From Beer To Paternity

Valentine’s Day Is Over...

2012-02-15T02:19:00.003-08:00

It's Valentine's Day at From Beer To Paternity Towers and me and the Missus are sat watching The Biggest Loser on ITV1.

For those who have not had the pleasure of viewing this particular show, it's essentially a diet competition for fat folk with one person eliminated each week and the eventual winner getting £25k.

The competitive element of each episode ends with a weigh-off to find out who's lost the most weight, and is intercut with back-stories about the contestants. Each show then ends with the folk about to eliminated pleading their case to stay in the show. This involves lots of large people crying (or blubbers blubbing) amid various plugs for The Biggest Loser Club, which is a Weight Watchers type of affair allied to the programme. And presumably ITV.

Anyway, me and the Missus essentially watch this show so we can support those taking part. That's a lie. Actually it's so we can sneer at fat people whose emotions and vulnerable senses of self-worth are laid bare for the telly-viewing public.

On last night's show the remaining contestants all had a makeover then got the chance to see loved ones for a short period of time. There were many tears. It was either moving TV or a pile of exploitative rubbish edited to make it look much more emotional that it actually was.
'It's only being seven weeks since they last saw their relatives,' said the Missus. 'It's not like they've been in Guantanamo!'
'That would make a much better show,' I offer.
'Yes. I'd certainly watch it,' agrees the Missus.

Later on the biggest chap in the show makes his entrance after his makeover. He's lost a shitload of weight but he still checks in at about 25 stone.
'If you ever get that big I'm leaving you,' says the Missus as she marvels at the biggest loser on The Biggest Loser.
'Well you've got that big and I've stayed with you,' I say without thinking.

Pain follows rapidly. Comments like that are, apparently, an SRO (Spare Room Offence).

England Expects...

2012-02-10T00:00:00.000-08:00

My pool protege secured a place at the trials for the England Junior Team at the end of last season by finishing as one of the highest-ranked junior players in the South-East of England. And a few weeks ago he attended the trials – and got through and won a place on the England Junior Team.

I was made up for him, not only because he's worked hard at his game and really made the effort to move up to the next level, but because at 15 he's not even 50 per cent of the junior player he will become – and he's already in the England Junior Team.

I've also enjoyed working with him and practising with him once a month because the things we've worked on are things I do automatically but going through them again has made me analyse how I go about things and it's made me make improvements in things like concentration and being methodical. After all, I can hardly instil solid basics into somebody else if I'm struggling to do them myself.

It's also made me think about what I could do as far as being involved with the county pool scene could offer when my playing days come to an end. And at the moment that could be when the 2012 season finishes as there are other things I want to do and commit time to.

Who knows? If I can help one junior player with potential become an international then maybe I can help a few more? It's food for thought.

Quote Of The Day...

2012-02-01T08:52:00.000-08:00

'A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.'
Greek Proverb.

The Ballad Of Ted Hankey…

2012-01-23T03:15:00.000-08:00

British Darts Organisation anti-hero Ted ‘The Count’ Hankey, who models his stage persona on Count Dracula and wears a cape during his stage walk-on, recently left the BDO to join a rival darts organisation after losing in the semi-finals of the BDO World Championship to an unseeded qualifier from Holland. His twitter feed several weeks before the event read as follows: "@tedhankey ‘16 pints down pub. wanks out the question’.” Perfect material for a would-be poet...

Pounding the treble bed,
Though not often enough,
Then missing the doubles
Cos this new kid’s too good.

He’s young and he’s Dutch
And he’s throwing on song,
And hitting ton eighties
Like they’re out of fashion, gone.

So I’m wiping my brow
As the sweat’s pouring down,
Then he hits another double
And I respond with a frown.

Once upon a time
It’d be a snarl or a scowl,
And I’d look like thunder
A beast crying a howl.

But I’m calmer these days,
The pantomime villain part gone
And I only wear the cape
Because the habit is strong.

But lobbing bats to the fans,
I don’t do that no more
Since they started lobbing them back
Or leaving them on the floor.

In another few legs
I know I’m well beat:
A world title gone,
A semi-final defeat.

The crowd they applaud
As I say goodbye a last time
And I head back to my room
A big decision in mind:

To throw my arrows elsewhere
I’m going to join the select,
With better opponents to play,
Bigger paychecks to collect.

My mum and the wife,
Who follow me and support,
Know just what I’m doing
The decision I will report.

But before that time comes
I’ll head down to the pub
And sit on my own
And reflect on the rub

Of the oche gods who look down
As I sink pint number one
About the decisions I’ve made
Based on scoring a ton.

Then on pint number five
I realise I’ll be missing me tea
So I text the wife and the mum
Tell them to eat without me.

After pint number ten
I may be a bit pissed
And walking back to the hotel
Is now well off the list.

On pint number fifteen
I get amorous thoughts
But one final pint in
I know it’ll all come to nought.

So I settle for the choice
Of a little tug on the meat.
I won’t wake the missus
As I quietly beat.

But hiding under my cape
The climax just won’t arrive.
It’s like during the match
My big finish denied.

Homeward Bound...

2012-01-19T07:37:00.000-08:00

I had the unenviable task of returning to Yorkshire for a family funeral yesterday.

I've yet to go to a good funeral but there were smiles among the grief at this one. At times it was funny and tender and moving. My older brother and his girlfriend were also utterly astonishing during what was obviously an awful day for them.

On the way to their house, however, I chanced upon one of my cousins who told me a funny story about his dad... then dropped the bombshell that our family name was actually fabricated and taken from a dead sailor as our grandfather was illegitimate and wouldn't use (or wasn't allowed to use) his real family name.

Not that it really matters. All family names are made up at some point and if mine ws good enough for my grandfather and my father then it's good enough for me.

And I quite like the idea that I'm descended from bastard stock.

Rejection...

2012-01-12T05:18:00.000-08:00

The Boy sent his first comic script off to 2000AD several months ago. I read it and it was pretty good and the two things he's written subsequently are even better. He'll make a funny and inventive writer if he keeps working and makes the breaks happen.

