I should talk about the stress of having to decide on something that is nebulous and intricate.

But I don't have a specific example. I don't even really know what I'm talking about. I just thought I'd start writing, and something coherent might emerge.

I could have kept on trying. But I like to be honest with my reader(s)(?). Talking to you is like talking to myself. It's exactly like that.

There probably are issues that I find difficult - where I'm reluctant to choose sides. But it's Sunday. It's supposed to be a day of rest, even from following your ideas through to their conclusions.

Think of this post as a "build your own interesting train of thought" kit. There are probably enough little seeds of ponderousness to grow your own incisive take on modern life. You'll need to use some of your own thoughts and examples as fertiliser, and make sure to keep it out of direct sunlight. A wry eye is easily blinded.

Also, you might want to mix some metaphors. You can use a pestle and mortar.

***

Happy Sunday Everyone! Let's all listen to this short Scott Walker song. (This video was filmed in a car park!) It's impossible to not feel upbeat listening to this. I'm happy to forego the grey and the gray on this issue. It's black and white. Impossible.

No no

2012-02-02T15:41:00.000Z

Following on from my annoying new breathing habits, I've identified another of my quirks that makes me want to be someone else, just so I can get more momentum for kicking myself in the abdomen.

Again, I'm not sure if this is new or if I've only just noticed it.

When I'm agreeing with someone, I say "yeah" twice in quick succession.

Yeah, yeah.

But that's not quick enough.

Yeah-yeah.

Even that isn't quite right. It's more like this.

"Oh hey, do you remember Pauly Shore? He was really good."
"Yeahyeah! He was great!"

Yeahyeah.

Not the solitary yeah. That clearly doesn't indicate my agreement in strong enough terms. I'm so excited that my yeahs have piled on top of each other, like two oafish schoolboys bundling their way into a sex shop.

Yeahyeah! I agree with you so much. SO much. I'm almost insulted that you even raised it as a question. I'm eager and I'm eager to please. I span the entire spectrum of eager. Understand?

Oh, yeahyeah.

One yeah is annoying enough. Two is appalling. I'll try to wean myself off using it, just as I will wean myself off exhaling pointlessly, and just as I stopped myself from prefacing every joke with "In many ways...".

Self-improvement is an important part of being human. Without it, we're just moss.

***

It's been a little while since my last blog post, so here's a list of things that have happened to me since then:

I drank some apple juice

***

Life is like a box of chocolates: it's full of outdated clichés. Forrest Gump came out nearly eighteen years ago. His little boy is probably dead by now. And those chocolates are well past their best before date.

***

Orange is the only word in the English language in the dystopian novel I'm working on.

I just tweeted that. Except I changed the third "the" to a "this". I thought you'd enjoy an insight into my creative process. No detail is too small. This tweet could make or break my career.

Except I haven't got a career. If it was to break my career, it would have to make it first. It could make and then subsequently break my career. In which case, I break even. But I'm richer for the experience.

I might get offered a job in an orange grove or as a novelist (in an orange grove). And then immediately lose my job due to "a series of appalling citric infractions".

I hope that does happen. I can write a book about it.

***

Thinking about it, people would probably just learn French or something. Damn. 700 wasted pages.

I just tweeted that.

Don't worry, I'm not going to use my annoying "keep repeating a section of the blog with a twist" technique. You know the one. I just write the same thing again and again, changing it slightly, in an attempt to make this all seem well thought-out, when in reality it's just a way of increasing the girth of the entry. I won't do that.

I won't even do it now, in a hilarious meta-joke. I'm trying out new techniques today. It will make people glad that they've read this.

***

I'm too distant, that's the problem. Readers don't want distant, they want intimate. You want to get to know the real me. I shouldn't be hiding behind lists and references to lists. I should tell you what makes me feel weak at the knees.

The thing is, I'm not intentionally keeping it from you. It's just that there's nothing to keep. There's not a wealth of hidden yearnings and hopings and dancings that illuminate the real me. What you see is what you get. I don't feel weak at the knees. I feel strong. At the knees.

I suppose I'm not distant. I just create the illusion of distance by being blurry and small. But I'm like that up close.

It would be strange if this blog became a quivering confessional, where I pour out my quivering heart (or a GIF of a quivering heart) onto electronic blotting paper. It would be quite interesting, I suppose.

When they collect my raw, visceral diary-style posts into several hardback volumes, they'll wonder whether they should include the early ones too.

"His work from 2012 onwards has been considered some of the most personal, heartbreaking and revealing writing of the 21st century. Before that, he did a lot of stuff about apples and waffles and drawings of ducks."

I wonder what will be considered my best period. Probably the ducks.

***

I'm going to go now. I usually find that I write my way into something interesting in even the most fragmented blog post. This hasn't happened today. But, as with all creative enterprises, no-one cares.

Here is an appropriate song that a colleague/friend/confidant/bon vivant has just sent me. Let's call her 'S'. I'd like to thank her for providing me with a way out of this mess.

I'll try again soon. I'll make preparatory notes. I'll win you back yet. You see if I don't.

Hang In There

2012-01-28T14:16:00.000Z

Right. Let's do this. It's go time. In fact, it's way past go time. It's almost quarter to stop.

I was going to watch the football and write this later, but it's making me feel ill.

The Liverpool fans are booing Patrice Evra for reporting racist abuse. That's disgusting.

It has made me, for the first time in my life, want Manchester United to win a football match. That's equally disgusting.

So I need to cleanse my palate. And what better way to do that than with a delicious sorbet of my recent tweets? There is no better way.

Let's take a look back through the past ten days of bad puns, irritating whimsy and jokes that don't quite work. It will be like leafing through a photo album, except that all of the photos are out of focus, and riddled with red-eye. Even the ones that aren't of eyes.

That's right - it's another edition of my popular regular feature:

The Tweet Locker (like "meat locker")

***

I'd like to be swept into power, but only if they did it with a real pretty broom.

***

The monocle is an emblem of the upper class. What is it about asymmetrical blindness that's so sophisticated?

***

I find human interaction difficult because I hate cynicism and also anyone who has ever enjoyed anything.

***

If I had three wishes, I'd firstly get Mick McCarthy to play Ted Danson's character in Bored to Death. Then world peace. Then wish 1 again.

***

"Twelve" is a really weird word. There should be some kind of inquest.

***

I'm worried one of my hairs is going bald.

***

PayPal is LapYap backwards. I don't know what benefits this knowledge will reap.

***

Everyone on Twitter should try to post one piece of bad advice each day.

***

Remember when we all thought Skunk Anansie were called 'Skunk & Nancy'? The 90s was an amazing time to be alive.

***

When I worked at the crash mat factory, I don't think we got the most out of our trust exercises.

***

Watching Morse once, I came up with a song which goes: "Lewis, Lewis, I think we have to do this. What's the heartiest foodstuff? Stew is."

***

The Lewis song has been stuck in my head for some time. It's surprisingly sombre in tone.

[Paul/Editor's Note: Luckily, with the power of blog, I've been able to record this fantastic "song". It's designed to be played on the guitar with one hand, so you can concentrate on giving Morse the thumbs up.

Lewis (mp3)

I should probably close these 'note brackets' now.]

***

I shouldn't have put my phone on silent. I just checked it and saw I'd had three mist calls. MIST CAN'T EVEN TALK.

***

I'm going to start dabbing my brow with handkerchief. It will make people think I've got a handkerchief.

***

I'm going to turn all my tweets into webcomics. I just need to replace all of the adjectives with drawings.

***

"This is just like 'Who shot J.R.', isn't it?!" - Me, whenever I hear about a shooting.

***

I can't tell you the problems I had with the punctuation in that last tweet.

***

I've stopped washing behind my best friend's back.

***

Sing this tweet.

***

Mutter this tweet under your breath.

***

Stop reading this tweet before you get to the final noun.

***

Regret reading this tweet immediately.

***

All triplets have an innate sense of whether or not the other two are married.

***

I wish I could smell my own hair.

***

When I answer the phone, and someone says "Is that Mr Fung?", I shout "I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE SURE OF ANYTHING IN MY LIFE", then hang up.

***

Kate Bosworth is so anonymous as an actor that I was going to tweet a joke about her anonymity, CERTAIN that she was called 'Kate Boswell'.

***

The best thing about having a Kate Bosworth poster on your wall is you can see right through to the brickwork.

***

I didn't want to offend Kate, so checked if she was on Twitter. I searched for 'Kate Boswell'. I think this says more about my own problems.

***

Nothing raises my spirits more than seeing someone brazenly eating a massive sandwich. I'm surrounded by mirrors.

***

Irony is this century's Spanish influenza.

***

How long can you spend in the bath before you're out of contention for "Fastest Land Mammal"? I don't want to rule myself out at this stage.

***

I'm erecting a plaque dedicated to my heroic procrastination this afternoon. But first, I need to learn how to smelt.

***

It's always fun to look and see which search terms have led people to my blog. Here are the stats for this week:

***

Whenever I walk through a rough area, I wear my "NEVER BEEN MUGGED" T-shirt. Criminals can't read anything written in sequins.

***

I despise the establishment, so I just cut the nose off some brie and mailed it to Brian Sewell.

***

The thorn messiah was crucified wearing a crown of little Jesuses.

***

You should never put a cat in the microwave or vice versa.

***

Coroners are allowed to keep one part of each body they examine. Most of them go for a buttock and use it for painting.

***

Farmers never get up early. They just keep that lie circulating because, seriously, who's gonna check?

***

Instead of a capital V, you can just type two opposite slashes: \/. So if your V key breaks, it won't be a problem! SEND ME MONEY NOW.

***

I don't know why anyone would want a drum kit when they have perfectly good thighs.

***

Three first names of Premier League managers are also crimes: Arsene (setting fires), Harry (harrassment), Roberto (stealing from Erto).

***

Everyone is posting photos of their babies on Facebook today. They all look identical. I think it's all just one baby, working in shifts.

***

I lead an interesting life down an alley and watch it get bludgeoned and robbed.

***

When your kids learn to talk, it's amazing for two reasons: 1) They can finally express themselves and 2) You can interrupt them constantly.

***

I just accidentally grated the wrong knuckle. What am I going to do with all this index zest?

***

I finished a long book today, then went and perused some of the early chapters again to remind me of when I was young.

***

I like that instant, Polaroid nostalgia. "Ah, remember before all this photo shaking? My wrist was much less tired then."

***

Slug to fellow slug, upon seeing a snail: "Do you think he knows how ridiculous he looks?"

***

One of the most obvious indicators that someone is lying is if they nervously finger their "NEVER TRUST ME" badge.

***

If you can suck your Victoria sponge through a drinking straw, I recommend asking an expert to look at your oven.

***

I've been rubbing this so-called "magic lamb" for hours, and it's only granted one of my wishes (friction-seared mutton).

***

I'd never enlist in the army because I'm terrified of medals.

***

There are some things you just can't teach if you ever want to see your daughter again.

***

The Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles were known as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in the US because heroism is illegal over there.

***

Shunning the obvious is in itself obvious. I like to embrace the obvious. It's the last thing anyone would expect.

***

If Parma ham has taught us anything, it's that you can glamorise any cured meat by putting a place name in front of it. And the times tables

***

In Northampton today, a woodwork teacher was sectioned under the Mental Health Act because he claimed he could hear vices.

***

I'm going to write a song about my pillow tonight. (That will also the first line of the song)

***

I just googled "The Full English Patient", expecting to find a Ralph Fiennes made of sausage, beans and egg, with a bacon Binoche. NOTHING.

***

There's a plastic bag being blown around outside, and now all I can think about is Thora Birch's tits.

***

I feel like I'm wasting a lot of storage space by not carrying anything on top of my feet. I could strap two blocks of butter onto them.

***

I just cut off all my belt loops and joined them together to make a belt. Then I cut up my trousers to make new belt loops. Problem solved.

***

I've got that "parsnip" song in my head.

***

"Arsenic" doesn't rhyme with "parsnip". Good try though.

***

Tony the Tiger didn't use to roll his 'r's. It was that year at the Sorbonne.

***

I woke up on the wrong side of the wok this morning.

***

It's difficult to compliment a mirror without people thinking you're arrogant.

***

I've started to question my commitment to this twe

***

That was a flurry of activity. Now comes the full-on blizzard of inertia.

***

It's so cold in our office that David Attenborough just muttered "Fuck THIS", and shuffled off to get a hot chocolate.

***

If you want a wooden replica tie (for a Pinocchio costume or something), use the hinged stand from the back of a picture frame.

***

The jobs section of the Thames Valley Police website is called "Coppertunities". #untruths

***

Mummy, invisible man, burns victim. Probably won't take off as a variant of 'rock-paper-scissors', but I need to get rid of these bandages.

***

"Oh God. I'm starting to act like my father." - Jeff Bridges.

***

We've just had to ask for a new coat rack. That's four this week. To be honest, I really don't know if we need this many dreamcatchers.

***

There's a small area of your back that's impossible to scratch during a shipwreck.

***

I'd rather have a scorpion for a face than a scorpion's face for a face.

***

A dreaded rainy day, so I meet you at the sedentary gates. Chip and Dale are on your side, while Garfield is on mine.

***

The national symbol of Portugal is a massive superfluous 'h'.

***

I just had a breakfast of nose on toast. It doesn't taste as good as it smells.

***

They were playing "Man in the Mirror" in the coffee shop. I'm going to have myself in my head all day.

***

I have very stringent standards for my tweets. I spent some time drafting a "Fearniture Cotton" joke that didn't pass muster.

***

I'd rather have sleep than the identity of my father's killer.

***

I've been subtly hinting that I'd like a box of warm straw. Perhaps telepathy is TOO subtle.

***

Here's a fun game for the next time you're on public transport: nudge the person next to you as many times as you've got skin cells.

***

I'm a heptakleptomaniac. I can't resist the urge to steal seven things.

***

"No Gloria Paynor, no Gloria Gaynor!" This disco workout video is confusing.

***

Apparently, it's impossible to cut a cake in half with a spoon. I'm going to test this hypothesis as soon as my spoon is out of the oven.

***

I'm on first name terms with F. Murray Abraham.

***

Let's get right down to business! What's that? There's no direct route to business? There's a three hour layover in "Procrastination Gulch"?

***

I'd like to draw your attention to justify the expense of my art classes.

***

If my children ever ask me what life was like in the 90s, I'll force-feed them No Doubt albums until they stop asking questions.

***

It's funny that they were called No Doubt, when they seem to have inspired such ambivalence.

***

I find it easier to cope in a cape, to hope in a heap, and to mope in a Costa Coffee.

***

I'm looking forward to Easter. Mainly because I need some bunny-neck-circumference-length bits of ribbon for my collection.

***

I bet the knuckle really envies those parts of the finger with no obligations.

***

I've been terrified of dangling from things ever since I was mugged on a trapeze. That's why I could never hang myself.

***

I hate people who speak loudly in restaurants, or into restaurants at distance through a tube.I hate people who speak loudly in restaurants, or into restaurants at distance through a tube.

***

Imagine if we all swapped fruit bowls!

***

I hope you've enjoyed reading this tweet as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

***

I've just set myself a place at the IRRI TABLE. Pass the fucking salt.

***

MY FAVOURITE KIDS' BOOK IS JITTERY MYSTERIES BY CAFFEINID BLYTON (I've had some coffee)

***

I need to get my hair cut. It's currently so thick I need to part it with a machine gun.

***

Reality Show Pitch: NECKS TO NOTHING - Three tall young women, tired of hitting their heads on light fittings, have their necks amputated.

***

Film Pitch: MY FRIEND GAVIN- Moving drama about a boy coming to terms with the burden of having a friend called Gavin. Set during Watergate.

***

Sitcom Pitch: CLASSIFY THIS! - Hijinks and romance set in the offices of the BBFC. One prude, one liberal, one sadomasochist. Eight laughs!

***

I wish columnists would stop talking about "The Rise of [BLANK]". Nothing rises. You're just sinking.

***

I aspire to be 20% more nasal by this time next year.

***

I'm going to buy an anger sandwich (or "angwich") on the way home. Inside? The children of those who have wronged me. And rocket.

***

I just robbed a hosiery shop, with my head covered in bank notes to hide my identity.

***

The song 'Old MacDonald Had a Farm' is sung in the past tense, because he was convicted of manslaughter and hanged himself in prison.

***

Stick nine plectrums to an piece of A4 white card and pretend it's a giant 9 of Spades! (If you have more or less than nine, it's pointless)

***

I keep having recurring dreams where I'm experiencing déjà vu. Then again, it might have just been one dream...

***

They should make more savoury shampoos. Some ideas: L'Oreal Vindaloo, Chicken & Mushroom 2 in 1, Head & Shoulders: Egg & Soldiers.

***

That last tweet was the first stand-up joke I ever wrote. You can see how I've developed since then. Backwards.

***

Russian Roulette Drinking Game: whenever someone takes a shot, take a shot.

***

Exquisite or exquisn'tite?

***

My phone is running out of battery. I want to call Al Gore to ask his advice, but I don't know if I'll have enough juice to get through.

***

Andie MacDowell's Moving Castle

***

If you want to make an omelette, you've got to exorcise the ghost that lives on your hob.

***

I know that last tweet wasn't great, but E4 have just commissioned a series based on it.

***

I know that last tweet was weak cultural "satire", but Radio 4 have just commissioned a series based on it.

***

I know this repetition device is a bit annoying, but I'm currently in talks with Christopher Nolan.

***

You should dramatically sweep everything off your desk if you're overcome by rage or lust or if the desk is on fire.

***

Don't worry. That's not a spider on your forehead.

***

Putting subliminal commands in your tweets is totally self-indulgent and maSTABaTORY.

***

That was another one of those tweets that I dreamt. When I woke up, I discovered that my genius was foiled by the concept of "spelling".

***

The drainpipe across the road is staring at me. And now it's starting to cry. I'm going to move to a different part of the room.

***

I might have some Kellogg's Crunchy Nut, but am slightly concerned about their new ad campaign: "Do YOU have a severe mental illness?".

***

In researching that last tweet (as I always do), I discovered that the cereal no longer has "Corn Flakes" as part of its name. #interesting

***

Also, it's now "Coco Pops" rather than "Coco Choco Puffy Sweet Milk-Colouring Monkey Rice Pops". Scandalous. It's Opal Fruits all over again.

***

It's stop time.

And Out

2012-01-27T14:52:00.000Z

I've started exhaling funny.

Let me rephrase that. Repeatedly. Until every last drop of ambiguity is drained from an already bitter lemon.

I haven't started exhaling funny. I've been doing that for years. I eat, drink and breathe funny. Everyone knows that. It's on my business card. I was just using charmingly incorrect grammar. What I meant to say was:

I've started exhaling funnily.

There's no comma there. I haven't started exhaling, funnily. If I had only just started exhaling, it would be no laughing matter.

I've started exhaling funnily, funnily enough.

I don't know if this is something that happens to everyone as they get older, but over the past couple of months I've noticed that I've started doing strange, pointless little exhalations. They serve no purpose.

There are a few acceptable forms of exhalation:

the normal, everyday breathing out (to expel carbon dioxide and other useless gasses)
the exhalation after some kind of exertion - perhaps one that requires the holding of breath
the sigh (emotionally generated; an expression of relief)
a percussive release of air, to fill a silence, convey thought, or just mediate loneliness (this one is a bit like drumming your fingers on a desk, or cracking your knuckles)

But my exhalations don't fit into any of these categories.

They're certainly not normal, they aren't a response to physical or emotional stimuli, and they're not an absent-minded tick. I'm not filling a silence. Sometimes I'm in the middle of a conversation. I don't think there's any need to release that air, and it doesn't seem to be premeditated.

It's difficult to describe a breath in text, but it's something like: "PFFUSHHH".

The only thing I can think is that I'm steam-powered. But I'd be aware of that, wouldn't I? I'd be able to feel the cogs and pistons beneath my skin. There don't seem to be any. I've checked.

It could be evil spirits, I suppose. They need some time away from their host every now and then. Just to get some perspective on the world, and remind them why they're evil in the first place.

It doesn't bother me. Exhaling is, if not the least of my problems, certainly not the most. (I imagine that sentence is grammatically incorrect. Just like my placement of this bracket(.

It's just strange to have acquired a new... foible? Is it a foible? Or a quirk, perhaps?

Just something new. I thought I was set in my ways. Deeply set. Like a concrete mousse. I thought I'd settled on all my physical defects and twitches. It's refreshing, in a way. You can't teach an old dog new tricks, but a new dog might spontaneously develop a strange new habit, like savaging canoes.

My funny exhalations can become a boon. I can inflate things.

***

I've started inhaling funny.

Let me rephrase that.

Go on.

Please.

Just once. I promise.

No.

No, it won't be like last time.