But, sadly, his first script got rejected last week so he now has his first official rejection letter. I felt for him because I've been there so many times (three in the last week if I was actually counting) but I was also delighted to see him take it on the chin and decide to be stoical about it and just keep going.

Perseverance is an important quality at anything. It was a moment of bonding.

Go get 'em, buddy...

Thoughts For The New Year...

2012-01-06T02:54:00.001-08:00

Here are some thoughts from the beginning of 2012...

i) Snow Patrol are quite good: I initially eschewed them when several friends were raving about them but I have now given them a go and like them. I plan to be more open-minded about other people's musical opinions in 2012. Unless they're idiots...

ii) The only good Tory is a dead one: This was my first real political opinion, which I formed about the age of 11, and the view has somewhat softened in the past decades as the greedy, in-the-pockets-of-multinationals Blair Government proved they could be as bad the Thatcher and Major lot. I also met a few Tories that I liked and, even though I could never agree with their politics, I did respect they were at least coming from a point of political conviction based on making the country a better one for everyone. Sadly the new lot of posh Tory idiots like Cameron and Osborne may yet have me reaching for a rifle. They really are morally bankrupt in the way they kow-tow to big business and financially rape those in the most need. Why people like them ever got into politic is totally beyond me. Posh scumbags, the lot of 'em.

iii) Work smarter and work harder: 2011 was a pretty good year but with new projects on the horizon in 2012 I'm going to need to be even more organised and focused than normal. That means I'm going to need clarity and decisiveness and the best way I know how to achieve this is through meditation so I'm going to make a real effort to attend at least one ki meditation class every week in 2012. It will help keep me balanced and it's something I am going to need.

iv) Ignore cunts: self-explanatory.

New Year, New Ideas...

2011-12-31T00:38:00.000-08:00

It's been an OK year on the writing front with a shortlisted entry in a sitcom writing competition, far-off rumblings and talk of TV work, and a new stage play at about third draft.

In reality I haven't written enough, though, and 2012 at least already promises new ideas with my wrestling play under way, a new idea for a sitcom and my first attempt to write a comic all in the offing.

There may well be the usual amount of rejection in store but there may also be some new hope. The new theatre company I'm production managing a show for holds much promise and they've also reminded me of one very important thing: I never used to rely on other people to stage work as I used to do that myself and, after exercising those muscles again late in the year, I still can.

It was a moment of epiphany and I'm already putting together a new project with this in mind. My new theatre friends may have reawakened a monster. But it will nice to see him back...

Fat: Part IV...

2011-12-23T04:23:00.000-08:00

It is the Friday before Xmas and me and the Missus are having a lazy morning in bed when the phone goes.

I answer and it's Little Brother, although as he was topping the 18 stone mark at one point this year the word 'Little' doesn't really apply these days. So we are chatting about our respective diets and he's telling me how him and two friends have a £1000 bet to see who can lose the most weight and I tell him how me and the Missus are doing.
'I've lost about a stone and a half so far,' says Little Brother.
'I've done more than a stone and so has the Missus,' I reply.
'My target weight is 15 stone,' says Little Brother.
'Yeah. The Missus is nearly there at the moment,' I reply.

I feel a sharp dig in the ribs and am all too familiar with the icy stare that will greet me when I turn around. It was a joke but, apparently, girls don't have a sense of humour about weight issues.

Then I realise me and Little Brother are chatting about exercise and diets and losing weight like something from Loose Women. We'll be talking interior design next. God help us...

Play Reading...

2011-12-23T04:13:00.000-08:00

I have my first play reading in more than 10 years. There's a proper story, different characters and even jokes. Some of them are quite rude and a few of them are even funny.

It's on at Guildford's Electric Theatre on 28 February 2012, starting at 7.45pm. Everybody is welcome. If I like you I'll buy you beer.

Recycled Jokes No.2...

2011-12-20T02:20:00.001-08:00

I told you Kim Jong was Il(l)...

Fat: Part III...

2011-12-08T10:07:00.000-08:00

I am ill and it is shit. I have spent the last five days sweating in bed. And not in a good way. I was alone.

On the plus side my eating pattern has not been regular if at all so I may have crept ahead in the diet challenge.

This is war. I will win at fucking any cost.

Pedantic...

2011-11-28T07:23:00.000-08:00

The Missus has many fine qualities but patience and empathy are not two things she's blessed with. Fortunately, she more than makes up for the absence of these things with a pedantic streak that is a mile wide and twice as long.

This streak, however, has come back to bite her on the arse (not literally) in recent years because the Boy has also inherited it and when the two of them discuss anything she'll invariably say something slightly inaccurate and he'll jump on it like a hungry wolfpack devouring an injured deer.

Last weekend we visited my Guide Son and his parents and stayed over or the weekend. My Guide Son is essentially my God Son but his parents are card-carrying atheists so using the name of a deity they don't believe in seems redundant, hence Guide Son.

He's an utterly wonderful four-year-old and he now has a little sister, and with me and the Missus staying over at his parent's flat there was a bit of bed juggling so we ended up in their bedroom.

At 4.30am the Guide son climbs into bed with us and once he realised it was us rather than his parents he decided to stick around and curl up and go to sleep. This involved telling us about his nightmare and regaling us with tales from school then giving us a rendition of the Muppet Show theme tune. This went:
'It's time to play the music,
It's time to light the lights,
It's time to get things started,
On the Puppet Show tonight...'

At this point the pedant in the Missus woke up and corrected a four-year-old at 5am in the morning.
'It's "the Muppet Show tonight..."' she advised.

We're exhausted, it's 5am and we need sleep and she still can't turn the pedantry tap off.

A few days later, however, I was telling the Guide Son's father, who is also Young Brother of the Missus, this story and he laughed.
'I used to make the exact same mistake when singing the song,' he said. 'And she used to correct me, too.'
'At 5am?' I asked.
'Probably...'

I have not the words...

Charity Begins...

2011-11-19T13:12:00.000-08:00

The Missus has cooked tea and we are preparing to sit down and watch Have I Got New For You.

I come into the living room after tidying up.
'Where's Have I Got News For You?'
'Not on.'
'Why not?'
'It's fucking Children In cunting Need.'

I share her ire.

Excited!

2011-11-17T06:23:00.000-08:00

I have a rehearsed reading of my new play and it's my first public readthrough in more than 10 years.

The play is called Melt and the readthrough is at the Electric Theatre in Guildford on 28 February 2012 so I am now gutting and rewriting the play ready for its public debut.

And I've also started work on a new play about a catch wrestler and I'm also project managing a production in June...

It's all quite exciting.

Back In The Old Routine...

2011-11-01T06:28:00.002-07:00

In a previous life I was a youth theatre worker and director, a community theatre writer and director, and a Fringe theatre writer and director.

And I did quite a lot of work with various companies and various groups. Some of it was very good and some of it was not so good, but it was a major part of my life for 15 years until an acrimonious split from one company made me ask why I was doing this... and I decided the effort wasn't worth the hassle any more.

Some six years after this split I started writing again and as from last week I'm back involved with a new theatre project in my new home town of Guildford. I met the company director a few months ago and we talked... and last week we had our first official meeting and it wasn't as scary as I thought it was going to be. In fact if anything I found it difficult to keep my mouth shut as old reflexes kicked in and ideas about turning words on a page into a moving, breathing thing on an empty stage kicked in.

The play we're working on is a new piece called Consider This and, if I had to nutshell it, it's a theatrical exploration of the power of forgiveness inspired by stories taken from The Forgiveness Project, a company which collects stories about victims of violence and their loved ones and suggests a better way to deal with hate and ideas of revenge.

That may sound a bit serious and dry and arty but the work of The Forgiveness Project is stunning in its scope and the piece our merry band of drama, music folk and film folk are working on will be lively and fun as well as thought-provoking.

I'll be haranguing friends into coming to see this play when it's on in June 2012. You have been warned...

Fat: Part II...

2011-11-01T06:12:00.001-07:00

I have lost 12lbs in four weeks and I am comfortably back under 14 stone, which is about my fighting weight. If I fought.

This should be a reason to celebrate but currently it's torture as the office I share with several colleagues is never short of cakes or biscuits or sweets. And today I have a major craving for chocolate.

In fact I have such a craving for chocolate that I could quite easily walk down the road to M&S, pull out my credit card, buy an entire shelf of the stuff, return to the office and systematically trough my way through it. Then repeat until sick.

This is what it must be like to be a girl: craving nice things but under constant pressure to not eat in case it ruins all your previous efforts to be healthy and stay slim. I will never mock the Other Woman and her constant need for confectionery again. I'll just pick on her because she’s short and sassy instead.

In conclusion, diets are rubbish and I am probably having mood swings. You have been warned.

And I may want to cry for no apparent reason, too.

How Media Works...

2011-10-24T07:40:00.000-07:00

My journalistic career as it is sometimes laughingly called has had many low points but I'm pleased to say that at least it will never plumb the barrel-scrapingly awful depths of an email I got earlier today.

Apart from the fact that what it suggests is an awful idea, it should also give non-media folk an idea of how the desperate quest for celebrity works and what depths some folk will sink to in order to keep their talent-free zone faces in the limelight.

The email reads as follows:

'Never underestimate the power of sisterhood' says Lauren and Nicola Goodger from hit ITV reality TV series - The Only Way is Essex.

TOWIE's most famous sisters, Lauren and Nicola Goodger are to recreate the looks of some of the worlds most iconic sisters in an exclusive media shoot.

Successful sisters go back generations; think Joan and Jackie Collins in the 80s, Kylie and Dani Minogue in the 90s and what would the noughties be without Kate and Pippa Middleton?

Regardless of the decade, the support and solidarity of sisterhood is what has helped make these women successful, which is why ‘The Only Way Is Essex’s’ sisters Lauren and Nicola Goodger are looking to recreate the looks of some the worlds most iconic sisters in an exclusive photo shoot.

'Team Goodger' are rapidly proving a force to be reckoned with here in the UK and this iconic photo shoot is set to put these two sisters on the map as the sisters who will be 'doing it for themselves' in next decade.

We're looking for one media outlet who would like to commission this exclusive photo shoot and interview.

I fear for humanity. It's fin de siecle time and these are the vinegar strokes.

Recycled Jokes No.1...

2011-10-21T05:23:00.000-07:00

A former Libyan dictator was assassinated yesterday. He refused to take the advice of one of his guards, who shouted 'Gaddafi. Duck.'

Rejection!

2011-10-18T02:38:00.000-07:00

I sent a radio comedy script out to an independent production company a while ago.

Sending it out was a bit of long shot but the script was smart and funny and I thought it had a fighting chance.

I got the rejection letter yesterday. It was quite complimentary about the script and its comedy but closed with the line: 'we don't feel it’s sophisticated enough for Radio 4.'

I sort of agreed and I also thought tht line would make a great t-shirt as it sums me up: 'not sophisticated enough for Radio 4'.

Then I thought I could add: 'with it's small audience of arty, tree-hugging, middle-class know-it-alls'.

Then I realised that is probably me as well.

In conclusion I actually can't write for myself...

Fat: Part I...

2011-10-11T04:03:00.000-07:00

Myself and the Missus are on diets. I have put on a stone in the space of a year and now weigh 14 stone 6 lbs. I wouldn't mind but it's not like I'm not exercising. It's a sad reality... but I'm now podgy for the first time in my life.

I obviously can't comment on how much weight the Missus has put on or what her exercise regime has consisted of (as that would be a spare room offence) but her weight gain is apparently my fault. For making her too happy.
'I was at my thinnest before we met and I was unhappy,' she laments. 'It's your fault. I'm too contented to care now...'

My suggestion of having an affair so she can find out and be unhappy again apparently was not helpful.