I'll just rephrase it once, and then I'll be finished. It won't take long. No skin off your nose, right? Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that. It looks totally healed now anyway. Did you use some kind of ointment? Sorry. Yes, you're right, it's none of my business. Anyway, about this rephrasing...

Really? Great! Seriously, I appreciate it.

You won't regret this. I'll just rephrase it once, and then - BAM - I'm outta here! Ha ha!

I will get on with it. I was just, y'know, saying thanks, that's all.

OK. Here it is. Time for a rephrasing. This is going to knock your socks off, I guarantee it.

I've... you know, the funny thing is, I don't even know how I'm going to rephrase it! I didn't even think about it. I'm not even that sure why I was so insistent!

What? No, I...

I wouldn't say I've wasted your time. That's harsh. I think that's harsh. I'm still... let me finish - I'm still going to rephrase it, and for all you know, it might be really good. It might have been well worth it.

I've rephrased things before, and had some really positive feedback.

No.

No, I don't think I should have been more prepared. I mean, yes, that's one way to handle it. But I revel in spontaneity. Some of my best rephrasing work has come totally out of left-field.

There are people who like to plan their rephrasings, and I'm not having a go at them. They might prefer to have something ready before making any promises.

But for me - let me finish - but for me, having that self-imposed pressure is what spurs me on to create something special. There's no right or wrong in the creative process. Everyone works in their own way. I remember when I was in a rephrasal improv group in the late 90s - Rephaserhead, we were called - I...

Hang on! No, don't go! I'll just do it now. Bish, bash, bosh. Here we go. I'm going to rephrase it right now.

...

Should I repeat the original phrase? Because it was quite a while ago, and... OK, great. What I said was:

I've started inhaling funny.

Now.

Let me rephrase that:

I've started... inhaling...

fanny?

[DOOR SLAMS]

...

I deserved that.

Click

2012-01-25T16:51:00.000Z

I was talking to someone earlier today - let's call him "Alex Clissold-Johns" - about something. We were talking via the email machine, not in person. I don't have much call to use vocal communication these days. Not since my jaw was wired shut because the local priest thought I had a "sinful molar".

Something came up about churches (which, now that I think about it, might be why I mentioned a priest just now), and I was going to explain my point of view. But I remembered that I'd written a blog post about it some time ago. So I just gave him the link:

http://headscissors.blogspot.com/2008/02/confession.html

Linking seemed like a good solution. I wouldn't have to cover old ground, and could refer him to a place where I had articulated my feelings and experiences more precisely.

It then occurred to me that I could do this more often. The more blog posts I've written, the greater the chances that I will have written something relevant to the conversation.

(Vigilant readers will recognise this as an error. I only have about four topics of conversation, and have basically been writing the same thing over and over again for the past four and a half years, occasionally bringing things up-to-date with a topical noun. But let's ignore that for now - it interferes with my "point".)

If I'm ever communicating with someone online, I can save myself a lot of time by pointing them to a URL. If the topic of fruit came up, for example (as it often does), instead of taking the time and effort to think of something interesting to say, I can just point them to a blog post where I discussed fruit in a hilarious and inventive way. Like this. Except hilarious and inventive.

Even if our conversation is on a topic that I don't have a totally relevant post to link to, there's no reason why I can't nudge them into that direction.

"Yes Gary, it must be difficult dealing with your redundancy. You were married to that job, in a way. It must be a bit like becoming a widower. Hey, that reminds me of this! LOL!"

I can't use it when I'm speaking to people in person. The human brain has not yet adapted itself to competently process URLs. But I'm sure they'll come out with something soon. I can just think of the relevant blog post, and then communicate it through some kind of retina explosion.

I'd never have to think of anything new ever again! I'd never have to actually engage with another human being! Just imagine...

Of course, I'd spend most of my time writing blog posts on topics that I feel are likely to come up in conversation. I'd have to have quite a large back catalogue. I'd have to anticipate all possible future events. It might even be more work than, you know, talking to people.

But at least it will have embedded videos! I can convey meaning through italics and punctuation!

Someone should write a disappointing television drama about this dystopian future: we're all just referring to previous events, and are unable to process the present. There will be no direct communication with anyone. It can be called U.R.HELL. Of some kind of footnote pun.

I actually have been close to this terrible technopocalypse in real life.

You've never felt more out of touch with reality than when you reply to a thoughtful text from your mum, asking how you are, with the phrase: "see my blog for further details".

***

Speaking of dystopian futures, the Blogger spell check doesn't recognise the word 'dystopian'. It suggests 'dustpan'.

ORWELL WAS RIGHT! IT HAS BEGUN!

Of course, it doesn't recognise the word 'Blogger' either. So I don't know what to believe.

***

It's getting dark. That's the evening for you. As sure as day follows night, evening is always in the middle of the two of them.

I don't mind the cold, but I am not a big fan of winter's early darkness. Even my legendarily sunny disposition is not enough to chase away the 5pm-and-we-need-the-lights-on blues.

I need Spring. I hunger for it, just as I hunger for chocolate eggs, daffodil petals, and buns that signify a horrific method of execution.

But it's not far away. And I can deal with the gloom by utilising a number of techniques, including "not sleeping in until 11" and neon baby chicks.

I can also listen to music, which cares not for light levels (except for The Darkness, and we shouldn't try to please them).

In making my regular playlist this week, I rediscovered an Otis Redding song. This can't help but cheer you up. As long as you don't pay too much attention to the lyrics.

Pinker, Paler, Soldier, Spy

2012-01-23T11:49:00.000Z

I've written about something for a change!

***

Steven Pinker - The Better Angels of Our Nature

This isn't exactly a book review. It isn't part of my Idiot Flaps Odyssey either (which seems to be lying dormant at the moment). I just happened to finish this yesterday and felt like writing about it for the following reasons:

1) It's long, and so I feel like I've achieved something for once
2) Writing about it will help me remember things
3) It's an interesting and important subject
4) I want you to think that I'm clever (though as you'll discover, I will probably demonstrate the opposite)

I'll try not to summarise the book in too much detail, as I'll probably mess things up, and will have Pinker on the phone saying "No, no, no, you've misunderstood everything and you have a ridiculous face. Even evolution can't explain THAT."

But the basic premise is that violence in the world has greatly declined, both in the long and short term.

Despite our notions of the modern world as an very violent place, and our romantic ideas of the past as being an Eden-like wonderland where you can leave your kids unlocked and buy some corn from an elf, the present day is (proportionally) the safest time to be alive.

He looks at many types of violence - war, murder, rape, torture, pushing a friend's face into a gorse bush, animal cruelty, Swingball - and has shown that they have all greatly declined.

Pinker also demonstrates that the commonly accepted belief that the 20th century is the most violent is probably untrue (proportional to population), and that the period since the end of the Second World War has been one of unprecedented peace.

To explain these ideas, Pinker looks at violence through a number of lenses: historical, political, philosophical, economic, biological, psychological, neuroscientific and probably some kind of futuristic space glasses. The discussion is supported by a wide range of statistical evidence. There are lots of graphs and tables, useful case studies and interesting experiments.

Pinker identifies the nature of the change and what has caused it, both in terms of social and political movements, morality and the functioning of the human brain.

So it's a pretty broad remit. Some of the smallest chapter sub-sections could have justified entire books. But Pinker writes fluidly and interestingly, and explains his findings well. Even I, with an attention span shorter than the word 'than', found it easy to follow.

I enjoyed it, and was convinced by most of what he had to say. Violence has declined. Put that in your pipe and smoke it humanely.

But I don't want to jump on his bandwagon just yet. I suspect that I could be easily bamboozled by a clever writer. Though I "studied" philosophy, politics and economics at university, and so should be used to looking at academic writing in a critical way, it's been ages since I had to do it. I reckon an eloquent person could write about why pigs invented the Super Bowl, and I'd believe them.

I don't want to be a chump. I don't want someone to suddenly bring up some point that contradicts his entire thesis, so I'm going to engage my critical faculties.

I've read a bit of commentary and criticism of the book. I've thought hard about the implications of his writing. I've sat in a dark room stroking my chin and folding paper into the shape of a light bulb.

I wear a neon badge on my lapel, and that badge says: RIGOROUS.

Luckily I didn't have to think too far outside the box, because The Guardian did a whole feature on the book, including some reviews and discussions. One review is particularly scathing, though amusingly, the columnist hasn't even read the book, and tries to judge it based on the index. It's an interesting technique. Like judging it based on the font. But as with most of the other criticisms I've seen of the book, the concerns raised seem to be dealt with, in depth, in the book itself.

There are lots of reader comments on these pieces, offering their usual mix of prejudice, self-importance and the simultaneous missing of dozens of points. It's always a mistake to read these comments, I know. There's a curious mindset in some of these people that makes them see changing your mind as a terrible sin. Well, not changing your mind. Changing your mind is a noble crusade. It's changing their mind that's an unforgivable sin. It's a parade of snappy, snide, self-congratulatory hate speech. My comments, on the other hand, are always gracious and productive.

Even given my low expectations, I was surprised at the conviction of so many people who hadn't read the book. They were sure they'd nailed a pithy refutation of the whole argument, even though Pinker had anticipated their glib idiocy and disproved it at length.

I've read several other reviews of the book. Most of them more reasonable than Captain Index. I wanted to be open to arguments against Pinker. I was on the look out for convincing counter-examples, and gaping holes in his argument. But I haven't found any of them yet. Most people who are critical of the book seem to dislike the implications of the central premise. But that doesn't mean that Pinker is necessarily wrong.

I think a lot of people have judged this book based on their preconceptions. And so have I. I'll look at these preconceptions first, and then identify some common objections. After which, I expect to receive my PhD.

What is it about claiming there's a decline in violence that people find so distasteful? No-one wants to admit that things are getting better.

Those on the right find the whole idea ridiculous. The world is clearly going to hell in a handbasket. There was a a vague golden age, not long ago, in which children did what they were told, old women could walk the streets at night, and you wouldn't say boo the goose. You'd call the goose "sir".

Now it's all violent video games and disrespect and suicide bombers performing their own one-woman plays, written with apostrophes in all the wrong places. The job of the conservative is to halt this terrible decline, by returning to nature and family values. The world was better in this non-specific past, even though similar conservatives were complaining about similar things for as long as we can remember.

So saying that violence is declining is anathema. They see violence everywhere, and will believe in this modern evil, no matter how many "facts" you throw at them.

Those on the left are similarly appalled by the idea that we live in a more peaceful world. Injustice is everywhere, people in the third world are suffering, capitalism is causing harm, the West is fighting immoral wars. If violence is declining, it doesn't help their campaigns. They see it as a type of blindness that encourages complacency, and lessens the need for change.

A lot of criticism I've read comes from this latter position. (I haven't read much right-wing reaction to the Pinker book. I doubt the Mail has discussed it in-depth, because it would involve reading a book.)

I've written before about how I hate this glory of the past, and the assumption that the current generation is going down the toilet. The current generation always thinks that theirs is the the most significant, that their young people are stupid and disrespectful, and that modern culture is rubbish. They've thought that for thousands of years, I reckon.

I was pleased to hear about this book, because it supports my view that the past was just as horrible as now, if not more so. I'm biased, then. I just read this because it agreed with me, and then patted myself on the back. It's always good to read a clever person corroborating your world view.

That's why I looked at the counter-arguments. I didn't want my preconceptions to colour my judgement. I want to feel legitimately smug. Blinkered smugness is no fun.

What I was mainly looking for was for clever people to tell me if anything was wrong with Pinker's statistical analysis. His graphs are all very convincing, and I don't really understand stats. I tend to assume that if they've been published, they'll probably be quite reliable. (I'm sure this is a dangerous assumption.) I was waiting to read that he's mislabelled the 'x' axis, or reported on a scientific trial done in another dimension. But I haven't seen any of that so far, so I think I'm reasonably safe to trust the numbers.

Pinker has answered a lot of possible objections in an FAQ here, so I won't go over too much of that.

Some of them are interesting, and I can see where they might be concerned. But some people are just idiots. You see things like:

"I read a news story yesterday about a boy killing bees with a hammer. How can Pinker say that violence is in decline?"

or

"My racist aunt is scared to leave the house. Call that peaceful?"

These people make my statistical analysis look like... uh... some kind of... good statistical analysis. (And make my comparisons seem devastatingly apt.) A single recent violent act will define the world. It's that same lack of proportion that leads people to claim that white middle-class men are the most oppressed group in the country, or that climate change is a myth because it's chilly today.

People tend to give their own experiences prominence. And if their own experiences involve watching the news, and TV shows about crime, and films in which a bomb has to defuse another bomb, they will probably have a warped idea of what's happening. But I don't believe my eyes. I believe a GRAPH.

More understandable criticism is of the implications of this study. If you want to discourage illegal wars, it's not useful to have someone talking about how relatively insignificant they are. People are dying and horrible things are happening.

Of course, Pinker thinks they're horrible too. He's not trying to say "Everything's OK! Everyone disband your charities and protest groups!". He's just trying to describe a change that has taken place.

Likewise, when people rightly campaign against the appalling conviction rates for rape, it doesn't help to have him talking about how incidents of rape have decreased.

He's just trying to present the facts. It's just that some of the facts are a little "off-message".

Fear is a tool that can be used by people of all political persuasions. We don't want society to rest on its laurels. We want new and better laurels, and better living standards for laurels (fewer people resting on them and for shorter hours).

But knowing what is contributing to long-term change isn't an impediment to change. If anything, knowing the progress we've made will encourage people. It will let them know that their campaigns, their protests, their policies, their witty placards, actually can do some good. It doesn't mean we have to accept illegal wars and massacres and Jeremy Kyle.

Yes, fear is a tool that people like to use. But the truth is a useful tool too, and one that is more difficult (though not impossible) to misuse.

One of the funniest criticisms of the decline of violence is that there could be a big war tomorrow that ruins Pinker's whole argument (and presumably his shirt). People seem to think he's arguing that everything is going to be fine, that war is over, that stabbings are going the way of the MiniDisc.

But of course, this isn't some teleological, utopian belief. He's not predicting that peace is inevitable, but reporting on the increase in peace that has already happened. He makes a point of stating that wars can still occur, and the conditions that have led to this state of peace could change.

You'd have to be pretty sure of yourself to write a book that guaranteed peace. If I was doing it, I'd hedge my bets. Even if it was just a tiny footnote at the end, which said: "Or, you know, maybe not".

Anyway, that's all the stuff I looked at. I'm reasonably happy with what I've read. If anyone has any convincing arguments that violence is not in decline, please let me know. I'd be happy to hear them. (And, no, punching me in the face is not an argument.)

I'm going to keep believing that I might be wrong, and that Pinker might be a charlatan with a ridiculous haircut. But until I read something conclusive, I'm going to go along with the conclusions in this book. I'd much rather be alive today than fifty years ago, a hundred years ago, or five thousand years ago (or any number of years in between, smart guy).

There. I hope I've shown how thoughtful I am, and that I know what the term 'teleological' means. Do you respect me more now? Does this make up for the months of nonsense, stupid dialogues and childlike drawings of ducks?

Or have I blundered all over the place? I might have made a foolish pig's ear of the whole thing. I might have angered and bored you.

Blogging is a subtle art.

I'll be back soon, with some more funny observations about water and scratching yourself.

Frank55 Spreads His Wings

2012-01-20T13:51:00.001Z

I'm not a professional cartoonist. I can't draw, don't have any pens, and have never been paid for anything even remotely worthwhile. But I am a passionate amateur. Is it possible to be a cartoonist if you lack any of the essential skills and equipment?

Yes it is.

Frank55 is a character I created. He's the flagship (and only) character of my creative... boatyard. I've shown you his adventures before: here, here, and a little cameo appearance here.

I've realised that I can't hide these genius needles in the huge haystack of my archive, so have created a place for Frank55 to call his own:

http://frank55is.tumblr.com/

It's on Tumblr. I don't really know how Tumblr works yet. I spent a long time messing around with the settings and background. I'm sure you can tell. It seems pretty fun. I need a new place to waste time - Twitter, Facebook and this blog aren't enough. I find that I'm only distracted for 90% of my waking life. I'm trying to nudge it up to 95%.

I joined Google+ a while ago, but I haven't really spent enough time there. Also, I don't know anyone else who uses it. I've just used it to write a sporadic analysis of the slotted spoon. If anyone would like to add me to their circle, please do. (I think that's the right terminology. I'm not making a inappropriate proposition.) My stage name is 'Paul Fung', which is a letter-for-letter copy of my actual name.

But Tumblr is my chosen platform for Frank55. If you visit the above link, you'll see all of the existing cartoons, plus quotes from experts, plus an unpublished third cartoon (that I apparently didn't post here because I thought it was rubbish). If you'd like to "follow" me on there, please feel "free" to do so.

You can also see the most recent instalment, which I include below, to give you a flavour of my artistry.

Pretty moving, right?

I'm hoping to get some kind of publishing deal. Webcomics are big business now. They're a way for people to show off their talents and reach a wide audience.

I could bring out a book. I might need to be more productive, though. Five cartoons in nearly four years isn't enough. I'll try to step things up.

I might also start a Tumblr page for myself. I can't be cluttering up the Frank55 page with interesting links and photos and videos. It needs to be pure, unadulterated ART.

I hope I'm not spreading myself too thin. This blog, my tweets, and now a "regular" cartoon... I just hope I can maintain my current high standards.

***

Now that's out the way, here is some entertaining content. I give with one hand, and give with the other. And if someone wants to hand me an ice-cream, I have to hold it in the crook of my elbow. I then give that away.

I'm worried that this much generosity will lead to me giving everyone the same clothes off my back, which could lead to infighting and spine pneumonia.

In other news, I was in my work canteen today, and overheard a physics expert at another table describing Stephen Hawking as "fundamentally second-rate". He said it with such conviction, that I've started to believe it. Stupid Hawking.

I suppose Hawking's celebrity must annoy other physicists. He gets all the plaudits, all the glory, all the women, and they have to do the hard graft. It's the same with Prof Brian Cox. That pretty boy is basking in the limelight (analysing the limelight's wavelength and eloquently describing the behaviour of limephotons), when the REAL scientists are wrist deep in gluons and sweating into a beaker.

But I suppose that's the way of the world. It happens in all walks of life. The Queen makes all the headlines, but its the unsung royals that are putting the blue-blood, blue-sweat and crystalline tears into making this nation one of the greatest in Western Europe.

It's just the way it is. Let the Coxes and the Queens and the Hawkingses be the glamour-magnets. There's work to be done. And you can't smash protons together if a paparazzo is staring up your lab skirt.

***

I seem to have mislaid my entertaining content. I'll rummage around and see what I can wrangle for next time.

I hope you enjoy the wedding you might be attending this weekend.

Twelve

2012-01-18T13:22:00.000Z

I haven't done a compilation of tweets since 2011. Remember 2011? Back before the Golden Globes, before the Swansea-Arsenal game, when the notion of proposing gift yachts seemed as distant as the hover-carp.

Things are different now. We're all a bit more humble and wrinkled.

Let's stumble together towards a bright tomorrow with another edition of:

Clever and Productive Ideas

***

?thgir ,2102 ni sdrawkcab gnitirw lla er'ew ,oS

***

It's pretty grey and miserable out there. But then, 2012 is the Chinese Year of the Eeyore.

***

You might say that it isn't the Chinese New Year yet. If that's true, how do you explain my spring roll body armour? Hmm?

***

I might make soup for lunch. But I'm not 100% sure, because my alethiometer is covered in soup.

***

Oh man. Has anyone else been watching "The Adventures of Faecal Pinocchio"? Shit just got REAL.

***

The best part about being a cannibal is you can tag photos of your meals on Facebook.

***

It is impossible for any human to draw an accurate bird. If you think you've seen one, it's either some kind of trick or a photograph.

***

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, and finally: 17. #counting

***

Liver. You can't live with it; you can't live without it. Except you can live with it. For a time.

***

"OooOoh. Water displacement. *rolls eyes* THAT's an important discovery. EUREKA. Sheesh..." - Sarchimedes.

***

The most embarrassing time to choke is when you're in the middle of performing the Heimlich Maneuver.

***

I decided to use "maneuver" rather than "manoeuvre" because I'm trying to crack the American market. Like Bush.

***

Outside: the smoke and spicy stench of burning leftover festive pastries. What a waste, what a waste. A mince pyre can't inspire confidence.

***

And lo! An unsatisfying abbreviation of Lorraine! The lower-case 'L' compounds the folly.

***

There are only three breeds of dog. Everything else is just a difference in combing techniques.

***

You might as well get rid of your rear-view mirror. What if you were being followed by a vampire? Useless.

***

Proportionality is directly proportional to itself.

***

If anyone with only a massive finger and thumb has lost a glove, I just found it outside. Or it could be trousers.