So we're now both dieting. I've never dieted before but apparently it involves eating more fruit and vegetables and less cake and chocolate and drinking less booze. It sounds a bit shit to be quite frank but I'm going to give it a go.

Otherwise I'll be a rotund, middle-aged fatty and nobody wants that look. Apart from Eric Pickles...

Happy Anniversary: Part II...

2011-10-01T00:44:00.000-07:00

Apparently a bottle opener attached to a piece of olive wood shaped like a knob is not considered an appropriate 10th wedding anniversary gift.

Happy Anniversary: Part I...

2011-09-29T12:37:00.000-07:00

Me and the Missus are on holiday in Crete.

Today we celebrated 10 years of marriage by having a lazy day walking along the beach and getting upgraded to a very flash new hotel room courtesy of my wife's desire for the better things in life and a shrewd ability to negotiate.

Walking along the beach we shared some romantic anniversary-type thoughts.
'You never had that much grey hair when we married,' said the Missus.
"You were a size 12 when we first married,' I reply.

Apparently that does not constitute romantic banter.

Some time later I am getting the blame for the sea splashing her as we walk along the beach paddling. So I decide to defend myself.
'I cannot control the waves. I do not even pretend to able to control the waves. I am not King Canute,' I protest.
'Some of the letters in that king's name are close enough...' says the Missus.

We married well. Still happy...

The Write Stuff!

2011-09-21T14:30:00.000-07:00

It's been a busy few weeks on the writing front at From Beer To Paternity Towers with stage plays going off to two theatres, a radio comedy going off to a major production company and a TV show being sent out to two other TV production companies.

The optimism such periods of creativity promotes is a wonderful thing. It's the first day of the football season where your team can still win everything... before hope disintegrates after a string of bad results; it's the anticipation of a first date when there may be romance and mind-blowing sex ahead... before you get dumped for a younger and prettier model.

I'm no longer overly optimistic about sending scripts out. I put the work in and ensure that whatever I'm sending out is better than the last thing I sent out but after that there are so many other factors that decide what gets picked up and what doesn't.

But, like anything else that really matters, it's important to keep doing it and to keep trying because the alternative is just to give up. And that sounds a bit rubbish.

Besides... I can't really do anything else.

Rolling News: Part II...

2011-09-15T05:40:00.000-07:00

One of my oldest friends is now back in the UK after living in New Zealand for many years.

We're both Goolies and we both did A Levels together and our lives have intertwined at various stages over theatrical interests and martial arts interests without us actually knowing at the time... and only discovering these bizarre crossover points when we periodically caught up to discuss things.

Apart from us most recently discovering a newish shared passion for cartography, one of the things we're both a bit obsessed about is grappling and groundfighting so once we're sorted with a venue we'll be doing some rolling and some skill swapping.

I'm looking forward to this immensely. I think he is too. I can't think of a better way to reconnect with someone than to do this and in anticipation I've been going over all my old BJJ, submission wrestling, catch-as-catch-can wrestling and judo books and reading up on armbars, kimuras, Americanas and triangle chokes.

I'm even going to suggest we jokingly give ourselves a name:
Goole Wrestling Club: London Branch

It has a certain ring to it...

Rolling News: Part I...

2011-09-02T04:12:00.000-07:00

Besides Hapkido, one of my martial arts passions is grappling and groundfighting and I'm a big fan of a website called Grapplearts.com.

This site is run by a guy called Stephan Kesting, who's a Brazilian Jiu-jitsu black belt and a certified instructor in Combat Submission Wrestling under Erik Paulson. The site is part-shopfront for Kesting's various DVDs (and I have his three iPod apps and they are excellent in case you're wondering) but it also has a load of free stuff that you can sign up for, including an email newsletter that features articles and videos on all manner of grappling-based stuff.

Kesting also interviews various luminaries from the world of grappling for a free podcast and his most recent interview features a high-level American BJJ competitor named Ryan Hall, who's a IBJJF/CBJJ Mundial world and European champion and claimed a medal at the ultra-prestigious Abu Dhabi Submission Wrestling World Championship.

The interview is very good and features quite a lot of information that is way over my head but Hall said two things that really struck me.

The first was when he was discussing a particular technique and he very carefully emphasised that this was his understanding of the technique at the moment.

I thought this was important because it showed that even as a high-level competitor he wasn't done understanding the technique yet and that he knew his understanding of it may yet change in years to come. In other words the technique was not a done deal but a steadily evolving organic entity that grows as his understanding of it grows.

The second thing that struck me about this was when he explained that if a more successful or feted grappler should explain the technique in a different way then anyone interested should disregard what he said and listen to them instead.

A willingness to keep on learning and humility. I bet he's a fantastic teacher.

Sign up to Grapplearts.com if you want to hear the full interview.

Love In The Time Of Cholera...

2011-08-25T06:44:00.000-07:00

Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s magical realist masterpiece remains one of my favourite books. The story of a teenage love affair in Columbia that is reignited several decades later, it remains one of a handful of books that I go back to every several years and reread and get something new from every time.

When I was a single man I could usually gauge how long any new romance would last by asking if any new partner had read the book and what they thought of it. It wasn't that I was being some sort of intellectual elitist as several former lovers hadn't read the book and they were utterly lovely people, but when you discover you have the same shared literary passion as somebody new in your life then an immediate bond is formed.

When I first got together with the Missus we were discussing favourite books and when I asked her about the Marquez novel her immediate response was 'I've read it and I love it.'

One of the bits in the book we talked about way back then is towards the end of the story when the reunited lovers are travelling on a boat. They are both well into old age and they both have to deal with the practicalities of old age, such as inserting suppositories into one another and masking the smell of their urinary accidents. It sounds disgusting but it beautifully suggests that love is not just the province of the young and that there is also tenderness in caring for your lover in a very intimate way.

Some 15 years after me and the Missus got together, I fear we are now turning into the two ageing lovers from Love In The Time Of Cholera. With her chronically injured shoulder and my occasional martial arts ninja-ries we do seem to be spending lots of time nursing each other at the moment.

I fear suppositories are probably just around the corner, which would be ironic as she often says I'm a pain in the arse. You can probably make your own, better gags...

Black Belt Grading: Black Belt Presentation...

2011-08-18T02:22:00.001-07:00

I was officially given my black belt a few weeks ago in a presentation involving the head of our academy and my teacher.

It was a fab day made even better when the Missus turned up with the Boy who came along to support me on a surprise visit from university. But I also felt slightly subdued and overwhelmed by it all.

For me learning a martial art and reaching black belt has been a journey about overcoming my own inadequacies. I'm also not a naturally gifted athlete so it's very much been a journey of perspiration rather than inspiration. I'm quite competitive, too, so it's been pretty tough seeing other people leave you in their slipstream as they pass you by and excell where you struggle.

In the days afterwards it felt like I was mourning the end of something. It felt like something had gone.

In reality, of course, learning a martial art is a continouous journey where the more you learn the less you realise you actually know and getting any new belt is only a signpost on that journey, although getting a black belt is obviously quite a significant one.

In poker it's often said that the really seasoned players have no comprehension of the actual value of the chips they're playing with. The idea of their monetary value is not important. Their chip stack is just a way of seeing where they are in the game. It's still being in the game that is the important thing.

It's an analogy I hope to now adopt with martial arts. The belt is just a symbol of where I am. The only thing that matters is ensuring I'm still in the game and sometimes playing well.

If I've learnt anything through all of this it's probably something along those lines.

Ticket Touts...

2011-08-12T03:13:00.001-07:00

My delight at securing tickets to see PJ Harvey at the Royal Albert Hall is only matched by the horror of my credit card feeling like it’s been raped after booking through a major ticket agency.

I am astonished they can charge that much in additional fees.

The robbing bastards should advertise with a mask and a flintlock pistol.

Rioting Jokes...

2011-08-09T02:19:00.000-07:00

My favourite two jokes about the riots:

Rioting in Guildford. Three caffe lattes and a three bean salad damaged.

Extensive rioting in Hull. The city centre and several buildings and major landmarks have been destroyed. Officials fear it may cost as much as £7 to repair the damage.

Lemmy: The Movie...

2011-07-24T23:30:00.000-07:00

Myself and the Missus watched Lemmy: The Movie on BBC4 at the weekend.

For those who missed it check out the BBC iPlayer as it's a hugely entertaining two-hour profile of the Motorhead and former Hawkwind frontman.

Chief Foo Fighter Dave Grohl and a host of other rock and metal stars joined in to pay tribute to the godfather of heavy metal, who was either sat down with a Jack Daniels in his hand talking about his colourful career or meandering about doing 'normal' Lemmy things like talking about his collection of Nazi memorabilia or driving a tank.

It's a brilliant film and Lemmy is thoroughly engaging and actually quite sweet. He also has the best line:
'You can't have everything... Where would you put it?'

Genius.

Guilfest...

2011-07-18T02:31:00.001-07:00

Myself and the Missus plus our Friends From The North and their We-Get-Him-If-They-Die Kid headed off to Guildford's annual music festival Guilfest at the weekend.

The Missus is currently sporting a chronically injured shoulder and my broken toe remains a bit broken so the two of us hobbled around the various stages and various food and beer stands and still had a ball.

Last year I took the We-Get-Him-If-They-Die Kid to his first thrash grunge metal gig at Guilfest when we saw the excellent Japanese Voyeurs. This year he decided he wanted to see Chipmunk and Ziggy Marley, prompting the joke:
Q. How does Ziggy Marley like his donuts?
A. With jammin' but not as much jammin' as his father.

Highlights of the day, though, were fab pies from Pie Society (see what they did there?) and a set by Hugh Cornwell playing both Stranglers favourites and his own solo stuff.

We also saw a band called Joana And The Wolf, fronted by London-based Lithuanian Joana Glaza (above), who was a bit Kate Bush, Patti Smith, Bjork and PJ Harvey all rolled into one. Her band, The Wolf, were also very tight and the set veered between haunting etherealness and kicking guitar-heavy tunes. Well worth a look on YouTube and they also have three singles on iTunes.

We also saw Erasure, who were so-so, and Public Image Limited, who were pretty fab. John Lydon apparently helped install a septic tank in Guildford when he was 15.

James Blunt was also headlining on one of the other stages. I headed home a little early as my injury was playing up and I went to the loo before doing so. I was toying with the idea of having a shit but decided on a piss instead. It was there I heard James Blunt.

Much as I like Blunt when I've seen him interviewed on chat shows I find his music awful and it was almost like my bowel was offering judgement: he's isnt really shit, just a bit piss-poor.

Black Belt Grading: The Result...

2011-07-11T02:36:00.000-07:00

I have passed my grading and on 31 July I will be presented with my black belt.

I was a bit teary when I found out. It's been a long journey and, throw in some injury frustrations, and sometimes it's been a tough one too. But I am delighted. I am also relieved. I am also a bit worried that I now have to be a black belt and maintaining those standards will be hard work. In fact I'm pretty sure I'll feel like a total fraud for the first six months.

I initially decided to celebrate this personal milestone by buying something I've lusted after for quite a while. It's a Paul Hanwei Zatoichi sword (above). But then I realised it would just sit on a wall as a beautiful thing. And the Missus said it was quite close to owning a gun or buying a fighting dog so I thought better of it.

So instead I celebrated with a Chinese takeaway, a bottle of beer and a bad Steven Seagal movie. I am not very rock and roll. My hellraising days are probably done... on the plus side my black belt ones are just starting.

Hacked Off...

2011-07-06T02:38:00.000-07:00

It's been many years since I decided I would make a conscious effort to never fund anything associated with Rupert Murdoch.