***

My concentration is like a can of Nuclear Pepsi: it CANNOT BE SHAKEN.

***

For better results, use the "bristle" end of the toothbrush for cleaning your teeth. This GQ subscription has paid off already.

***

Someone should write a film that begins with the main character being late for something.

***

I've started pronouncing Tibet "tie-bay", in an effort to appear more cosmopolitan. And... now I've stopped.

***

Casting Garth Marenghi as Bruce Banner was a brave choice for the Avengers movie.

***

You look like you haven't seen a ghost.

***

You know those little squiggles you draw to check if a pen is working? In 80,000 years, an alien civilisation will assume they were our gods

***

Film Pitch: JURASSIC PARK PARK - An island resort populated by Jurassic Park recreations goes wrong when a Wayne Knight droid eats a guest.

***

I never get to say "Halt! Who goes there?" in my job. It's like they didn't even read my application letter.

***

Bake a cake with a prison inside and send it to an agoraphobic.

***

When I played Chinese Whispers in China, I was arrested for incitement to commit murmur. But what I did was right. And important.

***

I want to do an off-beat remake of the film Total Recall, where someone plants a tree in Schwarzenegger's memory.

***

There are lots of songs in the public domain, but not many songs ABOUT the public domain. What's it like there? I've never been.

***

I just searched for 'hinge' on Wikipedia. I should probably go to bed.

***

POEM: I found a crouton // in my futon // then sighed // and put my boot on

***

FACT: 90% of household waste is made up of the powdery silver residue from used scratchcards.

***

Every human being who has ever lived has won first place in the World's Youngest Baby competition.

***

No-one likes the sound of their own voice on tapir.

***

They have different consternations in the Southern Hemisphere.

***

Forget the Nicorette Inhalator. The best way to quit smoking is by carrying a bugle with you at all times.

***

Forget the bugle. The best way to quit smoking is by carrying a beagle with you at all times. Chew its ears whenever you have a craving.

***

Forget the bugle and the beagle. And the bagel. And Bungle from Rainbow. The best way to quit smoking is some kind of mouth hypnosis.

***

Ants can only carry all that weight because they have so many knees to bend.

***

This nervous breakdown makes for uncomfortable pillows.

***

Any lyricist who uses the word "unfurled" should have their rhyming privileges revoked.

***

Here's a tip: use "planet" instead of "world". The possibilities are endless: gannet, granite, uh... David Mamet... You see? Endless.

***

I'm too easily Pb.

***

Statistically, fifteen of my followers will be left-handed and shallow.

***

My friend's got a fire-hose for an arm. Other than that, he hasn't got any extinguishing features.

***

Whilst eating an apple just now, I opened my mouth so wide a pteranodon flew out.

***

Just to put it in context: conteitxt.

***

I'm worried my new coat makes me look like a robin. It's not red, but it is made of beaks and feathers and shrinking.

***

To spice things up on the walk home, I'm going to move my feet in the opposite order to usual.

***

There's no more romantic gesture than bundling your loved one into a hot air balloon whilst dressed as a dozen roses.

***

I'm learning how to beatbox. The beats are coming along fine, but I'm really struggling with the box element. I'm only up to three corners.

***

It's considered crass to laugh at your own jokes/children.

***

POEM: A virgin guava // submerged in lava // will appease the fruit gods // but // for how long?

***

"Shhh! I hear something!" is fine. "Shhh! I hear nine things!" is too much.

***

Lie back and think of Robert Englund.

***

I only like organs, skin and skeletons when combined in a very specific way.

***

I just flipped out, but then quickly flipped back in again before anyone noticed.

***

Revenge is a dish best served backwards (eg. never).

[Paul/Editor's Note: this was my attempt at clever wordplay. It doesn't quite work.]

***

You can tell a lot about someone if you speak quickly at an open mic night.

***

Sometimes I worry that I'm too eloquent. I need a bigger tongue.

***

The smell of wallpaper paste always reminds me of a rapid decrease in rigour.

***

I want a personalised numberplate that says "no, I insist" (or N01 1NS15T), but I haven't got a car.

***

Unclench your jaw. It is. It is clenched.

***

I find it difficult to attract the attention of waiters when I'm at home in two sleeping bags.

***

The commentary of Ray Wilkins is the best thing to have happened to football since the invention of the sphere.

***

The smallest bone in the human body can be found in the ear of Dennis Quaid.

***

"I swung around suddenly and knocked a bust of Tom Wilkinson into the litter tray." - MR CONTEXT

***

You make me feel, you make me feel, you make me feel like a natural woman ONE MORE TIME, and we're through. GOT ME?

***

Typing certain words in CAPS makes a worthless tweet into something a hilarious American would say.

***

In chair westerns, the characters are hit with gimmicked breakaway stunt humans.

***

John Thor is Inspector Norse.

***

I just had an embarrassing water cooler overflow spillage disaster. I tried to play it cool by shouting "I HAVE GILLS!", but it didn't work.

***

I'd like to join a TV news team as their 'Despondence Correspondent'. It would just be me standing outside with my hand over my face.

***

I always wear a name-tag on my name-tag, which reads "name-tag". Good to know who's who.

***

LOOK OUT! Statistically, that probably just saved one of your lives.

***

I'll always treasure one thing or another.

***

I've got fluff all over my shirt because I accidentally washed it on the 'glue cycle', and then got in a fight with an angel.

***

Sitcom Pitch: LUMBERJACK OF ALL TRADES - Jack Lumber (Mark Addy) chops wood, changes tyres, and generally lumbers about.

***

Film Pitch: SPARKLEHOOF, THE PRETTIEST FOAL IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD- Bleak, psychological thriller set in Soviet Gulag. Miley Cyrus to star.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: XTREME PANCAKEZ- People flip pancakes in a variety of risky locations (minefield, Baltimore, etc). Tagline: "Shrove THIS!"

***

"Be still, my beating heart!" But it's always sparkling... :-(

***

I was named after my great-grandfather. It made sense to do it in that order.

***

"Richard Eats Many Eggs Mostly Because Everyone Recommends Them". I use that mnemonic so I always remember how to spell 'remembert'.

***

Only the odd numbered Citizen Kane movies are any good.

***

If no-one calls me resplendent before 10:30, I'm in a bad mood all day.

***

Has anyone seen my invisible keys? If so, they're not mine.

***

On the way home, apropos of nothing, Lucy said: "If I'd died in the first year of our relationship, you'd be well over it by now".

***

I answered the door in my dressing gown this morning. I also answered the question "Is my dressing gown too revealing?" The answer was "yes"

***

First, brown the mince.

***

I was tired of constantly wading into controversy, so I bought a Jet Ski!

***

There you go. You're bang up to date. And bang out of order.

Tell your friends about me. It doesn't need to be positive. Just mention me in passing. "I clicked on this blog link by mistake, and immediately regretted it." Say that.

There's no such thing as bad publicity. Or good publicity.

There's no such thing as publicity.

It's a fiction that has only achieved such widespread acceptance because it was brilliantly marketed.

Bless

2012-01-17T15:33:00.000Z

I was just about to sneeze, when I suddenly felt overcome with panic.

It was the morning, and I hadn't spoken to many people or had many thoughts, so my faculties were still getting limber on the sidelines.

I panicked, because I realised I was about to sneeze and couldn't remember if that was the kind of thing that people did in public.

I know there are certain things that society expects us to do behind closed doors. Micturition for one. Defecation for two. That numbering system is well established.

I was at my desk in a quiet office, so other forms of bodily ablutions and excretions are also frowned, and in some cases tutted, upon.

But in that split second before the sneeze, so tired was my brain, I couldn't work out if sneezing was part of that list. It seemed indecent somehow: an involuntary release of face air. I was worried that I'd broken some kind of taboo; that I'd cause my colleagues to be disgusted with, at, and towards me. More than usual.

I could be fired for bringing the company into disrepute. The barbaric expulsion could have left me imprisoned or harangued by all and sundry.

These thoughts all rushed through my head moments before the sneeze did. It had begun - there was no turning back.

I sneezed. Luckily, I realised that sneezing at one's desk is permissible. It's not a sacking offence (at least not these days). Everything was OK.

I was so relieved that I shat myself.

***

Now that last line is much cruder than is my wont. But it did seem like the obvious punchline to that story. And the story needed some kind of ending, otherwise the whole thing could have been summarised by me saying "I sneezed".

That's not enough for a whole blog post. Even by my low standards.

So I went the crude route. Luckily, I was able to follow it up with this disclaimer, which will make my grandparents feel slightly less disappointed in me.

Using the phrase "my wont" is enough to counteract "shat myself". It's a one-to-one trade. Or in this case, a two-to-two.

Did anyone else hear that owl?

***

That seems to be everything that's in my head right now. I'm sure it will be full again soon (barring the odd sneeze exodus). Here's something nice to listen to:

Hands

2012-01-16T21:41:00.000Z

Euphoria isn't a strong enough word. EuFIVEia. That's where I am right now.

The above isn't strictly true, but I thought I'd begin with some unbridled positivity. Of course, I had to throw that last sentence in there, which is a bridle if ever I saw one.

But bridles can be useful too. Without them, the horse(?) would gallop(?) into a ravine(?). I'm not much of an expert on horses (or ravines). For me, equestrianism is a prejudice against... uh... electronic... questrians.

I've never been on a horse. Not that I can remember. I think I was on a camel once, but I didn't ride it around. It was in a zoo, or a camel paddock.

I've been on a bike. They're like metal horses. You can't feed them oats, though.

I feel like I might be less of a man for not being a horse person. If a knight or a cowboy saw me now they'd be all like "My word! What manner of witchcraft is this? This fellow is wears neither jerkin nor dignity" and "Golly! Ah think ah've been suppin' on too much sarsaparilla, I reckin!" respectively.

A true man knows the feeling of a beast between his legs. He also never baulks at the spelling of 'sarsaparilla'. If that's the case, a true man I am not.

That's probably a sexist generalisation. Women are just as comfortable upon a horse. Riding another animal is a decidedly strange thing to do, no matter how your genitals are configured.

I'm going to stop talking about horses now.

***

I'm going to start talking about gloves now.

The best thing about wearing gloves is that they cover up all your racist hand tattoos.

The second best thing about wearing gloves is that you don't need to worry about fingerprints. You can commit all manner of thefts and murders, and you know no-one will be able to track you down. Glove fibres are a problem, I suppose. But they could belong to anyone. Fingerprints are notoriously unique. Glove fibres are all pretty similar, unless they're made of snowflakes or DNA. And mine aren't. Wool. Just wool.

If I ran the world, I'd outlaw glove finger tips. I'd require that the fingerprint area was exposed at all times. Why risk it? If people have nothing to hide, they won't mind leaving their finger ends exposed, will they? On a cold day, it would be slightly uncomfortable, but that's a small price to pay for getting all these gloved criminals behind bars.

The third best thing about wearing gloves is that they keep your hands warm.

The fourth best thing about wearing gloves is that you can pretend you're not wearing gloves and just have strangely wool-like hands. You can pretend that you were an outcast as a child (perhaps rejected by your parents like The Penguin in Batman Returns). You can claim that you were called a freak by the other children; that they shouted "woolly", "sheep mitts" and "The Fortune Tellers' Nightmare". And that you vowed revenge on all the smooth-palmed, dexterous-fingered ingrates, who haven't known a day's hardship in their lives.

You could hatch an elaborate scheme to kidnap all the first-born children of whatever city you live in, and have various fibres sewn into their perfect hands. See how they like it! Some people can have awful scratchy wool. Some can have Velcro glued to their hands, so that whenever they applaud, it takes them precious seconds to separate them. Ahahaha! Now who's the freak?! You'll rue the day you messed with Colonel Wool Hands! (You might have to join the armed forces to achieve the rank of colonel, or you could just lie, I suppose.)

The fifth best thing about wearing gloves is plumping them up, pretending there's a hand in there. Then hitting them with a hammer.

The sixth best thing about wearing gloves is rubbing your brow with a soft finger, and pretending that you're being comforted by Big Bird.

I'm going to stop talking about gloves now.

***

I'm going to start talkin' 'bout my generation now.

I think, by and large, we're probably the best-looking generation in human history. Though to be fair, I am bringing the average up.

There. That's a picture of me making a face. Like Ricky Gervais would do. And everybody likes him.

I'm going to stop talking now.

Good Circulation

2012-01-13T14:41:00.000Z

I might found my own magazine. Print isn't dead, it's just sleeping. We just need a publication with enough electricity to wake it from its slumber.

My magazine will do just that.

It's not a fanzine.

I'm not a fan of anything, and I don't want to appeal to fans. As far as fans are concerned, I'm not a big fan. People who show an interest in anything make me suspicious. That's why I've cultivated such a small number of readers. And I've made sure that they're all generally indifferent to everything I do. Fandom is not a place I feel comfortable.

It will be a magazine. A proper magazine.

It won't be an online magazine or "web site". Anyone can have one of those. I need to reach the people that really matter. People who like paper and ink. People with lots of storage space in their magazine room.

Another thing it won't be is one of those industry magazines. You know the ones - they have them at the end of Have I Got News For You. It's always some sort of terrible pun, like Here's Looking at Glue (the glue industry), Beer's Looking at You (the beer industry), or Here's Looking at Neve Campbell (opticians).

I don't want to reach a small, but passionate fanbase. I want a small, but dispassionate fanbase. I want a demographic so precise and aloof that anyone who even learns that the magazine exists will immediately kill themselves.

I need to consider a few things:

1) Content

What will the magazine be about? I don't know. It could be a lifestyle magazine. They seem to have the widest remit. Because everything is "lifestyle", isn't it? "Lifestyle" is just existence. The only restrictions we'd have would be: a) no articles on what it's like to be dead, and b) limited zombie coverage.

I can't get too specific, because that would attract people interested in that specific thing. I need to be as vague as possible. I want to include material that is so poorly-defined that people aren't even sure that they're reading anything. It will just be a magazine-shaped mist in front of their face. Mist with a barcode.

2) Staff

I can't run a whole magazine by myself. Even with my prodigious workrate. I'd need to hire some people to work under, over and adjacent to me. But again, I'd need to make sure they had no transferable skills whatsoever. Their CV would have to almost be blank - or just peppered with smudged fingerprints.

Every week we'd have a team meeting, at which taking minutes would be strictly prohibited. And we'd all be muffled by scarves, so no-one got the gist. The gist should be a fluttering, flittering snitch-like ball, and no-one would be allowed a broomstick.

People would get paid per word, but I wouldn't tell them which word it was until well after the relevant issue had gone to print.

If you'd like to apply for a staff job, please state your name and experience in the comments section below. Remember: if you know anything, or have ever done anything, we don't have anything for you at the current time.

3) Title

What will the magazine be called? As I've said, I'm not a fan of the pun-based title. We need something punchy, but not memorable. We want to recreate the concussed, addled haze of a retired prize-fighter. Our name will be on everyone's lips, but immediately washed away by drool.

It should also be difficult to spell.

Slueuve?

I'm just throwing it out there. We'll finalise plans in our first team meeting (which will be conducted underwater).

4) Distribution

We want a traditional business model. No marketing, no online presence, no headquarters. We want our magazine to be in the shops, but not prominently displayed. No supermarkets. That would be crass.

Ideally, we'll be placed in greengrocer's (near the red onions), or in stationery kiosks at the side of the motorway.

5) Price

Fifteen, I think. But we won't give a currency.

***

This project is just getting off the ground, so some of these suggestions are bound to change. In fact, I don't want it to get entirely off the ground. You need to stay partially grounded, even if you're a fictional magazine.

Imagine a pumpkin hoisted by balloons. You only want it to float so much that the belly of the pumpkin is brushing tall grass. If the pumpkin rises above waist-height, you've got yourself a problem.

I'm speaking to my accountant about this on Tuesday, so I'll let you know what she or he says (I have to find an accountant on Monday).

I'm cautiously optimistic. I've already pencilled in the outline of my first editorial and erased it. I have a feeling my readers are going to be pleasantly

Attention to Detail

2012-01-12T12:42:00.000Z

I dreamt up a clever joke yesterday. I dreamt it right up.

I was asleep in the evening, as part of my revolutionary approach to sleep scheduling, and I came up with what I thought would be a nice tweet. I only had the opening idea. It was something like:

A murmurer is only one letter away from a murderer.

I thought of following it up with something like:

A prison pen pal programme would be beneficial to them both.

You see? The word "murmurer" is only one letter away from the word "murderer", but also the murmuring person could write a letter (the other kind of letter) to a murder in prison. There's a double meaning there.

I woke up, glad to have had a profitable period of unconsciousness. I tried to work out a snappy way of saying it. Perhaps the murmurer would prefer written communication because his verbal inarticulacy wouldn't be an issue. What would the murderer get out of it? Just some kind of companionship?

I thought about it for some time: honing, crafting, editing. I got close to posting it, and then I realised something.

A murmurer isn't only one letter away from a murderer.

A murmurer is only one letter away from a murdurer.

A murmurer is two letters away from a murderer.

I'd spent so much time patting myself on the back about transposing the 'm' into 'd', I had forgotten that the second 'u' would need to become an 'e'.

The whole thing fell apart, like a house of sand cards.

For a while, I tried to salvage it.

A murmurer is only two letters away from a murderer. If... perhaps one was sent to the warden to enquire about any lonely prisoners? And then the second letter could go to the murderer herself or something?

(People tend to assume murderers are men, but this is only true in a vast majority of cases. End sexism now. Accuse a female friend of murder.)

That's not really snappy enough, is it? It's a lost cause of a joke.

I should start being a bit more rigorous when looking at dream jokes. Dreams are often even less coherent than the waking me.

***

I bought a coat yesterday, before my evening nap (I find it difficult to shop in my sleep, because I keep forgetting my wallet).

It was the most brutally efficient shopping trip ever. It was a surgical strike of a purchase.

I went into a well-known high street clothing store, saw a coat I quite liked, tried it on quickly, and bought it. I didn't look around, I didn't go to any other shops, I didn't have to wait in line for ages.

[At this point in the anecdote, Paul realises that him buying a coat without difficulty is not impressive or even interesting to anyone. There has been a paucity of incident thus far. Some embellishment is required.]

But as I was leaving the shop, the alarm went off. A bored looking security guard came up to me and asked what was in my bag. I was polite. Too polite. I must have looked like I had something to hide.

I showed him the coat, and the receipt, and he (clearly uninterested) was about to let me go. But then he spotted something else in my bag. It was a gaudy picture frame, with disgusting fake diamonds round the edge. It had come from the 'Home' section of that very store. It wasn't listed on my receipt.

"Have you paid for this, sir?" he asked, reluctantly switching from comatose to Columbo.

I hadn't paid for it. I had never seen it before.

"I've never seen that before," I said. "I wasn't even in that section of the shop. I just wanted a coat."

"If you'd like to come with me sir," he said. He put his hand in the small of my back, guiding me back into the store.

At this point, instinct took over. I grabbed his wrist with my right hand and spun around, twisting his arm. I kicked him twice in the face, and then brought my foot above his head and sent an axe kick crashing down on the back of his neck.

He collapsed, motionless. A member of staff shouted "Oh my God!" and ran towards a phone. I didn't have time to consider my options. In one quick motion, I removed a key card from the unconscious guard's belt and threw it at the other staff member. It struck her and embedded itself right below the chin. A fountain of blood sprayed all over the reduced children's wear.

An elderly couple on the escalator looked on in horror. I considered pushing them down. You know - for fun.

But instead, I took my new coat out of my bag and put it on, picked up my lovely new picture frame, and ran off into the cold of the evening.

I couldn't feel the cold. It was a very warm coat. I vowed then and there to take a photo of myself wearing the coat, and to display it in the frame. As a memento.

I hopped on the bus and headed home, destined to dream of a murmurer. And things similar to that.

***

[Paul's embellishment was like something out of a bad novel. He considers deleting it. But... the coat anecdote definitely needed something. He's sure of THAT. A couple of interjections in the third-person would make everything OK. He thinks.]

Caption Competition

2012-01-10T14:12:00.003Z

"CAPTION COMPETITION"

Every time there's a caption competition, no matter what the picture is, I always send the same suggestion for a caption: "CAPTION COMPETITION".

This has a couple of benefits:
1) It is appropriate.
2) If I win (or when I win), they'll have to print it. And people will assume that it's a whole new competition. They'll send in suggestions to caption the picture, even though my caption has already been chosen. In fact, I'll enter again. My suggestion will be "CAPTION COMPETITION", and the whole cycle will start anew. It will be like a piece of conceptual art. The New Yorker will probably give me a staff job.

Another good technique for caption competitions is to use dialogue spoken by characters not featured in the picture itself. For example:

"I think I might be getting a sore throat." - Old Woman (not pictured)

It doesn't relate directly to the picture, but who's to say there wasn't an old woman with a sore throat in that room somewhere? I'm certainly not to say that.