I'd rarely bought any of his papers anyway but I think it was about the time of the NOTW paedophile campaign, headed by then NOTW editor Rebekah Wade (now Brooks), that I decided I should make a conscious effort. From what I could see this dangerous campaign launched a lynch mob mentality and created such a climate of hatred that a paediatrician was attacked when some thicko couldn't tell the difference between a sex offender and a medical professional.

I appreciate the fact I won't have Sky in the house or buy The Sun or The News Of The World or The Times, etc, probably doesn't make too much of a difference to the News Corp coffers, but it's me exercising my power as a consumer not to add to Murdoch's profits. And it may be a pointless gesture but I'd still rather be pissing against the Murdoch wind that buying into it.

So it genuinely impressed me the other day to see the Milly Dowler phone hacking scandal so disgust a group of people that they've set up a campaign on Twitter designed to hit News Corp where it hurts and encourage advertisers not to spend money on News Corp titles. Ford cars have already dropped their adverts and other companies are said to be reviewing their policies in the wake of the scandal.

And there's more... the Murdoch bid to buy outright control of Sky could now be in jeopardy because their is a clause about being a 'fit and proper' body when buying a major media company and the behaviour of senior NOTW executive clearly casts doubt on their suitability.

The sad thing in this, obviously, is it's taken sideshow events surrounding the murder of a schoolgirl to stir people into action and that her family are now being forced to relive the horror of it all yet again.

When The Sun screamed the headline The Truth across its front page in 1989 then proceeded to accuse Liverpool fans of looting dead bodies at the Hillsborough disaster, the paper suffered a circulation decline in Liverpool that it never recovered from.

I hope the rest of the country follows this example and makes News Corp and the NOTW and its sister titles such as The Sun pay not only for its criminal activities but for its arrogance in thinking it is above the law.

Go people power! Hit them where it hurts...

Glastonbury: Part II...

2011-06-28T13:00:00.001-07:00

Things I learnt from watching Glastonbury on the telly this weekend:

i) Anna Calvi is pretty bloody amazing. She's playing London soon and I'm going. Fact.

ii) I actually like Coldplay. I have now bought three of their albums and found the one I accidentally stole from my mate Spindle. And I will listen to them. Repeatedly.

iii) I still like some of U2's music but will no longer replace my old U2 vinyl with CDs/MP3s as it funds tax-dodging hypocrites. That's you Bonio. And your mates. Scum the lot of you. I don't care if you wrote Two Hearts Beat As One.

iv) I think I would like Elbow if I gave them a proper go.

v) My days of festival going are well and truly over. I'm now veering onto the side of the Missus. Unless it's at least four stars I'm not staying there.

vi) The BBC licence fee is a bloody bargain. Brilliant coverage of Glastonbury on TV, radio and online all weekend. Plus shedloads of other good stuff too. We should protect this institution against the threat of barbarians like Murdoch, the Tories and the rank legions of the Daily Mail at all costs. It remains a brilliant public service broadcaster and is one of the few things that genuinely makes me proud to be British.

That's probably it...

Glastonbury: Part I...

2011-06-25T03:29:00.001-07:00

It is Friday night and me and the Missus are in bed watching the highlights of Glastonbury.

U2 have just come off stage and are being interviewed and, strangely, no mention is made of the threat of protestors turning up to their set to draw attention to the fact they are hypocrites whose lead singer bangs on about making poverty history... while at the same time channeling his and the band's money into a tax haven so they don't have to pay anywhere near the requisite amount of tax a group of multi-millionare superstars should pay.

Five minutes into the interview the Missus turns to me and says:
'No only is Bono a self-righteous cunt, not is only is Bono a self-righteous, tax-dodging cunt, but he's also a self-righteous, tax-dodging, boring cunt.'

I couldn't have said it finer than either her or than the above cartoon from the New Internationalist.

Quote Of The Day...

2011-06-24T02:27:00.001-07:00

'A will finds a way.'
Orison Swett Marden

Breaking News...

2011-06-17T04:10:00.001-07:00

I have broken one of my toes while training.

I would like to pretend I was kicking my way through cement blocks during a demonstration to a wowed audience... but this would be a lie. It was much less dramatic and a bit of a daft/stupid breakage that involved kicking somebody over my head during what is called a sacrifice throw and managing to get my toe caught in his belt/uniform.

I hoped it was just sprained but on waking up this morning it was very painful and very swollen so off to A&E I went. The upshot is it's broken and not dis-similar to what Wayne Rooney did to his foot. And like Wayne Rooney I have to lay of any exercise for at least six weeks. And hobble around a lot.

I did, however, think of the following joke:
Question: What is the difference between me and Wayne Rooney?
Answer 1: Wayne Rooney broke his metatarsal while I narrowly avoided that injury and instead fractured the bone below it by hyperextending the toe.
Answer 2: Wayne Rooney is successful, rich and famous and I am not.
Answer 3: I can read, I have a full head of hair and I am not a love rat.
Answer 4: I am not a cunt.

Choose the answer which you think is the funniest. Or the most accurate...

Words Of Warning...

2011-06-10T13:36:00.000-07:00

It is Sunday morning. I say morning. It's actually mid-day. Me and the Missus are curled up in bed and watch Gok Wan on telly. She turns to me and starts to speak.

'You know... you're my favourite husband...'
She rarely says anything slightly sentimental so I enjoy the moment.

But then she adds the following:
'...so far...'

I continue to watch Gok. Sometimes saying nothing is better. And Gok will make the bad thoughts go away...

Pasta Joke...

2011-05-31T00:25:00.000-07:00

It was my birthday recently and the Missus bought me a place at an evening course where you learn to cook fresh pasta, various sauces and a lasagne from scratch. The course was at a place called La Cucina Caldezi, which is a restaurant with a cookery school attached in London's Marylebone.

The course was fab and since attending I've made my own ravioli, my own tagliatelle and a lasagne from scratch. These may sound like minor triumphs but the results of doing something quite simple well are both very tasty and incredibly satisfying. I will never purchase shop-bought fresh pasta again because compared to the stuff you can cook yourself using flour and an egg it just doesn't compare.

I've always liked and enjoyed cooking but I've started adding more recipes to my basic repetoire since we got the kitchen done and last night I added freshly made cookies to my ever-growing list. Unfortunately I added a chocolate button onto the middle of each one I made and when they were cooked they resembled breasts.

On the plus side my breast cookies tasted very nice and my new love for baking may have a theme. I could try a cake that looks like an arse next...

Power Of The Press...

2011-05-26T07:13:00.000-07:00

My journalistic career – as it is sometimes laughingly called – has reached a new low. And this is even lower than being forced to interview two former soap stars by one particularly pushy PR for interviews that were never going to appear anywhere. Ever. It was just to make the ex-soapies feel more wanted. And important. And I was the fall guy. A sort of fluffer for damaged egos.

Today I have been invited to attend a party at London lapdancing bar Spearmint Rhino.

But in order to get in and get free champagne I first have to stand outside and form an interested crowd with other professional liggers as various F-List celebrities enter the building. Then after they've entered I can go in, neck free booze and interview the said F-List celebrities.

It's the lowest point in a career that has had many lows. And to make matters worse I'm not even invited for my journalistic prowess. Part of my reason for being invited is to be part of a crowd. And I have to be an interested part of the crowd too. I probably won't be going...

The Missus also just phoned. She’s been invited to attend an event as well. Hers is a swish polo party with the stupidly rich and the properly famous. The difference in events sums up our marriage. I've traded up and she's traded down.

At times I recall I once thought about a career in teaching. I could have been a teacher doing something useful. It must be better than this...

The Washer: Part I...

2011-05-21T02:54:00.000-07:00

It is Friday night and me and the Missus are heading out for a meal. I go to the loo then wash my hands (some politically correct nonsense about hygiene) and as I turn the tap off I feel something give and the tap starts to leak.

I share this news with the Missus and after the usual barage of 'You idiot', 'You're so heavy-handed', 'You always break things' and 'I told you to sort that out ages ago' we form a plan of action to phone the plumber the following morning.

Then I formulate another plan and borrow a line from Peep Show.
'I can fix it. It's probably only the washer. I mean, how hard can plumbing be? It's just Lego... with water.'

My wife's face drops and it is at least ten minutes before she smiles. And this is only after she punches me several times.

But I'm still going to fix it myself...

Tinseltown In The Rain...

2011-05-17T13:50:00.000-07:00

If scientists ever harness the ability to turn intellectual concepts into physical products then they don't need to invent something new for the concept of 'awfulness'. Because while they'll probably have some malevolent green yuk for 'jealousy' and some harsh black granite for 'hatred' the only thing they need to produce to represent 'awfulness' is Andrea Corr singing the Blue Nile song Tinseltown In The Rain.

Now I'm sure Andrea Corr is lovely. I even liked The Corrs before they got famous. And I mean really famous. I still have fond memories of sitting in a Surbiton pub in 1997 or 1998 and first seeing the video for This Is The Right Time on VH1 and thinking 'That's jolly. I like that. I'll buy the album.' And I did. And it was jolly and sweet and beautifully sung and well produced and the instrumentation was very slick.

But Andrea now taking one of my favourite songs and doing a cover version of it has ruined that memory. It's like finding out the drama teacher you always loved and respected at school was not in fact giving you a concentration exercise when he put his hands down the front of your trousers during your 'special' lessons.

For those not in the know Tinseltown In The Rain is an Eighties electro piano and guitar ballad-cum-cry-of-pain for a lost love and for me it's evocative of a certain period and certain feelings. Everyone has such songs. But sung by Corr it now has all the visceral emotion removed and is sacharine in the extreme.

It's like she's taken on the role of Hamlet and forgotten about the tragic indecisiveness, the Oedipal relationship with the mother, the faltering desire for revenge on the stepfather and the passion for Ophelia and just gone 'Tell you what. I'll play it for laughs.'

But it's hard to hate a Corr. They're all so lovely and beautiful and talented and wholesome. It would be like taking a Bramley apple to a nightclub populated by Premiership footballers and letting them rape it one by disgusting one while the drunken punters formed a circle and clapped encouragement.

So I'll just express my disappointment via a sob. And go listen to the Blue Nile original. I will feel better then...

Bach In The Old Routine...

2011-05-08T03:30:00.000-07:00

I've recently turned 42 and the Missus treated me to two tickets to go and see a performance of St John's Passion by Bach at Guildford Cathedral. As she'd payed for the tickets I thought it was politic to also take her so off we trolled to our first classical music concert.

And it wonderful. The setting was fab as the interior of Guildford Cathedral is much prettier than the somewhat pedestrian looking exterior and the acoustics were very good. And despite the fact the score was in German, and despite the fact we sat near two little brats who kept talking throughout the first half, and despite the fact neither of us are religious (I tried it and lost interest and the Missus is a long-time atheist), we both fancy having a dabble with some more live Bach and other stuff.

I think we'll probably look for something a bit more user-friendly next time: the Missus likes the Russians and ballet and I like the modern minimalists like Arvo Part, John Tavener, Steve Reich and John Adams. But the initial seed has now been planted and sitting in a big space with nothing to do but listen to music is a lovely way to spend a few hours.

Obviously, fucking is much better but at my time of life I need a breather every now and then.

The Apprentice: Episode 1 Spoiler...

2011-05-03T08:47:00.000-07:00

The new series of The Apprentice kicks off with Lord Sugar warning the 16 new candidates not to treat him lightly or under-estimate his wily ways and bulging business brain.

'Don't fink you can play me,' warns the vertically challenged mogul, whose company is behind such hits as the E3 Email Superphone. 'I'm harder to play than a keyboard made of ice, a keyboard made of ice that has been situated in a very hot desert, a keyboard made of ice that has been situated in a very hot desert so that it has now melted into the sand and its watery parts are now sinking deep into the ground.'