People will search for some double-meaning, but there isn't one. They might think it's some commentary on how politicians never listen to the pleas of pensioners. But it isn't that. It's just something that woman said.

A well-known "alternative" caption technique is to just state exactly what's happening in the scene. For example:

"Two people in costumes hold bubble-making items and capture the attention of two children."

I think this is a bit predictable. Something done by lesser captioners (like Nick Ward). People espousing this method tend to think they're being satirical, but they're not. I like to turn that whole thing on its head.

"Two people in costumes DON'T hold bubble-making items and DON'T capture the attention of two children."

You see? Much better. It raises doubts. That's what all great artists should do.

Some people try to say that captioning "funny" photos isn't art. But they're wrong. It is art. It is exactly art.

Art is about labelling the world in misleading ways. I'm the captioners' Picasso. I've been called that before, by Caption, the country's leading captioning magazine. (Not this country, but still...)

Lately, I've been experimenting with autobiographical captions. These help to flesh out not just the picture in question, but the captioner's frame of mind.

"Make sure this guy can't move! Much like a friend of mine who writes captions. He can't move because he's STIFLED. Stifled by life. Stifled by the rigours of the captioning profession. Trapped in a prison of his own snappy summarising. He can step outside and objectively view everything except himself. He tries! He tries! But no man can caption himself. The only caption awaiting my friend is the one on his tombstone - carved by a bitter contemporary (like Nick Ward) - which simultaneously, bitingly, sums up and dismisses his life. The poor bastard. He'll only be happy when he's dead."

It might need a bit of fine-tuning, but I think that could grace any humorous up-market publication. People are bored of traditional captions. They want something deeper.

The world of captioning never stands still. Which is why we find it difficult to describe it. You can't caption a moving image.

That's just subtitling.

And subtitling is not art.

Despite what Nick Ward's idiot subtitling brother Jonathan says.

"Blue"

--- EDIT 15:10 PM

I've just tried my first technique. Let's see if it works.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/discussion/comment-permalink/14070330

Swerve

2012-01-09T16:20:00.000Z

There's no way to look dignified whilst eating a baguette. Especially if it's full of plasticine cocks.

That was my opening gambit. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm feeling self-conscious today, so will need to swerve erratically between different topics and writing styles to escape my own disappointment.

This Isn't a Popularity Contest

Mick Stmedia

Chapter One

Kriss was in denial. And a popularity contest.

Chapter Two

As the votes were tabulated, he tried to make small talk with the other contestants. They were tight-lipped.

Chapter Three

"...and the winner is..." Kriss took a deep breath.

Chapter Four

"Winning isn't everything," said Kriss's dad on the way home, full of a service station fry-up and pride.

The End

Do you ever do that thing where you're waiting at a pedestrian crossing and you see a cyclist? I do sometimes.

But at other times, either I'm not at a pedestrian crossing, or there aren't any cyclists nearby, or both.

I live a varied life.

Seriously though, things have been difficult ever since I lost my leg in a pair of trousers. You'd think that would be impossible. I'd just have to search the left leg hole, followed by the right (or vice versa). It's hardly the hunt for Bin Laden. But it took some time.

Eventually, I realised my leg was poking out of the flies (or "fly" if you're American), confusing everyone at the International Urinal Expo (IUE) 2009.

That's enough moving around. I'm going to stick to a topic now.

I've just seen a link to Captain Beefheart's Ten Commandments of Guitar Playing on the Lists of Note website.

They're excellent - you can read them here.

My favourite is number three:

3. Practice in front of a bush.

Wait until the moon is out, then go outside, eat a multi-grained bread and play your guitar to a bush. If the bush doesn't shake, eat another piece of bread.

I will follow that advice.

I can't really stick to that topic, so I'll move on. I'm like The Littlest Hobo, except instead of helping people, I'm making tenuous comparisons to The Littlest Hobo. And I'm gone again.

It's a shame that perverts have tainted the wink.

The wink used to be an important part of one's facial arsenal. It's a useful cue: a signal of a shared secret, a prompt to read between the lines. The lowering of both eyelids is a mechanical function. The lowering of one is an excited whisper: "...there's more to this than meets the eye". More than the lid, my friends. Much more.

Society needs the wink. That need is made clear by the high usage of the winky emoticon.

;-)

It's everywhere. The saviour of the inarticulate typist.

But nowadays, a wink is too closely linked to the sleazebag, the knowing dandy, the creepy uncle. What if I want to wink at a friend? I can't. They'd take it the wrong way.

"I've been working hard," I might say, and then wink.

In years gone by, they would understand that gesture. It would signify: "I haven't been working hard. Disregard my verbal communication. The eye flap is mightier than the mouth flap. Spoken language is a doddering old fool. An anachronism. An analogue tool in a digital world. Intention is better conveyed through a flicker than a phrase."

It would say all of that. All of it, with only a ;-).

But now, it doesn't signify that. Not at all.

"I've been working hard," I might say, and then wink.

And it would signify: "I would like the two of us to engage in sexual intercourse."

I'd be thrown out of the orphanage. (My friend might work in an orphanage)

Once again, the sexual predators have robbed us of a valuable resource. Just as they did with the kiss-on-the-hand, the shoulder massage and the Lynx body spray.

Maybe we can come up with some kind of wink replacement. One devoid of predatory connotations. How about three sudden claps in quick succession?

"I've been working hard," I might say, and then CLAPCLAPCLAP.

It would signify all the things that the wink used to signify, but with no references to eyelids and more references to clapping.

Try this at home or at work. Let me know how it goes.

Of course, I know I'm exaggerating. There was no golden age of the wink. I'm sure there were just as many sleazebags around in the olden days. More, probably, because they didn't have the stabilising influences of feminism and Botox.

But still... but still...

I wish I could wink and have people judge me for what I am: a nuanced physical communicator.

***

What's that? You were expecting a punchline? You wanted me to say "it would probably help if I took my hands out of my trousers"?

Or "this also applies if you replace the word 'wink' with 'grope'"?

Well, I'm not going to. I'm making a serious point here. I don't want to jeopardise my credibility.

;-)

Cure

2012-01-07T13:13:00.000Z

I posted a link to my last blog entry on Twitter and immediately regretted it.

Not because I'd used the phrase "immediately regretted" a couple of times and felt bad for splitting infinitives, but because I think the whole thing came across as whiny and melodramatic. I tried to diffuse the patheticy (and, yes, that should be a word) in the post itself, but I don't think it worked.

The link was retweeted and lots of people read it. I'm very grateful for that, but would have preferred them to read something where I'm funnier and have a sense of proportion. Not the right sense of proportion, but an awareness of it as a concept.

Why couldn't I have had 87 hits on that hilarious post where I talked about... I don't know... cranky melons or whatever the usual bullshit is that I do here?

That was an interesting sentence.

You see, dear reader (and using the singular there is accurate in every sense), you and I know that I'm occasionally whiny and pretentious, but am at least semi-aware of those qualities. You've had years of irreverence and neurosis to contextualise a slight falling-out with Twitter as just another bump on the petty road that is my life.

But a lot of those 87 people will have read what I wrote and either a) thought I was a bit of a dick, or b) thought I was a poor eloquent wretch in the throws of depression.

Only a) is correct.

I can't help but think that anyone writing a blog post about their disillusionment with Twitter automatically makes them someone I don't want to hang around with. But I have to hang around with myself. It's one of the rules of corporeality. Complaining to my usual readership (and I love you both) is fine, but projecting my concerns to a wider audience seems like yelling "I'M A COMPLEX AND DELICATE FLOWER" into a bullhorn.

I do appreciate people retweeting and complimenting me on the post, I just wish I'd included a few more spoonfuls of caveats, so that it was obvious to strangers that I'm fine, I'm rational, I'm generally not as florid, and that I'd rather get a laugh than a pat on the shoulder.

Oh well. At least a few people will have read that dolphin thing.

Caveat spoonful:
1) I don't really regret linking to the blog post
2) I know writing this makes me seem like I'm taking it even MORE seriously
3) I AM a complex and delicate flower
4) I've never written anything about cranky melons
5) I'm eating bran flakes, which taste exactly like caveats

***

They should sell pornography in pharmacies.

Or if not pornography, just something else to look at. Like a magic eye picture.

I was waiting for a prescription recently, and there was nothing interesting to look at. I didn't want to leave the shop, so I just wandered round. Your eyes have to rest somewhere. I'd have preferred some kind of iris hammock, but they didn't sell them there.

I was wandering around from shelf to shelf, desperately searching for anything remotely interesting. There are certain areas that I, as a large bearded man in a long leather coat, can't hang around without arousing suspicion. I can't spend too long by the tampons or any other absorbent crotch accessory.

I can't really look at the make-up. (I've no objection to wearing make-up, but some of these pharmacists can be quite regressive in their views on masculinity). There are a whole variety of embarrassing medications that I can't spend too much time near. I don't want people to think I'm constipated, or covered in weeping sores, or covered in infectious rashes, or am a baby with a cough.

So I have to keep moving, like a bored shark. There are only about four shelves in there, and I cover them all several times.

The most interesting section is the toothbrushes. I don't need a toothbrush, but at least they're inoffensive and come in a variety of shapes and colours. Modern toothbrushes are like Transformers: full of accessories and rotating blades and little nodules that help you clean your teeth, your tongue, your lips, and even a needle you inject into your brain to remove the very concept of plaque.

But this particular pharmacy was not well stocked in the toothbrush department. And I didn't want people to think I was spending too long there, so I had to move on.

You can usually find something to look at in the section that sells hair-straighteners, clippers and electric toothbrushes. I think 90% of electric toothbrushes are sold to bored people waiting for prescriptions, ground-down by lack of mental stimuli. But in this pharmacy, they only had one electric toothbrush. You can only read packaging so many times before you forget how English works.

By the time my name was called (after about six minutes), I was limp with tedium. They recommended some pills that would solve the problem, but I declined.

That's why, in the future, they should start selling pornography. It's just something interesting to look at. You'd get fewer complaints about long waiting times.

Also, the pharmacy is a sterile environment, which would make the porn seem less seedy. They could sell it in sealed packaging like plasters, to make sure there's no risk of infection. Some might say that's even more embarrassing than constipation medication. But everyone would be looking at it. Let she who is without porn cast the first stone.

Or the magic eye thing. I suppose that makes more sense.

Or a pinball machine.

Pornography is probably quite a long way down the list of viable options. But I'm just brainstorming here. My suggestions will not be binding to L. Rowland & Co (Retail) Ltd.

"Not with that attitude."

Seven Year Twitch

2012-01-05T23:02:00.000Z

All of a sudden, I seem to have fallen out of love with Twitter.

It happened a couple of days ago, but I don't really know what the turning point was. I don't think it's some fault with Twitter itself. Every six months, you'll see someone complaining that Twitter isn't the nice place it used to be, and that things have changed since those early days when we were wearing loincloths and carving beautiful hashtags out of stone.

People tend to think Twitter is getting worse, because they think everything is getting worse. Each redesign of a website is greeted by a chorus of disapproval. Every time Facebook changes, people are outraged and call for a return to the last version, which had elicited identical outrage when it emerged the previous week.

Society is getting worse, because it's not like it was when we were seventeen, and the Mars Bar font was different.

It's all going downhill! The internet, television, music, society! Downhill, I tell you! I know adults were complaining about things going downhill when I was seventeen, but still...

There comes a point where you have to realise that society can't have been going downhill forever. Inclines are relative. A permanent slope isn't cause for depression; you just need to tilt your head.

So, Twitter isn't going downhill. It's the same. So why have I become discouraged?

I think perhaps I'm following too many people. More than that, I'm following too many similar people. You can only follow so many punsmiths and acerbic quip-monkeys before you start thinking entirely in terms of snappy vignettes.

It's not that any of these people are unfunny, or are not nice people. It's just that there are so many of them. They're like me. I'm following loads of people who are a bit like me, and they talk to each other in the same way that I talk to people. And they make similar jokes and observations to me. And I begin to feel a bit suffocated.

There's also the sense that the Twitter 'community' (if there is such a thing) is beginning to reflect the social situations I encounter in real life.

I've always been on the periphery of social groups. I tend to be a fringe member of groups. I can talk to certain people at certain times. I'm sometimes accepted into the inner-circle, but not for too long. I'm clearly an outsider: occasionally seeming normal, but eventually revealing myself to be lacking in basic social apparatus. I exude awkwardness. I'd be allowed in the private club if it wasn't for this uncomfortable energy I'm giving off. It's like static electricity, except less dynamic; powered by the knowledge of its own existence.

On Twitter too, I feel like that. I sometimes talk to people. They're always very nice. I enjoy myself. But they enjoy talking to each other more than they do talking to me, because of this awkward crackle, which is somehow communicable through Wi-Fi.

It's not that they're unwilling to talk to me. They'd be happy to welcome me into the fold. I just can't bring myself to dive in. I can't often instigate conversations. Even when I do, it doesn't last long before I get sight of myself in a full-length dress mirror, and scurry terrified back into a dark corner, hoping to escape the spectre of my own fraudulent alacrity.

(I seem to be writing in a strange, dare I say pretentious, way today. Sorry. It might be because I just listened to Marc Maron interviewing Russell Brand. I'll stick with it, if that's OK with you.)

So that's part of the reason I'm losing interest in Twitter. It feels like I'm attending a party where everyone is chatting pleasantly, and I'm on the outside of the circle, drinking pints of Diet Coke so I have something to do with my face beyond smiling inanely.

But it's not them, it's me. I'm bored with my own tweets too. Sometimes I write things I'm proud of, but often I'm just throwing out puns and whimsy. There's nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but I don't know if it has much longevity as a hobby.

I find myself writing things and immediately regretting them.

Today, I broke my Twitter hiatus. A comedian I follow, @TweetingTwill, posted a tweet, which was:

I wonder how many dolphins put "Swimming with Humans" at the top of their "Things To Do Before I Die".

A very nice tweet. But I, placing self-aggrandisement above self-exile, remembered a blog post I wrote ages ago exploring a similar topic. So I sent him the link to it. And immediately regretted it.

I was basically saying "I thought of that first! Look at me! Praise me!". There was no need to do that. It's an idea that I'm sure people did before me. It just made me look sad. You sometimes see that on Twitter. People will share their similar takes on a joke. I'm sure most of what people say on Twitter isn't original, but it's tough to have it confirmed in such a concrete way.

I did exactly the same thing with my immortal dog joke ages ago, and felt similarly guilty. [You can read about it here. Scroll down to the section that (very optimistically) starts 'Another slightly interesting thing happened to me yesterday.']

I think the lack of originality is another thing that's disheartening about Twitter. The sheer number of people means that some ground is covered thousands of times over, and horses have been beaten to dust.

So am I through with Twitter altogether? I don't think so. This is probably just a (short) phase. I need a break. I'm sure I'll be tweeting up a storm in no time.

I do think I'll have to unfollow quite a few people though. Which I'll feel very guilty about. It won't be a personal critique of any of the people in question - just a necessary reaction to their large number. Should I announce an unfollowing first? No. I don't think so. This blog post is announcement enough. If you're reading this and I've unfollowed you, please let me know and I'll re-follow immediately.

I need to whittle my followers down, and then increase the different 'types' of followees. Whittle and expand. Like a wooden balloon.

I think I'll start following some racists, some children, some kilt manufacturers and eight Foreigner fan accounts.

The trouble is, I'm going to have to post a link to this on Twitter. I have to. And that's the most attention-seeking thing of all. I'm disillusioned with my own solipsism, and am advertising my lengthy discussion of it. I hate that I'm attention-seeking and want everyone to know it.

And then people might try to reassure me. That would be awful. I'm fine! I'll be back soon! If you're reading this, please don't try to reassure me.

Of course, nobody might try to reassure me. That would be awful. Except me writing the above plea might have discouraged them. So it's fine. They're not reassuring me because I asked them to not reassure me, not because they don't care or haven't even read this. (There was a glut of nots in that sentence)

Retweeting is fine. That's not reassurance. That's just approval. Go crazy with that. I'd never turn down a retweet, even if it was of some out-of-context hate speech about Bangladesh.

RT @aWiseManOnceSaid A retweet is a retweet

So I'll post a link to this once, with an attention seeking description, but that's it. I don't want to embarrass myself. People might start thinking I have no sense of proportion.

That would be heartbreaking.

Anyway, I may be out of love with Twitter, but I can fall back in easily. These shoes have no grip.

***

I'd like to apologise to the readers of this blog who have no interest in Twitter. I estimate it could be as much as 70% of you. This has probably been baffling and pathetic.

You might be able to get some enjoyment about it if, instead of Twitter, you imagine I'm disillusioned with the Masons.

Drip

2012-01-04T15:41:00.000Z

A new year. A fresh start.

A clean slate. A blank canvas.

A bright future.

A different tack.

Like the tides: wet, boring, eternal, ruining sandcastles.

Welcome to 2012.

LISTEN TO THE FUN-KLAXON

***

I smell bleach. The smell is coming from some bleach. I've been cleaning. The windows were pretty straightforward, all grimeless and smooth now. The toilet was a delight as usual.

I decided to tackle the black mould around the bath. That was a challenge. Most of it was there before we moved into this flat. We've made several attempts to remove it, but nothing has worked. That mould is perennial. You can't scrub away nature. It's like trying to suck up a glacier with a straw. Futile and entertaining.

But I've redoubled my efforts, and have covered it in bleach. I left it there for a couple of hours, then scrubbed with an old toothbrush and a sponge. I think I might have made some progress, but it's difficult to tell. I'll wait until Lucy's home. We need fresh eyes.

My guess? 40% of the mould has gone. Not bad. Not bad at all. Maybe I should try more bleach. Or bleach for longer.

I smell bleach. Still.

I rinsed it away, but I think some residue might be lingering. Or it could all be in my head. The bleach, I mean. It could all be in my head, dissolving the brain mould that blackens the edge of my subconscious.

That has been my day so far: bleaching, scrubbing, rinsing, drinking, dancing, fencing, blanching, beaching. I know how to spend my free time.

I'm feeling slow. I want to get carried away with something, but I seem to be resolutely stationary. I'd like to charge down a blind alley, with only hope as my compass. But all the alleys are too brightly lit.

I want to stop writing in this style. It's not helping anyone. I need longer sentences.

A long time ago, when men were men and women were also, before the time of trains and cars that change colour under the hot tap, before anyone had heard of the hover-factory, between two significant epochs and underneath and obscure war, a boy lived in a tumbledown yacht in the south Atlantic, working as a cabin boy for three shillings per sixpence, learning a trade, seeing the world, carving a niche and generally annoying the rest of the crew.

Maybe I don't need longer sentences.

I just found the nail clippers! I looked at the shelf, and there they were! Finally! My long search is over!

You know when you're making yourself a glass of tap water, by turning on the tap and catching the water in some kind of receptacle, such as a beaker or your own cupped hands? You know how you run the tap for a little while first, because you want it nice and cold and clear?

You know that, right?

Well, you know that first bit of water - the non-cold, non-clear, tepid, scummy, pipe-lurking, waste water?

That's this blog post. I'm just running it through the system, so that by about March, everything will be pure and refreshing. So bear with me. I know you're thirsty.

Party Poppers

2011-12-31T15:27:00.000Z

Sick of reminiscing? Sick of prognosticating?

Of course. Of course.

But you can't be sick of laughing. No-one could be. Unless they were actually physically sick from laughing. Which can happen. Especially with my track record of vomitous hilarity.

There were too many full stops in that paragraph; I'll attempt to rectify that with }various other t/ypes of punctuation?

Yes. I will.

Let's drop the curtain on 2011 by covering the curtain in hilarious recent tweets and lowering it onto a clown or something.

That's right! It's time for another edition of:

Sieved Chucklemakers

***

POEM: Beverley // drank heavily

***

As a child, I revolutionised playground taunting. You might say I was an entrepreneur-neur ne-neur-neur.

***

Silence is golden. As is crème brûlée. But you're only allowed one of them in the library.

***

I haven't given out any Christmas cards this year, because all my friends are terrified of rosy cheeks (and card).

***

My favourite worldwind instrument is the globoe.

***

Whenever someone's in the toilet cubicle and I go to use the urinal, I signal my presence by shouting "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

***

Let's call James Spader James Spader.

***

I'm playing with a spinning top from a Christmas cracker, and will continue to do so until there's peace in the Middle East.

***

You can please some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can't.

***

Reality Show Pitch: THE LITTLEST RICHARD - Little Richard searches for the world's smallest person called Richard. Dicks don't count.

***

Film Pitch: COE-PILOT - When a plane starts to crash, Sebastian Coe must come out of retirement and run one of the engines or something.

***

Sitcom Pitch: RAISING THE STAKES - Anti-gravity vampire adoption drama.

***

Cave paintings were found up until 20,000BC when prehistoric man finally perfected the cave and moved on to other subjects (fruit bowls etc)

***

Lucy's job today has involved reading this quote: "…never go forward, never go forward, cries out the soul infected with Mad Crab Disease."

***

Right. I'm going to knuckle down. And buckle down. And hunker down. And huckle down. I'm a PROFESSIONAL. It says so on my Post-it poncho.

***

My Hugh Grant impression is far better than his impression of me.

***

My family has agreed that we won't exchange presents this year; only caveats.

***

Take a deep breath. Bury it in your back garden. Then, when all oxygen is depleted, dig it up. Learn from the squirrels.

***

I just found out that someone I know just found out that someone they know just found out about it.

***

I'm afraid of deer. But it doesn't come up often enough for it to be much of an issue.

***

Anyone who drives an expensive sports car only does it because they have a TINY child who loves sports cars.

***

"I dunno. It's just all of a sudden, everything started clicking into place..." - The World Precision Clicking Champion.

***

Never pour salt on a person's wounds. Unless it's Lot's wife, in which case it won't make much difference.

***

I was brought up to have respect for the police. Though that might have just been a way for my dad to justify his truncheon collection.

***

POEM: Julius Tafel // won falafel // in a raffle

***

I was reading an interesting book about bookmarks, but lost my place.

***

The sun sinks below the horizon are the best place to wash your suns.

***

I like to sneak into the New Look dressing rooms and shout "YOU'RE GOING TO REGRET THAT!" to shoppers and myself at regular intervals.

***

"Excuse me, are you Desperate Measures?" "Yes." "There's someone on the phone for you. Something Times, I think."

***

I've spent all afternoon curling ribbon and now my typewriter is fucked.

***

The Final Score vidiprinter was designed by Anthony Burgess.

***

BRAY KING NEWS: The coronation of The World's Loudest Donkey has just taken place in Madrid.

***

Watching A Christmas Carol. I'm definitely #teamjacobmarley

***

There's only one thing I hate more than pointless secrecy.

***

I know the eyes in the back of my head like the back of my hand.

***

Rumours of cheating at the World Backwards Ejaculation Championships have been corroborated after one of the competitors came forward.

***

I always carry a tiny gas leak around wherever I go, to give me advanced warning of canaries.

***

My new shower gel has made my skin so soft, I keep slipping off the furniture. I've had to sit in a bucket of sand.

***

I should probably have taken the spade out, but there just wasn't time. If you want traction, you must take action.

***

I'm worried my hands might be ageing faster than the cryogenic glove salesman said they would.

***

I'm going to breathe in some of the night sky. Don't worry, there will still be plenty left over.

***

Got a bit carried away and nearly choked on a moonbeam. An owl saw me and rolled his eyes 360°. Nocturnality is tough.

***

I like to get a single bran flake and pretend it's a tiny, drab pappadam. I then discard it, along with my thimble full of chutney.

***

Drizzle always makes me think of a damp Snoop Dogg.

***

Sean Connery travels everywhere by limousine, so that if he needs to stay the night somewhere, he can sleep on the chauffeur-bed.

***

It's not nice out there. I saw a man dressed as Santa trying to drown himself in a puddle. I helped. It was the least I could do.

***

When the word 'obsolete' becomes obsolete, how will we know?

***

My invisible little clown pixie-friend says I need to start taking myself more seriously.

***

POEM: I am // the man of a thousand faces // or so Faye says...

***

When writing a play, you should always make sure the stage directions state VERY CLEARLY if a character is entering a competition.

***

Things aren't looking good for my barbecue this afternoon, due to my lack of a garden, a barbecue or any desire to host a barbecue.

***

I've wasted thousands of pounds on sausages and parasols.

***

"Every time I see a sponge, I shout "SPONGE!" as loud as I can." - Me, in the following tweet.

***

Every time I see a sponge, I shout "SPONGE!" as loud as I can.

***

Sometimes I don't realise I'm thirsty until someone mistakes me for potpourri.

***

I've got a feed on my FB page which automatically updates whenever I complain about automatic FB feeds. To keep my friends in the loop.

***

Imagine an aeroplane doing an impression of a human doing an impression of a terrible dancer. That's how I dance. That's why I dance.

***

I've got more birthday cards on display than I have Christmas cards. That doesn't mean I think I'm more important than Jesus.

***

I'm also sitting in a manger, drinking myrrh. But, again, this isn't any comment on the relative merits of myself and Christ.

***

I always faint at the sight of six pints of my own blood.

***

My friends and I fell about laughing until I had special harnesses fitted.

***

I just trimmed my beard, and now I look much less wise. (I did it with an ice cream scoop)

***

Film Pitch: FAR FROM THE TREE - Newton's son rejects the family physics business and become a software engineer. Themes = gravity, wigs.

***

Sitcom Pitch: HEARTS AND MINDS - Mass-murderer Artie "Choke" Hearts must win the support of two brains in jars to get elected as an MP.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: FORAGERS - 4 people in anger-management therapy are forced to find their own food in the woods; put the 'rage' in forage.

***

You may have noticed - I never abandon a tweet halfway through, even if it's going nowhere. "Quality control" is another term for cowardice.

***

When I was a Fleet Street vet, I had to put a lot of newspaper down.

***

The Winter Solstice. Your night-vision goggles have never been more valuable.

***

I've never felt batter!

***

The top button of my shirt is always undone, because I want people to suspect I'm Banksy.

***

I like defending my use of swear words by telling people they're in Shakespeare. Also: the murders.

***

It's annoying when you wake up in the middle of a particularly interesting nightmare. That's why death will be so satisfying.

***

I've left express instructions in my Will that my funeral will take place ONLY IF the hover-hearse has been invented.

***

ECONOMICAL CHRISTMAS IDEA: Buy lots of half price out-of-season suntan lotion and repurpose it as runny snow.

***

ECONOMICAL CHRISTMAS IDEA: Wrap your presents with other presents.

***

ECONOMICAL CHRISTMAS IDEA: Offend an elderly relative, then use their shocked open jaw instead of a gravy boat.

***

ECONOMICAL CHRISTMAS IDEA: When singing The Twelve Days of Christmas, omit the swans and the lords.

***

I'm obsessed with making sure my headphones are in the correct ears (mine).

***

I'm hearing unsubstantiated reports that the reports themselves may in fact be substantiated. More on this as it develops.

***

All pillow fights are rigged.

***

I've got a tuft of hair sticking up. Probably because of the position I slept in (near a tuft magnet).

***

I love going to football matches and shouting "GREAT FIRST TOUCH!" at random intervals. You can also do this in a maternity ward.

***

I'm so hungry I could eat a hearse! No, sorry.... not hungry. Grieving. That's it.

***

It's easier to dress up as a cowboy if you have a head.

***

I hope the "people" downstairs don't die before I get a chance to notify their parents via Skype.

***

Oh, they're having a loud party by the way. I probably should've mentioned that. I don't hate people just for being closer to sea level.

***

I'm tempted to put all of them through their own letterbox.

***

They seem to have quietened down now. Touch wood. The jagged wood. The jagged bit of wood that I hope is severing their Achilles tendon(s).

***

Torture fantasies are like a mug of warm milk. I'll sleep soundly tonight.

***

I can't decide if I like "ab", "ov", "e", or all of the above.

***

Hey, @FantaFun! A young child was drowned in a fizzy orange drink. It was inFantacide. You can have that one.

***

Hey, @FantaFun! I've got loads more just like that! I'll give you the lot for $300. http://headscissors.blogspot.com/2009/12/fantamount.html

[Paul/Editors Note: Fanta did not reply :-( ]

***

I'd like to be the face of Fanta. I have ethical qualms about The Coca-Cola Co, but I'd be happy to ignore them if they give me a costume.

***

I remember the day my parents sat me down and told me that, from then on, I'd have to sit myself down. Heartbreaking.

***

People forget that the so-called "Santa hat" was originally used as a butternut squash cosy.

***

Now, where did I put that impetus...?

***

I just walked into, and BROKE, a stranger's out tray. Can I go home now?

***

Continuing Breaducation: for people who want to butter themselves.

***

I regretted that last tweet before I'd even turned my computer on.

***

Just call me Mr Car Window On A Hot Day, because I'm winding down.

***

The main unit of applause is a "smattering".

***

Yesterday, I was visited by The Ghost of Christmas Tomorrow. Pointless.

***

Preheat your oven NOW if you're planning to cook your oven this Christmas.

***

I just imagined what it would be like to spend Christmas in an American prison, and was overcome by a feeling of tremendous feloncholy.

***

I just mentioned myself.

***

Greenscreen technology could make golf courses a lot more interesting.

***

I never wear pink in case I start bleeding and it clashes.

***

Cats have paws. Pigs have trotters. Horses have hooves. But only HUMANS have panettone.

***

I bought my nephew a Super Soaker for Christmas. Of course I didn't want him to get cold, so I filled it with brandy.

***

I don't really have a nephew. It's fine. I've come to terms with it.

***

I'm wearing a lilac shirt and baggy white linen trousers. I look like the louchest plantation owner in Toyland.

***

I shouldn't have put so many novelty bongs on my Amazon wishlist.

***

"A wolf in mutton-dressed-as-lamb's clothing." - Internet dating requires a delicate hand.

***

Familiarity breeds contempt. But it's much more humane (and cheaper) to adopt some existing unwanted contempt from a shelter.

***

I have to scratch myself an even number of times, or else this tweet would be meaningless.

***

I don't think The Animals of Farthing Would.

***

I use the euphemism "she's got a bun under the grill" for women who are mouth-pregnant.

***

We walked round the museum for ages, and eventually decided to go inside.

***

I've just eaten a burrito - a method recommended by the burrito salesman.

***

I'd like to have a fire escape, just so I could test my flame-hunting skills.

***

OH THANK GOD. I thought something terrible had happened.

***

Sadly, I was born with my tear ducts in the wrong eyes.

***

I'm going to drink a pint of Earth water.

***

If you want to steal a Frenchman's ashes at a specific time: watch and l'urn.

***

I'd only ever commit suicide in self-defence.

***

Film Pitch: MILK AND TWO SUGARS- Gay rights activist Harvey Milk, entrepreneur Alan Sugar, and boxer Sugar Ray Leonard fight Hitler in space

***

Sitcom Pitch: I'M ALL EARS- A horrific, writhing, gurgling, waxy abomination composed of human ears works in a library, and gets frustrated.

***

Reality Show Pitch: HAIRIER THAN THOU - Archbishop Rowan Williams and comedian Robin Williams swap jobs; must fool respective congregations.

***

I have a sneaking suspicion that someone will come up with a cross between hog roast and lunch. Call it a hunch...

***

I'm sure blue Smarties taste different to the yellow ones. Just like urinal cakes.

***

I've spent most of today

***

I'm making a saucy Star Wars lasagne. I've put half a Jar Jar between every Leia.

***

How big does a sleeve have to be before it becomes a tunnel?

***

I just thatched the roof of my mouth.

***

Vertical stripes make you look slimmer if they're all you eat.

***

Do you even open the fridge and forget why? And then you realise you trapped a mouse in there days ago to teach it a lesson?

***

I'm really looking forward to feeling nostalgic about this tweet.

***

My favourite film music is probably the Threads Megamix.

***

Tinsel is like some repugnant Martian parasite bursting its way out of a snake.

***

The difference between négligée and illegible is negligible.

***

Happy New Year everybody! I hope the coming arbitrarily designated 12-month period will bring you everything you want. Unless what you want conflicts with what I want.

Which it will. Because I don't really want you to get what you want.

(Yes I do)

2011: The Year in Oven Gloves

2011-12-30T16:30:00.003Z

Welcome one and all and some!

Once again, we find ourselves staring down the barrel of a year with an unfamiliar number at the end of it; in this case: 2. I haven't experienced a year ending with a '2' since 1992 (I was in suspended animation from 2001-2004).

I'm sure you're all planning your New Year's Eve party, which will involve you dressing up as someone who doesn't find the whole thing tedious. You might also be dealing with post-Xmas depression. Perhaps you're trying to get rid of all the mince pies you bought on December 19th. They were on special offer. And you can never have too many mince pies (you thought)!

Now, you have dozens of them, and no-one will take them off your hands. The council will have to send round a special van to collect them from a glittery wheelie bin, along with old tinsel and broken children who have died of happiness.

The future is looking bleak. But today isn't about the future! It's about the past twelve months! This year will soon be forgotten, so let's cling onto it with a redundant list. Everyone does these retrospectives. Some of them have talent, or do them on a professional basis. So why should I add to the teetering pile of fraudulent hindsight?

Because I respect you.

DiamondBadger's Headscissors Review of 2011

(I'm changing the presentation this year. Underlining headings is so 2008.)

If you'd like to see what I've written about in previous years, you can do so here:

2007
2008
2009

2010

I've just re-read these as part of my rigorous presentation, and I almost smiled twice.

2011 was the year of TOO MUCH NEWS. They crammed everything into this year, so I don't know what they have in mind for next year.

Luckily, I'm too self-involved to discuss world events. Instead, I'll complete various categories of "things" and add a couple of new "things".

I'm a good writer.

Life-Changing Event of 2011

I don't know if I've had a life-changing event this year. Am I exactly the same as I was in 2010? Perhaps I am. I'm older, I suppose. But that's not unique to this year. (I've got older twice before: once in 1989 and again in 1993)

I went on a big march in March (I always remember when it was, because when it was was also what it was). But, other than making me slightly smugger, I don't know if it changed my life.

I bought a Sharpie sometime over the summer. That was pretty big. The event, not the pen.

Maybe I haven't changed. But is that such a bad thing? I might be exactly where I want to be. If it ain't broke... use "isn't" instead.

I know! I've got it! The Life-Changing Event of 2011 was that, for the first time in ages, my life didn't really change!

Nothing will ever be the same again!

Film of 2011

I should retire this category. I never see enough films to make it indicative of anything. I suppose I liked Captain America the best. But that seems unsatisfying.

I should expand it to include films which came out pre-2011, but I saw for the first time this year.

A Fistful of Dynamite would probably win that one. I also saw In Bruges for the first time a few days ago and really enjoyed it.

OK - what I'll do is: NEXT year, I won't open with this category. I don't want to get off on the wrong foot. I'll start with something that will allow me to wax lyrical, and demonstrate how interesting I am. Because I'm not a dull man.

Not dull at all.

If there's one thing I'm not, it's dull.

Shoe of 2011 (new category!)

The left.

TV Programme of 2011

I've watched quite a bit of television this year by my standards. Most of it has been on DVD, but it still counts.

Honourable mentions go to:

The Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes - a fantastic comic book cartoon that I should have listed last year

Frozen Planet - Attenborough shows how it's done once again: spectacular, mind-blowing, moving, chilly

Fresh Meat - compelling, contemporary, warm-hearted comedy-drama

But there are two shows that stand out.

The runner-up is Breaking Bad.

I watched all four seasons this year, and enjoyed them immensely. I can't get into a lot of US drama, because they seem almost too polished. They take an interesting premise, fill it with expensive-looking sets, attractive actors and witty dialogue, and it leaves me feeling cold.

Breaking Bad is different. It really got under my skin. Tremendous performances all round, constant tension, and some real Holy Shit moments.

I'm looking forward to the next season a little too much.

But the Best TV Programme of 2011 is Louie.

Again, I watched both seasons this year, so this may not be a fair representative of 2011, but I don't care. Comedian Louis CK has created a show that's part stand-up, part sitcom, part drama, and all fantastic. It looks good, its arguments are complex, it's laugh-out-loud funny, it's occasionally terrifying.

This is the kind of television that I wish there was more of. I can't praise it highly enough.

Music of 2011

I'm confused about what music came out when. I forget. I mean, an album that came out in January might as well have come out during the reign of Xerxes the Great.

But here are some things that look like they came out in 2011.

Various - Before the Fall

This was a great compilation that came out this year, consisting of the original versions of songs The Fall went on to cover. Varied and weird and lots of fun. This has furnished me with many music club playlist tracks, creating the illusion that my tastes are more diverse than they actually are.

Includes this gem:

Blanck Mass - Blanck Mass

I seem to become more interested in this kind of music lately, which is what? Ambient? I don't know. But this album was really good. I think they include one of the guys from Fuck Buttons, but I'm not professional enough to find out.

Ben Folds released a career retrospective CD this year, which was a lot of fun. It included a track recorded in 2011 (Yeah! That's this year!) with Amanda Palmer, Neil "Sandman" Gaiman and Damian Kulash as 8in8.

This song is very nice.

Finally (and I realise this has gone on far too long), the song I've listened to the most this year was released in 1967 as an album track. It's by Phil Ochs (who I've probably written about too much this year). It's slightly preposterous, but I can't get enough of it. This is my Song of 2011.

Misunderstanding of 2011

I was called to a tribunal at work for allegedly making lewd gestures at the cafeteria staff. I thought they said it started at 10, but it was actually 9:30. Embarrassing.

Knock-Knock Joke of 2011 (new category!)

Knock knock

Who's there?

It's the CIA, Mr Bin Laden. You've left your headlights on.

Oh. Oh, OK. Hang on a minute, I'm not wearing any shoes

Stuffed Animal of 2011

Edgar Breadgar AKA Toastface Killah

Lucy bought him at the London Film and Comic Con this year. He appears to be a Japanese toast puppet. We named him.

Tendon of 2011

The patellar tendon. Close one this year.

Albert of 2011

Stand-up of 2011

I've seen shockingly little stand-up this year, possibly as a result of last year's Edinburgh burnout. So the winner of this year's best stand-up is me. I did two shows, both of which were above average. Of course, there were other people on those bills who may have been technically "better" than me, but none of them were as handsome.

Well, OK. Some of them might technically have been "more handsome" than me, but none of them had the same face and name as me.

Well, OK. Some of them might have been "my funnier twin from another dimension", but they are dead now.

Podcast of 2011

I haven't listened to as many podcasts this year, but have very much enjoyed Marc Maron's WTF podcast, where he interview with comedians and actors, and gets stuck into the nature of comedy and neurosis (particularly his).

Number of 2011

Twenteen.

Celebrity Sighting of 2011

I saw Dylan Moran outside the New Theatre in Oxford. I think that might be it. I think I also saw Rory McGrath on the street at one point.

Pretty slim pickings. Never mind - I did see several of my friends, some of whom are bound to be famous in the coming years (keep an eye out for massacres).

Picture of a Vegetable Made in MS Paint of 2011 (new category!)

Odd Celebrity Crush of 2011

Jeff Goldblum?

That's not that odd, except that I'm a heterosexual man. I think I saw an episode of Larry Sanders that he did, which was funny. Also, he was on a Simpsons DVD commentary, which will automatically make me lust over someone.

Yeah, that is pretty odd.

Language of 2011

Horse Latin

Tool of 2011

The invisible chisel (or "invisichisel")

Annoyance of 2011 (new category!)

Irrationality. There have been a lot of moments this year (and every year) that have made me angry, due to the closed-mindedness of people.

I suppose I'm mainly thinking of the hoo-ha surrounding the riots, but it happens all the time. People don't stop to think what they're arguing about. I think people have a set position in their head about every topic, so that when someone mentions "immigration" or "badger culls" or "Felix Dexter", they can go right to their pre-prepared argument. They have no idea what they, or the other person, are saying.

Genuine discussion and debate are rare beasts.

Also, I really hate Felix Dexter.

Disclaimer of 2011 (new category!)

I don't really hate Felix Dexter.

Clothing Item of 2011

I've been wearing hoodies a lot this year. They're comfortable, and make me feel like I'm in touch with the youth of today. And if I'm wearing my hood up, I can literally be in touch with the youth of today without anyone giving a useful description to police.

Best Bit from My Review of 2011

"Ambient? I don't know."

Prediction for 2012

I predict that I will have an actual life-changing moment. I'm being shot into space in March, so that should do it. I've never worn a helmet before.

Secondly, I predict that one of The Beatles will come back to life and also, prior to that, will die. Ringo, I think.

Thirdly, I predict that I will panic about four things in September - one of them will have something to do with the metric system.

***

That seems to be about the size of it. I hope this has made you smile once. But no more than that. I need to save up my smile-prompting skills for 2012.

Have a glass of champagne for me on New Year's Eve. I'll be avoiding all aspects of the countdown because I'm scared of the number seven and happiness.

Spent

2011-12-29T21:40:00.000Z

The year is drawing to a close, which is impressive given that the year can't hold a pencil.

Ahahadrawingha.

2011.

"2011" is certainly the way we've designated THAT particular period of time, that's for sure.

I will be doing a customary end-of-year round-up sometime, so I'll leave that fruitful blog topic to ripen on the vine.

But for now, let's not feel compelled to cover too much ground. After all, as the old proverb goes, "he who possesses the widest stride, leaves his testicles vulnerable for the longest time".

So let's shuffle (snug, clenched, protected) through the garden of marginal interest.

--

Hey look! A bush in the shape of a different bush.

Also, a pond containing water.

--

That was fun.

***

I need to get angry about something. People love reading that. I can use a lot of hyperbole and CAPS in an amusing way. All of the best comedy characters are angry about something: Groucho Marx was angry that people kept mispronouncing his name (it rhymes with "Smoocho"); Bugs Bunny hated Egypt; and Bob Mills is still furious about the cancellation of In Bed With Medinner.

The trouble is, I'm too mellow for that. (Except for the noisy neighbours thing from last week.) I'm at peace with the world. There are some things I don't like, but that just adds to the deliciously diverse technicolour cocktail that we call Planet 3.

I don't want to have to manufacture outrage.

But for your sake, I will.

ARRRGHHHH! METHADONE CLINICS! I HATE METHADONE CLINICS!

That'll draw in the readers.

To be honest with you, I don't think I'm ready for another blog post. Not yet. Not today. This is just a way to fill time until my review of the year. (The year of 2011 is the year the year in review will be reviewing)

But this isn't a waste of time. Look - how about this?

Time.

Well.

Spent.

The Shovel

2011-12-28T16:24:00.000Z

Wednesday

The hammering stopped at around six. But I still couldn't get to sleep, so I got up and went into the galley.

I'm not on a ship. I don't know why we even have a galley. I keep losing my footing when I'm frying eggs. Precision spice apportionment is an impossibility. I want a kitchen. I literally can't think of a single reason why we have a galley. I hate galleys.

I made myself some haphazard toast and wandered into the engine room. Again, why? We don't have any engines. There is a coal shovel, but it hasn't been used for years. We should stop calling it the engine room. There's a sofa in there. We should call it the sofa room.

Thursday

Captain called me up on deck at sunrise. A couple of problems there:

1) He is not a Captain. He's my flatmate. He isn't even close to being a Captain. He isn't even close to completing his PGCE.

2) We don't have a deck. We don't even have an accessible roof.

So there we were: me and the Captain (not a Captain) up on deck (the thick rug in the hallway). He kept barking commands, referring to the poor discipline amongst the crew. He made veiled threats against my personal well-being. I should probably move out.

Friday

A storm knocked us off course. This block of flats is stationary. We didn't have a course. You can't be knocked off a course you're not on. But still, we were. Apparently.

There was no storm, either. There was drizzle, but no wind. Even if we were on a ship (and we're not), the weather couldn't possible have affected us in any way.

It would have to be a pretty crappy ship to allow drizzle to knock us off course.

But, as I said, this isn't a ship.

Saturday

The hammering started again. I think it was probably someone with a hammer. I asked around, but got no answers because I didn't really ask around in the end because I got distracted.

At noon a telegram arrived. It was from my wife. She says that she and the children miss me terribly. I immediately composed a reassuring reply, but stopped midstream.

Telegram technology is obsolete. I don't even really know how it works. When I see telegrams mentioned in books or films, I just act like I know what they're talking about, when really I have no idea. Is it something to do with Morse Code?

Furthermore, I have no wife or children. They may well be missing me, but not as much as they miss a place in the material world. It's difficult to placate a fictional woman, so I gave up on writing my reply.

Had some more toast.

Sunday

Another night of no sleep. At ten, Jameson barrelled into my room, bright as a button. I complained about the noise. He told me that there is no such thing as "hammers". I was sceptical. Primarily because Jameson himself does not exist. How could one non-thing be able to judge the thing-ness of another thing (non or otherwise). He couldn't.

Jameson is an idiot.

Monday

At five, the lads (all lies), were invited to the screening room to see a rare print of an old war film. The film starred one of those classic movie actors I can never remember. Kirk or Kurt or Dirk or Burt Something.

The plot was a little thin. The characters were not very fleshed out. To be expected, I suppose, as no-one had started the projector. Also, we don't have a screening room.

Someone had brought popcorn, but it was too salty. Once again, erratic galley seasoning had damaged crew morale. Or would have done so if there was a crew.

Or a galley

Thursday

I haven't written in this journal for two days. There are a couple of reasons for that. Firstly, this journal does not exist. Secondly, it was stolen.

My prime suspects are the Captain (whose coarse bravado has begun to drive a wedge between the enlisted men and the officers), Jameson, and a mysterious figure in black, who I saw moving the coal shovel when she or he thought no-one was looking.

After two days of panic, I found the journal on a shelf only I am tall enough to reach. Next to the journal was a hammer.

Friday

Finally, we have sighted land. It was always there. I could have just looked out the window. I'm starting to wish I was on a boat. At least then I'd be able to row away.

At least there was no more hammering. I clutched my own found hammer, ready for a revenge hammering of my own. A taste of their/my own medicine.

The Captain has gone away for the weekend. I've tried on his hat, which was too tight and made-up, and messed up my hair.

Saturday

If we were on a ship (and we're not), we would be sunk. A phantom cannonball shot through the hull and let gallons of no water in.

There were no survivors, except for me, and all the other people that are fine because nothing happened.

I'm writing this on a buoy, which seems implausible.

Tell my wife she has nothing to be alive of.

Straightforward

2011-12-27T15:11:00.000Z

Let's forget all about that big event that just happened with the [CENSORED] and the [CENSORED] and the mulled [CENSORED].

I'm reclaiming the period between 27 and 30 December as a time for thinking about something else. I don't know what yet. Possibly brackets.

But first, I need to do the washing up. I'll let you know how it goes.

***

Straightforward.

At one point, I put a spoon in the little cutlery... holster... thing on the draining bored and it fell out. I then jammed it hard back in there, to send a message to any other rebel utensils that might have been watching.

We call it "washing up". The Americans (I believe) call it "washing the dishes".

[I don't know what the Canadians do. You can never tell with them. They're liable to celebrate Boxing Day on the one hand, and speak French with the other. You can speak French with your hand, if you make a fist and draw a beret and some onions on it.

I seem to be in an easily distractible mood.]

I don't know which washing term I prefer. "Washing the dishes" sounds much more specific. There's no way that can get misconstrued. No-one who's seen that on their chore rota would started scrubbing satellite dishes, or some other kind of dish (such as Soapdish with Kevin Kline).

"Washing up" could be anything. "Washing up" might refer to cleaning your hands before dinner. Or something to do with the Pixar film.

But perhaps it's better to be vague. If you "wash the dishes", you might ignore other items that don't seem to be dish-like. A spatula is not a dish. A mug is not a dish. An egg hammock is not a dish.

COME ON. THIS IS GOLD.

TEN MINUTES OF STAND-UP RIGHT HERE.

Everyone likes material on chores.

It's the first thing you learn in comedy school: CHORES = GUFFAWS.

***

Mood

Erratic

(I'm going to stop using these prompts in the new year. They are inhibiting my flow. Think about how much longer that washing up bit could have gone on for!)

Listening to

I've been given some good music as a [CENSORED] present, and have bought some more today. I heard this yesterday, and enjoyed it.

Reading

More Pinker. Did you know: more people were killed in Washington DC last year than weren't?

***

In fact: FORGET IT. I'm bored of being compelled to tell you all the things I'm listening to and smelling. (I reserve the right to tell you those things in my next post)

Let's get unfettered! I could go anywhere! I could be anyone!

I could tell you about the time I went coconut shy-diving.

Everyone should do it once before (or after) they die. Here's how it works:

Instead of an aeroplane, you jump out of a big paper cake. Instead of a parachute, you're wearing nothing whatsoever. And instead of jumping into the sky, you jump into a coconut shy.

Do it suddenly. You may find that it's painful (what with the hard coconuts and the nudity and all), and that you might ruin the days of many children, but the adrenaline rush is off the scale.

Remember: this must be done at a public carnival, fair, fayre, or "amusing park". Doing it at a private coconut shy is no fun.

Whilst you're there, you might also want to play chicken with the ghost train.

You see? Anywhere!

I never wear pink in case I start bleeding and it clashes.

You see?

I just tweeted that. I don't care. I'm a wild man. I'm a wild card. Admittedly, I don't know how to drive and I've never had cocaine and I'm too afraid of people to even answer my own phone. But still!

WILD!

Like a wild rabbit!

Look how wild it is!

No-one tells that rabbit what to do. That rabbit could be in the rabbit version of Easy Rider.

(Do your own Dennis Hopper joke. I'm too wild right now.)

***

Whew.

That was tiring. All of those exclamation marks have left me feeling quite worn out.

I haven't had anything to eat yet today. No rabbit; no nothing.

I should probably have something to eat.

I'll have something to eat. I'll let you know how it goes.

***

Straightforward.

I had two toasted pieces of Tesco Finest Farmhouse Multigrain Batch, beneath Tesco Olive Spread, beneath Squeezy Marmite.

Two points of interest there:

1) I saw a stain on the floor whilst the bread was mid-toasting. I managed to scrub it and dry it before the bread popped up.

2) I just went to make sure I had the exact names of the items correct. I had to get up. I was dead-set on getting it right. Even though no-one could possibly care. Even if they did care, they'd have no way of checking I was telling the truth, unless they broke in here, today, and checked the cupboards. I'm an idiot.

If I'm honest, there was probably too much Marmite on there.

Now I'm thirsty.

I hate it when people begin sentences "If I'm honest...".

I mean, you should probably be honest. I understand if you can't be. And if you have to keep something from me (perhaps you're having an affair (or an affayre) with my biggest rival from fencing college), begin your sentence with "To be honest...".

That's fine. You're indicating your honesty.

"If I'm honest..." suggests that even you don't know whether or not you're telling the truth. In which case, why bring honesty into it? You don't know. Leave it ambiguous. Or come clean with your uncertainty.

"To be honest, I'm not sure if I'm honest. I think."

COME ON. THIS COULD BE MY SECOND ENCORE.

I should probably leave you to be alone with your thoughts now.

I'm going to get a drink.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Loud

2011-12-23T13:55:00.002Z

It's my last day at work, no-one is here, I haven't had an email all day, so I'm writing this.

And if the Big Shots up at Head Office don't like it, then... I'll never do it again. Sorry, Big Shots.

I don't think we have any Big Shots. Or a Head Office. Even if we did, I doubt they'd read this blog.

If they did read this blog, I probably would have been fired some time ago.

Things have slowed to a crawl here at Badger Towers (that's where I work). I feel like the whole world is grinding to a stop; a clockwork machine bleeding out its last bit of momentum, waiting for a rejuvenating wind on New Year's Eve.

That's 'wind' as in 'winding a clock', not 'wind' as in 'The Wind That Shakes the Barley".

I don't know what a rejuvenating wind would be, if it was the latter. Some sort of Red Bull guff bubbling out of the fountain of youth.

There was a loud party in the flat below ours last night. It went on until 1am, which isn't that late I suppose. But still: I hope everyone who attended that party dies of boat cancer.

The bass was thumping, the idiots were yelping and chanting and chattering, the floor was shaking, and my blood pressure was rising.

I hate people who are that inconsiderate. If you live in a block of flats, you must realise that other people live there. It's not just a massive attic.

There are families that live in our building - and children don't enjoy noise at that time unless they're making it themselves.

The thing is, I can understand a few cunts. (And excuse my language, but I feel it's justified) There's bound to be a few horrible individuals with no empathy and no notion of that other people even exist. But there must have been at least one person at the party who thought "hey guys, maybe we should turn it down a bit".

If they did think that, they didn't say it. Cowards.

Cowards like me. I also didn't say anything. Lucy was brave though, and went down to get them to shut their window. (Yes, the window was wide open, letting noise and toxic fucking twat-gas out into the night air) They did shut the window, but the obnoxiousness still seeped through the floor.

In situations like this, I sit, seething, stressed out, unable to relax. I resent that they invade my private life. I resent that they haven't considered the consequences of their actions.

Then I start to fantasise. About what I'd like to do. Smashing the stereo with a baseball bat is a good one. Or waking them up early the following morning.

I thought about setting fire to their flat and burning them all alive. But, as we live above them, that would probably be self-defeating. We'd find ourselves the victims of our own diabolical plan, and would be smelling corpse-smoke for a week.

Yesterday, I thought of an amusing (and harmless) alternative. I thought it would be funny if I wrote a blog post about how despicable they are, and then posted the URL through their letterbox. I think it would confuse them. But it might be fun if they made it here and read about themselves and my wishes for their pain.

I might even gain some regular readers. They'd come for the death threats, but stay for the wordplay and sideways look at modern life.

But, as always, my anger has been quashed by a night's sleep, and I've become sensible again. It was only one night; it's not a regular thing. It was probably just a Christmas party. And we all make mistakes.

So I don't think I'll post a link to this through their letterbox. Or maybe I will.

I'll tell you what - if they have another party tonight, I'm going to post it. It will be written with poisoned ink, on the skin of their closest family member. That will teach them to be unreasonable.

Mood

Magnanimous

Listening to

This came up on shuffle yesterday. I don't know what to make of it. I'm not sure why, how or if it exists.

Reading

Pinker on the decline of violence again. Did you know: you're more likely to be raped by Mighty Mouse than stabbed by a teenager?

I might have remembered that wrong - I was slightly skimming.

(I don't like to use rape as a comedy concept, but it popped into my head. In relation to Mighty Mouse, I think it's OK. Also, there's this disclaimer. I'm not a bad guy. Honest.)

Watching

Batman: The Brave and the Bold

It's a cartoon that revels in the cheesy, camp side of the Caped Crusader (in contrast to more serious modern interpretations). There's lots of fun to be had - many in-jokes, and some nice comic re-imaginings of well-known characters (especially John "Bender" DiMaggio's hilarious Aquaman).

This episode features a villain called The Music Meister (voiced by Neil Patrick Harris), who forces the heroes to sing with his special powers. Pretty wacky stuff, but lots of fun.

Mayhem of the Music Meister! [Part3] by notpsychopirate

(Hey, that description sounded quiet serious, didn't it? Like something a proper blogger would write. It's nice for a change of pace, but I prefer jokes that go nowhere, and endless parentheses.)

Parlaying

Some... I don't know... something to do with gambling?

Eating

Three sausages, a hard boiled egg and some carrots. All smothered in thousand island dressing.

What?

Drinking

Delicious water. Mmm.

FACT: Human beings are made up of 90% deliciousness.

***

Happy Boxing Day Eve Eve Eve, everyone. I hope Santa brings you everything you want and that Atnas (or "Reverse Santa") manages to hoard loads of presents for his evles to disassemble.

You look fantastic in that skirt.

Twice Shy

2011-12-21T16:34:00.000Z

I'm shy.

I've been shy for as long as I can remember. It's possible that I wasn't shy as a young child. Most babies aren't shy. They cry. They crave attention. They're pompous and needy. So I was probably like that.

But I got shy. I stayed shy.

I don't know why.

My parents aren't particularly shy. I used to think that was because they were adults, and that no adults were shy. But I am now an adult. There's no getting around it. And I'm shy.

My shyness waxes and wanes, I think. You can condition yourself to be less shy by spending more time with people. But the underlying shyness remains. I'm terrible at meeting new people. I give off an awkward energy that makes everyone else uncomfortable.

Unless I'm drunk. Alcohol dampens my shyness. Unless I'm just too drunk to notice it.

That's probably why I don't drink. I need my shyness. It's like a comfort blanket. In an uncertain world, it's good to hold onto something concrete, even if the concrete thing is a statue of me not knowing whether or not to hug a friend.

I think shyness is a genuine psychological condition. But I'm not sure, because I've never had the guts to turn up to any shy support group meetings. It would be awkward. We'd all just sit there for fifty minutes, wondering if we should introduce ourselves, then go home.

Mood

Shy. One of the lesser-recognised no-vowel words. The 'y' is the supply teacher of vowels - stepping in to take over when one of the main vowels is busy.

The 'y' wasn't formally trained in vowelling - but when push comes to shove, and the 'u' is in 'push', and the 'o' and the 'e' are in 'shove' and the 'a' is in 'and', and the 'i' is too egocentric to turn up, you have to call on the 'y'.

The 'y' is a utility player. The Phil Neville of letters.

Sometimes, I'm sure the 'y' questions itself. "Why?", it might ask. "Why not?", it may answer, with a reluctant 'o'.

Listening to

Quite often, I listen to a Frank Black song and wonder why he's not more popular. I think he's probably too prolific. A constant stream of genius is difficult to take on board. The spectacular becomes mundane. He releases albums all the time - always of a high standard.

What's that?

There's an analogy to be made between his output and this blog?

We are both so prolific - him with his albums, me with my hundreds of blog posts - that it's like drowning our audience in treacle and beauty and money?

We should both be much more famous, laden with awards, and respected by the entire planet?

I don't know if I agree with that.

I don't know. I can sort-of see what you're getting at. It does make sense. It...

Yes.

I agree.

We are both geniuses.

And yes, I am even geniuser than him.

...

I'm shy, by the way. I don't know if I mentioned that.

Reading

More Pinker.

People under state control are less likely to die than hunter/gatherers. I think it's because that term is cumbersome. Hunter/gatherers. You don't want a slash in your occupation (unless you're a large-hatted guitarist).

They should combine the terms. Huntatherers. That's much better.

The olden days people would have been less likely to bludgeon their fellow man if they were all huntatherers.

Though perhaps warfare would emerge between the huntatherers and the gunters.

I hate the gunters.

Watching

We watched The Dark Knight again yesterday, this time on Blu-ray. It looked great. I'm still not 100% sold on it, but am probably 96% sold, which is pretty good.

Also, I watched Blackburn vs Bolton. I have nothing interesting to say about that. I wasn't even going to bring it up, but I thought it might be fun as a challenge.

Can I say something interesting about a football match, when a large proportion of my readership don't care about football, and I have no particular interest in either team?

Can I?

No. Not today. But the abbreviated team names did make me think of the Marvel character Black Bolt.

Black Bolt can't speak, because his voice is powerful enough to destroy mountains. Which is cool.

'Black Bolt' is short for 'Blackagar Boltagon'. Which is not.

I might call my son Blackagar.

Blackagar Fung.

They can call him Black Fu for short, though he'll have to learn a racist martial art.

Playing

The Highlander in a confusing nativity play.

Eating

Tenderstem broccoli dipped in Moroccan-topped houmous. Because I worry that I'm not middle class enough.

And some supermarket pepperoni pizza. Because I don't worry that.

Drinking

Jasmine tea.

There's nothing funny about that, but I always tell the truth.

***

What have we learned today?

Firstly, that I'm shy.

Secondly, that I'm arrogant.

Thirdly, that Boltagon is a common surname.

Fourthly, that I always tell the truth.

Fifthly, that I don't always tell the truth.

Remember: believe in yourself. You definitely exist. I've checked.

Grey Area

2011-12-20T14:47:00.000Z

This is me getting started.

I have now started.

After intending to write something thoughtful and coherent, I stared at the blank page for a long time. My laptop battery is only so capacious. So I've started anyway.

Once you start, you can change direction. The starting is the hardest part. And the stopping, but we'll get to that later. I've started. I can go anywhere I like now.

***

In a sock drawer, behind the socks, was a box. If you were to remove the socks, and the sock-related accessories (darning needle, sock suspenders, sock puppets), and open the box, you would be able to see its contents.

The box belonged to Brock Knox. Brock never removed the socks, because he already knew what was inside the box. He didn't need a reminder.

Brock was a locksmith. He knew his business inside and out, just as he knew the box. The locks on the box (and yes, there were multiple locks) could not be picked or cracked or prised open. The box was small, but the locks were strong.

But still, Brock used the sock drawer socks as extra protection. Brock Knox didn't take risks.

One morning, Brock returned home from work to find the contents of his sock drawer strewn across the floor. Brock was in shock.

He hurried over to check the drawer. He could sew himself another sock puppet any day of the week. Sock suspenders are cheap at the local market. But the box... the box was irreplaceable.

Brock reached into the back of the drawer, and was hugely relieved to find his fingers pressing against a box-shaped object. It was the box.

But when he removed the box from its drawer, he saw that it was open. The locks had yielded, the bolts slid into nothing but air.

The box was empty.

Brock Knox checked his clocks. He had three of them - all set to roughly the same time. He looked back at the box. He looked back at the clocks.

It was half past six in the evening. Brock picked up his phone, but didn't dial a number. He put the phone back down. He knew it was too late.

Somewhere, a thief - a master lock-picker - had the contents of Brock's box. The thief could be miles away. But Brock knew how to find him. Because the box's final lock was not made of metal. The final lock could not be picked.

The final lock was chicken pox.

And whoever had fought past the socks and locks to retrieve the box would be wearing their guilt all over their itchy skin.

***

You see? Anywhere. You just need to get started.

It's a grey, miserable day. Nearly the shortest day of the year. I need sunlight to function. I'm like a reverse vampire. I'm sick of winter already, and there's still months of it to go.

I might emigrate. But where to? Somewhere warm, but not too full of chatty restaurateurs. Some Shangri-La.

Hmm. I thought there would be an 'n' in restaurateurs. But apparently not.

I suppose it's easier to wait here until spring. I'll just set myself on fire to ward off the darkness.

Mood

I don't know. Anxious, I think.

Listening to

It's possible that my anxiousness might be related to this song. It's good though. Give it a few minutes to kick in.

Also, I've been listening to this:

Boy! I just had a scary moment when I thought I'd lost this post. Imagine! All this hard work! That whole box story alone could make me millions!

I certainly dodged that bullet. I'd better finish this before anything bad happens.

Reading

Not much

Watching

A man in a hoodie standing in the garden across the road. He looks suspicious, but then I'm sure he'd say the same about me. I mean, only one of us is spying on their neighbours, and it isn't Mr Hood over there.

Oh no, hang on. Some old people have just got out of a car. They're with him. He can't be suspicious. Old people don't hang around with suspicious people. They can smell it in the air with their sensitive tongues.

My apologies, Hood.

Playing

The "Write a Blog Post Before the Laptop Battery Runs Out" Game. I'm winning so far, but it could all change on the roll of the dice. (I once had a roll of the dice at a Las Vegas bakery. I bit down on it and lost seven teeth. Lucky.)

Eating

A sandwich, no dice, granary bed, M&S reduced fat tuna and sweetcorn sandwich filler, some smoothie and a big slice of fortune. Delicious.

Drinking

Oh, right. I suppose the smoothie goes down here. Though, is it really a drink? It used to be solid. It's a grey area. Delicious.

(Grey Area Smoothie Ingredients: John Major (remember him?), charcoal, one of those little aliens, two chunks of British sky, a dolphin and one pressed pencil)

***

I don't blame you if you never want to read this blog again. All I ask is that you do read it again.

Good afternoon.

Did you hear the one?

2011-12-17T14:36:00.000Z

Let's get silly!

WhoooaaAAAHhhhh! I just slipped on a banana part!

No - don't put that there! *SMASH* My bust of Busta Rhymes!

*DING-DONG* Who could that be?

*CRACK* *PUNCH* Ohhhhhh, nooooo! It's an unexpected criminal!

***

Slapstick doesn't really work in blogs.

Mood

Neutral. This is the first of five days off work, and I'm feeling paralysed by possibility. What should I do? What shouldn't I do? Why shouldn't I?

I'm also worried that I might be blogging too much, with too little result(s). Am I diluting my brand? Do I have a brand?

I'd hate to think so.

Perhaps I'm too fixated on my post count. In the back of my mind, I'm considering the possibility of beating last year's number of blog posts. I did 138 in 2010. This is number 131 in 2011. It might be tight.

But no-one cares about that except me. I should be blogging less frequently, but thinking about it more. I'm sure I could come up with something well thought-out and consistently funny if I put my mind to it.

But (2) I suppose the haphazard approach has defined this blog. I don't want to change my tack now, do I?

I could try to set myself a goal for one serious, proper, considered post every two weeks or so. I'm sure everyone is eager to hear my views on the economy.

I wonder if I'm just treading water.

I certainly seem to be doing so on Twitter. After pathetically begging for more followers on my birthday, I still haven't reached 300. I seem to gain a few and lose a few every now and then. Perhaps I was just never meant to reach the big three-oh-oh.

This has been rather indulgent so far, hasn't it? I get like this every now and then.

People aren't interested in me; they're interested in the big laffs.

What do you call an iPod with three legs?
A TriPod

There you go. Taste those crumbs.

Of course, this is just the 'mood' section. I'm expected to be maudlin up here. But the sections below will be bulging with more gold than a conquistador's knapsack.

I hope you're wearing goggles, because you're about to laugh your eyes out.

Listening to

Christmas music. Not much, but too much.

I don't know if I like Christmas music because I don't know if I like Christmas. Festive songs have no value of their own. They're avatars. Cyphers. Other words that probably don't mean that.

If you like Xmas (that's right: Xmas), the songs remind you of the pleasure of family and good food and childhood excitement. If you don't like Xmas, the songs remind you of the displeasure of family and disgusting food and childhood excrement.

I'm undecided about all of it. Which probably adds to my neutral mood. I don't like feeling neutral. It's unsettling. I feel bad. Which means I don't feel neutral any more. Which means I feel good. Which cancels out the bad, making me feel neutral again. And so on.

This hasn't been as funny as I'd hoped. So let's do some hilarious festive jokes!

*

What do you call a snowman with a mince pie in his mouth?
A clever solution to dwindling food storage space

*

Santa (peering out of the window): Looks like rain, dear.
Mrs Claus: Of course! They pull your sleigh!
Santa: What?
Mrs Claus: They pull your sleigh!
Santa: Yes, I heard you. I just wondered what you meant.
Mrs Claus: I... I just meant...
Santa: What? WHAT?
Rudolph: STOP FIGHTING. IT'S CHRISTMAS.

*

What does Lou Reed want for Christmas?
Heroin.

*

Did you hear the one about the man who looked like a Christmas pudding? Someone covered him in brandy and lit him on fire. To save face, he claimed it was a protest against the Chinese occupation of Tibet! Ironically, doctors were unable to save his face.

*

You see? Laughter is the greatest gift of all.

Also, I've been listening to this:

Reading

The Better Angels of Our Nature by Steven Pinker

I got this for my birthday, and am really enjoying it. It's about how, despite a common belief to the contrary, violence of all kinds has decreased. I'm really interested in how people always view their own generation as the worst ever, and see the past as a golden age, so it's good to have some stats to pass this up.

Thanks, Pinker.

Here are some Steven Pinker jokes:

*

Due to his rosy complexion and graceful gait, Steven is known in some circles as The Panth Pinker.

*

Before Steven came along, the patron saint of linguists was St Pink. (Now it's St Even Pinker. Get it?)

*

Knock-knock
Who's there?
Steven Pinker
Steven Pinker who?
What?
Steven Pinker who?
No. That's it. That's my full name.
Steven Pinker who?
I just told you...
Rudolph: STOP FIGHTING. IT'S CHRISTMAS.

*

Is it possible to die of being too prolific? If so, I'd better get my affairs in order.

Watching

Fist of Fun

I ordered this from Go Faster Stripe, which is an independent comedy DVD shop. I've bought quite a lot of stuff from them before, and they're great. This is their biggest venture: paying a lot of money to distribute Stewart Lee and Richard Herring's cult 90s sketch show, because the BBC didn't want to.

The package has a ridiculous amount of extras, including commentaries, bonus shows and the live studio rushes.

I never watched FOF when it was on (I only leapt on the Lee and Herring bandwagon with TMWRNJ), so it's been lots of fun to finally see all these in full.

I haven't watched enough to give a full review, so here are some jokes about Lee and Herring and fists and fun.

*

Did you hear about the man who had a fish in his ear? He was hard of hearing. Also, the fish was a herring.

*

What's the difference between Bruce Lee and Sara Lee? One of them ices cakes, and the other one cakes ices!
(To "cake an ice" is kung fu slang for kicking a bit of wood)

*

Knock-knock (the knock was made by a clenched fist)
Who's there?
Steven Pinker.
Steven Pinker who?
Look, we've been through this...
I know - but I find it fun.
Rudolph: THIS IS NO FUN

*

Of course, Pinker doesn't believe in Rudolph. That's an extra layer of comedy.

Playing

With a spinning top. It's the best spinning top I've ever spun. I might write a whole blog post about it. It's amazing. I don't do anything else.

*

Did you hear the one about the man (who might have been Steven Pinker, but it's not important for the joke) who accidentally sat on a spinning top?
He got a spinning bottom!

*

Ahahaha. I'm proud of EVERY WORD OF THIS.

Eating

A wholemeal roll.

*

Did you hear about the gymnast who used krill instead of a gym mat?
He was the expert at the WHALEMEAL ROLL.

(Whales eat krill)
(Gymnasts roll)

*

The gravity in my black hole-meal roll is so strong that even light spread can't escape.

*

Still going well!

Drinking

Orange juice

*

Knock-knock
*SHOTGUN BLAST*
Now you're Steven REDDER. Because of the blood.
Rudolph: *sniff* Just like my nose.
Fish-Ear Man: Pardon?

***

This has been an excellent use of my time. And yours.

I'll give you until the count of three to get off my property. But not now. I've forgotten where I keep my numbers.

Meat

2011-12-15T22:43:00.000Z

Y'all know me.

I feel slightly disorientated. And disoriented. And disorted.

I've had quite a busy day, which has involved an all-day work meeting for which I was entirely unprepared, unhelpful and unconcerned. I took it in too casual a fashion, I think. Perhaps I'll be fired tomorrow. That would be a shame - just before Christmas. They'd probably wait until January, right?

I'm incapable of being interested in anything work-related. My brain will not allow such thoughts to get past the preliminary thought-approval stage.

They're stuck in a holding pen, along with my plans to punch annoying children or leave the house in the nude, under a banner that reads "THINGS WE SHOULDN'T BE CONCERNED WITH".

I also did some Christmas shopping, which was done in a brutally efficient fashion. In, out, in, out, moving from one place to the next, making a purchase and then moving on. I was buying things with the level of skill a Halal butcher might employ, especially if he (and I'm going to say that it would 100% definitely not be a 'she') was listening to loud music and trying not to knock baubles of shelves with his big coat.

I like metaphors. I just don't think they like me. It's a bit like a lion grafting a human ear onto a copy of the Yellow Pages. Right?

Luckily, this isn't a time for metaphors. It's a time for metaFIVES. Or, alternatively, a compilation of my recent tweets, in one big long befuddling stream. This could be written on a scroll and read at a royal event. It won't be. But it could be.

This is the best way to end a disorting day. Pummel the brain and the heart will follow.

That's right! It's another edition of:

Ten Second Thoughts

***

I just congratulated myself on a plinth. It's the best place to do it.

***

"It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to drown your dog in a sink"

***

I've started studying escapology. I'm just getting into just getting out of things.

***

In meetings, I enjoy using the expression "I hope I'm not stepping on anybody's toes here..." because everyone knows I don't hope that.

***

I didn't learn how to whistle until I was twenty. But when I finally got it, I spent a solid three months summoning things.

***

If you're going to sign your own death warrant, always have a lawyer look it over first. There might be hidden clauses.

***

I don't want to get carried away, so I keep myself greased-up at all times. No grip.

***

I think war glamorises video games.

***

I've got a cold nose. Luckily, I've still got a toucan costume left-over from Halloween. I've burnt it for warmth.

***

I'd snort Cup-A-Soup if it wasn't for the croutons.

***

My friend Lee is really fast, so I always say "Quickly, Quick Lee!", even though his real name is Alastair.

***

"Faults are like genitals: you can see everyone else's, but you can never see your own." - The Invisible Man

***

Sometimes I worry about the legacy we're going to leave our children. I was really drunk when I wrote my will.

***

I'm watching Gary Neville control a touchscreen supercomputer. This isn't the future we were promised.

***

Film Pitch: TWIST AND SHOUT - Adam Sandler discovers a pretzel that can cure him of his shyness.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: BIG BRAKE - Each week a groggy Jim Davidson fights through a sedative haze to stop a steamroller from crushing John Virgo.

***

Reality Show Pitch: MY DISCONCERTING WEDDING- A couple exchange vows in the most unsettling way possible. Cake? Writhing dogs. Dress? Ditto.

***

I prefer a deadpan delivery, because if it's alive, they make you sign for it.

***

I hate the sound of Nils down a blackboard.

***

If you have a telephone in the shape of a burger, you don't know what real problems are.

***

Dreaming last night, I thought of an amazing comedy idea: "Niall Quinn, Medicine Woman". That's why evolution made sleeping people immobile.

***

I just rolled up my sleeves. (I'll smoke them later)

***

If your friend has a cold, is it OK to insist they climb into a sack and shuffle into a "quarantine tank" (aka "canal")? I think so.

***

Product Idea: GINGERBREAD MAN-SIZED TISSUES- Tissues the size and shape of gingerbread men, made of gingerbread. Basically: gingerbread men.

***

Product Idea: VERSATOIL FOIL - For gardening (Soil Foil), traitors (Loyal Foil), Susan Boyle (Susan Foil) and Olive Oyl (Popeye cling film).

***

Product Idea: BOOTS WELLINGTON - A delicious combination of pastry, pâté, wellies and pharmacy stores. Baked.

***

Product Idea: PETAL DETECTOR - Find valuable flower parts buried in the beach. Also locates stamens if you're patient enough.

***

I got fired from the clock factory because I'm terrible with faces.

***

Just ate some red cabbage. I don't know why anyone would choose to do so. Red cabbage is the Mars to normal cabbage's green, fecund Earth.

***

I always dry my hands on the back of some trousers. And if they're MY trousers, all the better.

***

I once leapt from a moving train because I found it emotionally manipulative.

***

I'm not as funny as I think you are.

***

My twin and I are identical in every respect, except for our ages.

***

Hearing Suggs talk to himself is the first sign of Madness.

***

If you spend less time urinating than you do thinking about urinating, you probably need to either urinate more or think about it less.

***

I just cut myself smoking.

***

I like it when people say "I'm warning you!", because if they didn't say it, they'd be liars.

***

Sitcom Pitch: KING LEAH - Leah Thompson in the role she was born to play: an ageing king with three sassy daughters. Harrowing.

***

Cookery Show Pitch: MONSTER MASH - Jamie purées Peter Sutcliffe, as a panel of liberals weigh ethical objections against culinary verve.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: A BIT OF A PICKLE - Contestants must identify a part of a pickle (the middle or one of the ends). Loser gets pickled.

***

Let sleeping dogs lie. Let sleepwalking dogs continue to walk.

***

Let sleeping dogs lie in sleeping bags. Let waking dogs lie in waking bags.

***

Let sloping dogs down.

***

It's embarrassing when you congratulate a woman on being pregnant, but she turns out to be an eight-year-old horse.

***

I'm working on my diced carrot costume for next month's live action casserole-playing weekend.

***

The best way to quit smoking is by using a cigarette blighter.

***

I just saw I had a retweet and said "Damn right!" out loud.

***

The wind is whistling through our windows like an out-of-breath mountaineer trying to signal for help with a kazoo.

***

I'm good at playing air gong.

***

V-neck jumpers really suit me, so I've had to buy loads of >-neck jumpers for when I'm lying down.

***

I can't afford new formal-wear, so I turn up to every black-tie event wearing a reduxedo.

***

Postboxes are painted red as an incentive to the delivery bulls.

***

A zombie just gave me an undead leg.

***

Today I'm at around 40% of my usual 25%.

***

I only ever eat turkey at: a) Christmas or b) gunpoint.

***

Nothing says 'Christmas' more than the broken talking Santa doll I just found.

***

People ask me what it's like to be a pig voyeur. I tell them there's a lot of peeks and troughs.

***

You may have just heard a loud bang. My standards have dropped.

***

My concentration is faltering-ring ring-ring ring-ring ring-ring ring-ring ring-ring ring-ring... I should probably get that.

***

FACT: Earl Grey tea was invented when Earl White and Earl Black went into a Fly-style Telepod, got fused together & decided to invent a tea.

***

I wear a T-shirt when ordering Diet Coke in pubs. It says "Yes, ice and lemon is fine. Yes, Pepsi is fine. Yes, non-Diet Coke is fine."

***

And on the back it says: "FUCK A LIME".

***

What is the "it" in the phrase "I'm feeling a bit out of it"? Because I THINK I'm feeling a bit out of it, but if "it" is my shirt, I'm not.

***

I find Santa Claus funny, but not "ho-ho" funny.

***

It's difficult to play snooker on a stormy sea. You need some kind of table.

***

Most people are so distracted by Saturn's beautiful rings, they don't notice its HIDEOUS bracelet.

***

"I don't remember many details about the shipwreck. It all happened so fast..." - Idiots in the old days.

***

I accidentally poked myself in the wrong eye.

***

I like going into banks, because it validates my new stockings 'n' shotgun look.

***

I've started sleeping in strange positions - like a praying mantis under 10x normal gravity. It takes me hours to unfurl in the morning.

***

I'm carving my own niece. What's that? "NICHE"?! Oh dear God...

***

Whenever I'm sitting backwards on the bus, I pretend I'm sitting forwards on the bus.

***

The Specials should never have changed their name to The 'My Family' Christmas Specials. #terriblerebrands

***

I was in the toilet, and thought of a tweet so AMAZING that I sprinted back to my desk with my trousers around my ankles. This was it.

***

People are always looking at the horizon. They should sell advertising space there. For binocular accessories, etc.

***

This so-called "masking tape" has made me a laughing stock in the superhero community.

***

Sitcom Pitch: FOR PETE'S SAKE- St Peter - bedridden with "angel mumps" - asks a variety of F-list celebrities to man the gates of paradise.

***

Film Pitch: WHISTLETOE- Heartwarming fable. Jim Carrey wakes up on Xmas morning, unable to whistle. Learns humility w/CGI toe guardian angel

***

All lecterns are invisible from behind

***

My favourite episode of Only Fools and Horses is the one where Trigger gets decapitated by a chandelier dressed as Batman.

***

This time of year always reminds me of times and years.

***

I just threw a wishing well into another wishing well. My SuperWish? Fewer wishing wells.

***

I don't wear scarves because I don't want to obscure my woolly neck tattoo.

***

I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die. Six months later I was named Nevada's Most Callous Photographer. I still have the statuette.

***

It's funny. You wait at the bus stop for half an hour, and NOTHING. Then, all of a sudden, it's 9AD and the bus has yet to be invented.

***

I don't know if there's much of a market for my Big Book of Mime Quotations, but the ink costs are negligible.

***

FACT: The character of Slimer in Ghostbusters was included as a tribute to Dan Aykroyd's late friend, the environmentalist Harvey Slimer.

***

I'm very secretive about my bank card PIN. When at the cash machine, I press 2, 1, 6, then mime pressing '1' before the final 6. Please RT.

***

People's hair and nails continue to grow for up to six hours after they're buried alive.

***

Annoying. I've got loads of bits of plastic stuck in my comb. No, hang on... this is a ruler. Never mind.

***

10% of all forks contain a false prong.

***

Anything can happen, but probably won't.

***

I trapped my broken leg in a printing press. Worried I might get typecast.

***

I saw Santa in Summertown earlier. The glory hog was posing for photos. You don't see Jesus doing that.

***

There's nothing so enchanting as the look on a small child's face when you tell them to unwrap your baguette for you.

***

I would only adopt a child who's adept and willing to adapt.

***

Aitken and Waterman got a lot thicker after Stock was added.

***

There are twice as many white keys on a piano as there are white keys on half a piano.

***

I want to commentate at the next Winter Olympics. "Bobsleigh's your Unclesleigh!", "Sterling curling is unfurling!", "You snooge, you luge!"

***

It's perfectly healthy to sneeze into the face of a stranger. Not for THEM, obviously. But it doesn't affect you.

***

Ancient spike warlords would display their victims inserted into human heads as a warning.

***

I can fit more music in my bill than any mere instrument could hold. I'm an Acappellican.

***

I never need to wear a watch because I instinctively know how hot my wrist gets.

***

I've got a part-time job as a sambanalyst. Just had to put together a conga line graph.

***

Yoghurt is most dangerous when cornered.

***

Big News: NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWW

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

WWWSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

SSSSSSS.

***

Why do dead pigs love apples so much? It's too late for your 5 a day, mate. Have some Haribo.

***

There are leaves everywhere. I appear to be deciduous. Or maybe I just need stronger glue.

***

One of my worst comedy gigs was when a hairy audience member kept shouting "CLEMENTINE!" at me. It was Heckleberry Hound. #sorry

***

I don't have as many medals as I deserve. I have fifteen-hundred medals.

***

If you work at a clothing store, never ask Captain Hook if he wants to keep the hanger. He will make a scathing remark.

***

There's no 'I' in this second-hand version of Scrabble or team.

***

I'm no snooker player, but I sure can stand awkwardly next to a table holding some chalk.

***

Which superhero is the most difficult to evacuate? One-door Woman.

***

A picture perfect is worth a thousand word perfects. #maths

***

My coffee is too hot. The awful anticipation has begun. Now I know what it's like to be waiting for a death row pardon.

***

I just choked on my coffee. Of course, you can't really choke on a liquid. Liquid-choking is just localised drowning.

***

I always answer the phone by saying "I'm answering the phone!", just so the other person knows I haven't suffered a brain injury.

***

I think that anyone who finishes their argument by saying "End of." should undergo suffering that they'll never know the end of.

***

Ovid omitted a whole story about Daedalus making a fantastic Lego hospital with working lifts.

***

Lying about the age of tricks is the oldest trick in the book.

***

I keep forgetting to open my Advent calendar and detective agency.

***

This Christmas, don't buy a sundial for a fruit bat. She'll never use it.

***

Sitcom Pitch: THE LAST POST- Hapless postie Rick Mail (played by Adrian Edmondson) fails to deliver his letters due to a military funeral.

***

Film Pitch: EPIC FAILIEN - A three-hour-long blooper reel from the Alien franchise. At one stage Lance Henriksen swears at a pie.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: PARROT OR GARRETT? - Blindfolded contestants must decide if a voice is a parrot or a man called Garrett (squawking).

***

Film Pitch: WHITE HOUSE SWAP- After a birthday wish, the President's mind becomes trapped in the body of The White House. And vice versa.

***

If any of the letters was to betray its alphabet brethren and join the numbers, it would be the K. I don't trust it.

***

Sometimes I wonder why I don't even bother.

***

I met an engraver today. Though he prefers the term 'undertaker'.

***

I own a bobble hat with the bobble on the inside. It's OK - I have a bobble-shaped hole in the top of my skull due to a bobble accident.

***

In the event of a house fire, always stay as close as possible to the fire. You want to get as burnt as possible to validate the firemen.

***

Things could be so different, but they never are.

***

I'm feeling very festive today, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN! Heh heh heh... Oh. No sorry, not festive. Suggestive.

***

There was a red sky this morning, so we had a shepherd's warning (which is like a regular warning, but made of mince and potato).

***

"Martin Scorsese is crazy, but Brian De Palma is calmer." CAN I BE AN AGENT NOW, PLEASE?

***

I hate it when a bus drives through a puddle and splashes someone I'm trying to dehydrate.

***

The penultimate letter of this tweet has been stolen. Oh well - it's not the end of the word.

[Paul/Editor's Note: This is my most retwet tweet ever with 28 retweets. I'm not sure why.]

***

I was biting my nail, and now my finger is bleeding. You have to test your own limits.

***

I'm trying to save my strength, but it's tied to the train tracks and I'm terrible with knots.

***

In our school, it was cool to carry your backpack on just one shoulder, so as not to disturb the parrot. (It was a pirate school)

***

When standing at a urinal, standing at a right angle is standing at the wrong angle.

***

Looks like I picked the wrong day to wear my "THERE WILL BE NO PRECIPITATION TODAY" T-shirt into work. (It's not waterproof)

***

When it comes to smiles, there's a fine line between 'cheeky' and 'creepy', so I've labelled it on my face in permanent marker.

***

Guess what I just realised! 'Brad' is an anagram of 'Drab". Not such a big shot now, are you Brad?!

***

There are no Brads. They were engineered in the 80s to sell wristbands, but turned on their masters. There's a mass Brad grave in Kentucky.

***

I've got a vice-activated mobile phone. Which is lucky, because the buttons are all sticky.

***

Someone just phoned me. Big mistake. I forgot what I was saying mid-sentence and started arguing with myself.

***

Get some stale bread, throw it at a small child, and shout "Merry Crustmas!". No, sorry - DON'T do that. Don't.

***

Call me closed-minded, but I won't even register it as a possibility.

***

If, when you say "I'll try", someone says "No, don't try - JUST DO IT", you should always actually punch them in the face. Don't just try.

***

You can start an avalanche if you want.

***

And the award for Best Punctuation Mark of 2011 goes to:

***

Of course, we all remember where we were when they found a cure for amnesia...

***

Superman is more powerful than a crazy reason for committing a crime (or "locomotive").

***

Wild horses couldn't drag me away from slightly stronger wild horses.

***

I had a sudden realisation. Which was doubly surprising because I usually only have fakeisations.

***

No sudden mauves.

***

Do you ever start to beckon someone over and then forget why?

***

There's no slang term for 'slang'.

***

At school, I was always "the quite one" in our Sooty & Sweep role-play sessions.

***

I don't drive, so traffic wardens have no power over me. I've killed three of them, and they can't touch me for it.

***

Sitcom Pitch: CHER AND CHER ALIKE - Cher and her lookalike (Cher) share a flat, and possibly solve crimes. They're the typical even couple!

***

It's been a long day. And what was that weird "night" section around lunchtime?! ... Hm? Oh. I've just been informed that was two days.

***

How's about that then? How is about it?

Grammar is for the weak.

I hope you've enjoyed this more than you've enjoyed any of the Indiana Jones films.

Sleep tight.

Or loose. Depending on your preference.

There Are Others

2011-12-13T14:23:00.000Z

It's my birthday. I usually write several whiny paragraphs about how, why and if I exist. I recapped them all last year, so I don't have to do it now. Thanks, 2010 Paul.

29. Nothing to see here.

I begged for more followers on Twitter, but it didn't really work. On the other hand, I did get loads of retweets of this:

The penultimate letter of this tweet has been stolen. Oh well - it's not the end of the word.

Hohoho. How clever it is. How clever I am. Not clever enough to succeed in life, but not stupid enough to be oblivious to the fact.

The retweets make up for the follower lack. Just to think that there are people all over the world, reading that tweet, smiling weakly, and thinking "oh, I get it", is all the reward I need.

I'm a bit tired of writing about myself, so I might try and direct my attention outwards for a change.

That thing over there is mainly white, but with a green stripe. Not a pleasant green (like a tree or "helper snake"), but an unpleasant pea-slime green.

The whole object isn't very tall. Four inches, perhaps? I don't know inches. Damn. I spoke about myself. Stop it, Paul. Stop it.

It has some lettering printed on the stripe. The lettering reads 'TARGET ZERO' and there's a tick in the 'O'.

The object has a handle.

It is a mug.

You see? True beauty is all around you.

There are people all over the place, and they all have their own internal lives. It's odd to think that there a billions of equally petty, equally cowardly, equally complex consciousnesses out there.

Well, maybe not billions. I doubt there are that many that could fill hundreds of blog posts with their ridiculous brain mulch.

But there are probably a few million.

It's enough to make you believe in a god with too much time on her hands.

There's so much activity happening beneath people's (and peoples') eyes that you forget it exists. But there's loads of stuff back there. Twisted imaginings, logic loops, groundless speculation, paranoia, little songs, role-play scenarios, acceptance speeches for hypothetical awards.

Life is like an iceberg. 90% of it lies beneath the surface.

Unless everyone is much simpler than I imagine. Maybe they think of, like, three things all day.

Maybe I have the most powerful and productive brain in the universe. If so...

what a waste.

This blog has sponged up so many thoughts that could have been better used in the fields of physics, medicine, forestry or floor history.

I think it's more likely that everyone is sitting on a similar reservoir of teeming thought stew. It's just that some people like to dam it up, block it up, contain it. And I like to bottle it and ship it out to the world, even though hardly anyone will sign for it, and it tastes a bit brackish.

Mood

Birthday

Listening to

Keystrokes

Reading

"Keystrokes"

Watching

Diff'rent Strokes

Playing

Strip stroker

Eating

Stroked salmon

Drinking

Stroka Cola

***

When I blow out my candles, I'm going to wish that, forever more, people can tell others what their wish is, and it will still come true.

This whole wish secrecy thing is a load of rubbish. You should spread your wishes around. The more people who know about them, the better the chance that they'll come true.

And don't get me STARTED on genies.

Of course, until I make the wish, the wish secrecy rule is still in effect. And, as I've just told you about it, it won't come true.

Damn you!

You win again, Captain Birthday!

Smooth

2011-12-11T14:49:00.001Z

I've set myself a series of goals today. This is one of them. I don't want to be too demanding. I know that I buckle under pressure. That's why... I won... a... belt... fastening... competition...

Sorry. That "joke" seemed to be trying to stop its own momentum, like a baby refusing to exit the womb. I'm going to be in trouble if my own writing begins to sabotage itself.

What have I learned over the past few days? Very little. But that in itself is a kind of learning. Knowledge is everything and everything is knowledge. Even knowing nothing is knowing that there is such a thing as nothing, that nothing is accessible by the human brain, that there must exist some something in opposition to it.

Every day is a school day, whether you like it or not. And you don't like it, because school days are awful. Scratchy jumpers, that lunch box smell, crippling psychological pain. I'm glad someone burned down our school and hid the evidence in my wardrobe.

Hey, I have learned something! The word "goodbye" is a contraction of "God be with you".

OOF. That fact hit you right in the solar plexus.

You see? It wasn't a waste of time clicking on this blog. I assume you have it bookmarked, or maybe even have it as your homepage. Or you might have found it by googling "Headscissors". I don't know. But what I do know is that I haven't - HAVEN'T - wasted your time.

No time wasting here. No, sir.

***

Mood

Shifting. I think I'm feeling OK, though it is dark and Sunday outside (and inside). Maybe my spirits will be boosted if I write an all-time classic blog post. It seems unlikely at this stage, but I've never been one to give up. Except for the whole buckling thing. I do that.

Sometime I should read through all my blog posts, label them properly, and see if there are any forgotten nuggets I can transform into stand-up or a series of novels. I could even come up with my Top Ten Blog Posts. I like top tens, as you can tell from that sitcom list that I still haven't done.

But am I really self-obsessed enough to read through pages and pages of my own writing?

Am I?

Me?

Self-indulgent?

Me: Paul Michael Fung?

Me?

This guy?

I don't think so.

I quickly realised that I've done this ironic self-obsessive denial of self-obession before. But I did it again anyway, because I love my own eyebrows more than I love the respect of my peers.

In conclusion:

Mood = Usual Me

Listening to

I heard this on my friend Sarah's playlist this week. And I was all like "Yeah, man. This is well good" and then I forgot about it for a while, and then I was like "Oh yeah, that song...", but then I forgot about it again, and then it was now and I began this sentence.

Reading

I've been a bit busy. So, you know.

But still. I do read. I mean, I have read. And I will read again. It doesn't make me any less of an intellectual. Just because I haven't read anything for a few days. I've got some serious GCSEs, my friend. I can talk about all manner of things.

Reading is artificial anyway. You have to get out there and LIVE.

Of course, I haven't been doing that either.

But still.

Watching

Lucy and I watched a really good animated Wonder Woman movie last night. It looked great, it raised interesting questions about gender politics (and didn't present any easy answers), and was just generally cool. Gore, jokes, Greek gods, people getting thrown through buildings... What more could you ask for? A million pounds? You're never happy.

Playing

A quiz machine. I went out with some friends on Friday and had a go on a quiz machine. I used to be addicted to them at university. They're a great way to waste loads of money in an attempt to prove how clever you are.

Eating

My words. They are disgusting.

Drinking

Orange juice. Smooth. I'm not an animal. I like smooth everything: peanut butter, marmalade, operators. Though I don't mind bits on occasion. As a child, I hated bits. I used to only eat Fiendish Feet yoghurts because they were all smooth.

But I've matured. Sometimes I'll eat something non-smooth. I might even eat a yoghurt that's not in the shape of a monster.

It's funny how simple your tastes are as a child. I didn't use to like Chinese takeaway. Imagine! What an idiot I was.Maybe when I grow up I'll become accustomed to the bitter taste of my own words. Like olives.

***

This has been fine, hasn't it? But not good enough to greatly improve my mood. So here's something guaranteed to make this post into a classic. One of my patented dialogues between some unlikely individuals!

Punky Brewster: What are YOU doing here?

The MGM Lion: Oh, you know. Just roaring.

PB: What for?

MGML: To signify the beginning of a film.

PB: Do you have do do it for every film?

MGML: For every MGM film, yes.

PB: Why don't they just use the same one over and over again?

Enter PETE TOWNSHEND

Pete Townshend: Hi Punky. Who's this?

PETE TOWNSHEND is savagely mauled; lies in a pool of his own blood.

MGML: WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!

PUNKY BREWSTER spits out a plectrum.

PB: You're my hero. I want to be like you. Lion's maul.

MGML: Well, thank you. But you could have tried roaring first. Or growing a mane. You've just killed a man! You'll have to go to prison.

PB: But I'm only a child. Also, who are they going to blame: me (a helpless little girl), or you (a lion with a long history of aggressive behaviour)?

MGML: That's a good point. Luckily I've been filming this whole thing. One of my studio contacts hooked me up with a skeleton crew. This whole exchange will be on Youtube by this evening.

The atomic bonds that connect all matter disintegrate, everyone becomes mist.

THE END

***

Well, it was a good try.

Smoke

2011-12-07T15:34:00.001Z

I've come up with a new expression for when you're asking people to keep an open mind.

You request that they "loosen the sphincter of credulity".

Pleasant, I think you'll agree. Why not try it, at a posh lunch with a judge, a priest, and a prude with a gun?

It's a beautiful winter afternoon outside. And inside, I suppose. But it's less beautiful in here due to all the objects and multiplug adapters, and the lack of pink clouds and birds.

The sun is beginning to set, and I can see a row of chimneys. The chimneys are all propped up by houses. Chimneys on their own would be a less pleasant sight - hovering like apostrophes, or suspended on wire - but as part of a house 'n' chimney package, they are very appealing. There's something very English about a row of terraced houses on a winter evening. It's cold with the prospect of warmth.

But whilst this innervating afternoon should have prompted me to take on a project of some kind, I have in fact been utterly inactive - even by my standards. Even that last full stop was an effort.

I can probably argue that I've earned a day of inactivity. I haven't, but I could probably argue it. Just because I'm good at arguing things (though terrible at arguments). If you're reasonably clever, you can justify all of your faults as being either for the greater good, or caused solely by outside forces. It's a dangerous thing. It means I don't have to take responsibility for the terrible things I do, or the much more numerous good things that I don't do.

However, I am aware that I'm doing that. Which makes everything OK.

At least, that's my argument.

***

Mood

I had a small tax rebate (rebate?), which has cheered me up considerably. Because it will make Christmas a bit less tight. And also because I'm shallow and materialistic and need a new coat.

Listening to

This is rather good, I'd say. I'm feeling quite self-conscious about my song choices. I feel pressure to have them say something about my character. I really don't want to choose things that will make me seem cool - because that would be a bald-faced, bare-faced, Paul-faced lie. Then again, I did choose the Freaky Friday theme last time, so maybe that risk is a small one.

Reading

The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

That's right! I've started reading a book! Mainly so I have something to write in this section. I know I could remove it, but I'm clearly an idiot. Much like the "idiot" in the above novel. AHAHAHA! Except I've only just started it, so can't make that comparison. I'll let you know how it goes.

Watching

We've been re-watching a lot of Seinfeld recently, and reached this episode last night.

A tremendous comedy scene, where nothing and everything is said. It also confirms what a fantastic comic actor Julia Louis-Dreyfus is. Watch her own every line of dialogue here - she gets laughs where there are none on the page.

It makes me look forward to Veep all-the-more. That's the new HBO political comedy series she's doing, written by Armando Iannucci (which will apparently be a bit like The Thick of It). I can't wait.

Ploying

I've been perpetrating a number of ploys - mostly involving buoys, toys, Roys (Kinnear, and Bryan Roy who used to play for Nottingham Forrest), saveloys and white noise.

Ha! Gotcha! I haven't been perpetrating ANY of those ploys. I've only been doing one ploy. The 'false ploys' ploy. And you fell right into my trap.

I have gained a lot of self-respect after that, I can tell you.

Eating

We had a ginger and golden syrup pudding that Lucy got from Waddesdon Christmas Fair. It was nice - proper pudding-shaped. If Britain decided on a National Shape, it would be the shape of the pudding. I can guarantee it. Or perhaps the shape of the chimney.

Or a wilted cricket bat.

Drinking

Berry smoothie. I don't care what berries it has in it. I'm a broad berry church.

***

It's a bit darker now. I can only see chimney silhouettes, which aren't quite as good. The wind is whistling through our windows like our building is one big brick Popeye.

I'm going to go and....

Actually, "going" seems difficult. Maybe I'll just sit here for a few more hours. The sun will be coming up in a while, and might be able to get another glimpse of the chimneys.

I hope you have a pleasant evening, or morning, or afternoon, or night, or all of the above.

One

2011-12-06T12:59:00.001Z

You know that scene that's in every film and television programme? You know the one.

I see it at least once a day. All pre-watershed programmes are required to include it once in every episode. Post-watershed: twice.

The BBFC refuses to classify any film that lacks this scene. In fact, if you don't include the scene, what you've made is not technically a film.

It's that scene, right, where two characters have an important event coming up the next day, such as an exam or a job interview or a sham funeral, and they are trying to decide whether or not to drink some alcohol. They decide against it, because becoming inebriated will hinder their ability to deal with said important event.

But then one of the characters suggests they just have one drink. Just ONE. Just ONE drink. Just ONE drink and then they'll have an early night. ONE drink - they repeat it - just ONE drink. "OK - well, we'll just have ONE drink," says one of the characters. Just one.

The camera shows their full bottle of alcoholic drink. But then it cuts, usually with one of those video wipes that looks like a clock going round (to let the viewer know that time has passed), to later on in the evening. It's the same shot, but now the bottle is empty!

EMPTY!

They've drunk the whole thing! Remember they were only going to have one? That was the plan.

But obviously, they got carried away and drank the whole bottle. That's more than one drink. And remember - that was the original intention. ONE drink. They even repeated it to hammer the point home. They were going to just have ONE drink. But that empty bottle signifies that they have exceeded that.

Classic.

You know that scene, right? It's a classic scene. A trope.

You see, the director (or writer or editor or runner with initiative) has decided to make that joke with the cut. They go from the full bottle to the empty bottle, and the audience will get it. There's no need to explain it. You could have one of the characters say "Oh dear. We meant to only have one drink, but we've had more than that".

But that's unnecessary. The edit is all the explanation you need.

Your expectations have been built up (THEY INTEND TO HAVE A SINGLE DRINK), and with a single dissolve, your expectations have been confounded (THEY HAVE BROKEN THEIR VOW).

That's proper film-making.

You might not even realise that you're being played in that way. But you are.

The great thing about any film-making technique is you can mess around with it. As people become more media-savvy, sometimes you can play on their knowledge of the form.

I'd like to do some variations of the full bottle/empty bottle - one drink/many drinks device.

Like, for example the bottle is half-full to begin with. "Let's have one drink," they say. ONE drink.

Then you cut to later on, and the bottle is full.

How did that happen?! Did they pour some more liquid into that bottle? Did they finish the original bottle, drink half of another bottle, and then place it on exactly the same spot as the original bottle? IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE?!

That's proper film-making. That's the sort of thing Quentin Tarantino would do.

Or - a slightly different version - you start on the full bottle of drink. They agree to have one drink. Just ONE. Cut to later on, and the bottle is still full, but contains a different coloured drink.

So maybe it starts with red wine, and when you cut back to the red wine bottle, it's full of Lilt.

IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE?!

Proper film-making. That's the sort of thing David Lynch would do.

Or how about, you start with the full bottle, they agree to have one drink (just ONE), you cut to later on and the bottle is still there, and is one drink's worth of liquid less full. So, you think they've stuck to their promise. But THEN it's revealed that whilst they only had one drink from that bottle, they supplemented that with many other different kinds of drink. Maybe they started with red wine and moved on to spirits. Or cans of lager.

They'd still struggle to pull of that whole funeral hoax or pass their SATs.

You've been confounded when you thought you'd been the opposite of that (profounded).

Or, right, maybe you start with a full bottle, they agree to have a single drink (and make these intentions known to the audience), and then we dissolve through time, but this time we go EARLIER in time. It's a flashback to when the bottle was forged, or when the table didn't have a bottle on it. It wouldn't really impact on the important event our characters are to attend - that's hundreds of years in the future - but would certainly be interesting, wouldn't it?

It's the sort of thing Sergio Leone would do. If he was alive and had significantly reduced the scope of his creative vision.

The possibilities are endless. But I can't go through them all.

But I can go through loads of them.

Some alternates:

Full bottle - they decide to have MANY drinks - time cut - they've only had one
Full bottle - they decide to have ONE drink - time cut - there's an eyeball in the drink
Drawing of a bottle - they decide to have ONE drink - time cut - they realise they can't drink a picture
Full gravy boat - they decide to have ONE portion of gravy - time cut - they've had all of the gravy
Full bottle - they decide to have UNO drink - time cut - they're Spanish

The list goes on. In my head, it goes on.

Next time you see this scene (which will probably be in about fifteen minutes), see whether they've gone for the basic version (which is absolutely fine and admirable) or if they've gone for something out of left-field.

And if they have, raise a glass to their ingenuity. But only one - you have that trial in the morning. Just one.

ONE.

Definitely ONE.

It's what Roman Polanski would do.