In a surprise move Karren Brady is now joined by former Liverpool and Newcastle legend Peter Beardsley to shadow the contestants on their opening task, which is to utilise their own bodies to fashion a public convenience. The girls refuse the task point blank as they think it's degrading to allow members of the public to urinate all over them.

Chlamydia, the project leader for the ladies team on the opening task, also think it's an insult to business wimmin. Peter Beardsley agrees.

The men's team has no such problem. And no such scruples. Or any scruples.

Their team leader, former City trader Rory-Connery Spasticus, soon has all his troops lined up on the pavement with their heads at waist height ready to accept outpourings from the flaccid cocks of businessmen with bladders full from lunchtime drinking sessions.

Sadly the human urinals can't stop talking about themselves or their superb performances in previous jobs long enough to serve what should be their primary function.

Back in the boardroom, neither team has generated any income and an apoplectic Sugar spits several vital organs out on the boardroom table during a fierce tirade. Peter Beardsley is fired when Sugar mistakes him for the ugly progeny of banker types and inbred royaly.

I will not be watching episode two.

Killing Bono...

2011-04-30T05:43:00.000-07:00

I was gutted to find out this offbeat comedy wasn't a documentary, but in keeping with the spirit of the title I've come up with my own versions of similar films I'd like to see made.

So if you're a film-maker then please feel free to borrow a title and get cracking:
Butchering Boyzone
Crucifying Chris De Burgh
Dismembering Phil Collins
Massacring Any X Factor Winner
Smothering Blue

The Sweet Smell Of A Little Bit Of Success (Then Failure)...

2011-04-22T08:21:00.000-07:00

The shortlist of eight scripts from the sitcom writing competition I entered has been announced and, despite checking several times, my name was not on it.

This is a bit of a pisser because I thought I'd written something pretty good when I submitted the next two episodes. But the judges obviously thought not.

Fortunately I have faith in the scripts I submitted and I'll hang onto them and tinker with them and maybe submit them for something else in the future. I've written enough rubbish and watched enough bad stuff to know when I've written something that is strong on format and good on gags. The time for this show will come...

In the meantime I went to training last night, which was good, then had a few pints with my fellow hapkido students, the Other Woman and surprise guest the Missus, which was lovely, and suddenly the disappointment wasn't quite so awful.

Then this morning two ideas I've been playing around with suddenly crystalised in my head and I couldn't get to the keyboard fast enough. And the Boy's home from uni and seeing him always makes me happy. And there's also the play about cartography to finish.

I'm lucky. I remain too ambitious and have too much good stuff going on to stay down for too long...

Black Belt Grading: Part IX...

2011-04-14T05:48:00.000-07:00

It was part two of my black belt grading this weekend and the head of my hapkido academy was in London for the weekend and he shared the following story. It's a good story and it deserves repeating so I've stolen it verbatim from my instructor's website:

An old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside each of us. The battle is between two 'wolves'.

The black wolf is evil. It has anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.

The white wolf is good. It has joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather:
'Which wolf wins?'

The old Cherokee simply replied:
'The one you feed.'

Other Woman News...

2011-04-09T01:12:00.000-07:00

The Other Woman has been on a press beano to LA to interview the cast involved in a remake of Teen Wolf for the Twilight generation.

So she's doing the usual round of face-to-face chats with the cast when on her last interview she starts to flag as she is interviewing one of the teen beauties involved in the film. Struggling to fill her allotted interview time she goes off-piste and starts discussing other actresses the actress in question admires until the interviewee mentions Meryl Streep and goes on at some length how she admires her work.

Cue the Other Woman to ask the best interview question I have ever heard:
'So how do you think Meryl Streep would react if she was attacked by a werewolf?'
Even better the actress in question gave a full and frank answer.

The Other Woman is quite possibly a comedy genius.

Rebranding Telly: Part I...

2011-04-02T03:23:00.000-07:00

I've decided some telly shows need a title rebrand to more faithfully express their content and the people involved. So here are some I've decided on so far:

Cash in the Attic = Please Let me on TV I'll Do Anything
EastEnders = Shit Shouty Cockney Telly Land
Jamie's Dream School = Should Stick to Cooking, Geezer
Loose Women = Mad and Menopausal
Midsomer Murders = No Blacks, Please, We're an English Rural Idyll
The Model Agency = Nothing of Importance and Populated by Cunts

More will be added at a later date...

Sarah Millican...

2011-04-01T13:37:00.000-07:00

If there's one thing I can do to satisfy the Missus, one thing that never fails, one thing that always lasts a long time and invariably brings a look of satisfaction to her face... it's buy good presents.

And that's quite handy because I am not very good at sex.

One of the things I bought her for her birthday last September were tickets to see Sarah Millican and the date finally arrived and we headed to the Bloomsbury Theatre to see Millican's stand-up show.

For those not in the know, Millican is a thirtysomething divorcee from South Shields with a good line in self-deprecation about her weight and dress size. That's funny enough but it's the material she does on her current relationship and her ascent from Job Centre worker to full-time stand-up comic that really steals the show. She's also quite filthy but even when she delivers a punchline about using her vagina to make potato prints so she can show its shape to a friend it somehow seems cheeky rather than smutty.

That has a lot to do with her non-threatening, friendly and slightly vulnerable on-stage persona and the fact she builds a genuine rapport with her audience right from the start.

Millican's well on her way to comedy stardom now with a Radio 4 series and countless TV and radio guest spots under her belt. But if you want the real thing go see her live. You can't help but warm to her and love her. Even when she's utterly filthy.

Me and the Missus have also taken one of her gems of advice onboard and turned it into a new rule: your belly should never be bigger than your breasts.

More Balls...

2011-03-24T08:49:00.000-07:00

I captained my last interleague pool team six years ago and when I surrendered my role as captain I promised myself I would never do it again. Not ever.

This was because the highs of winning matches and playing well in events never equalled the grind of chasing up players to ensure they could be at matches, organising transport and sorting out the venue. Captaincy at this level remains a job designed to grind the good will of even the most enthusiastic player into bitter mush.

Fortunately when I took over the captaincy of my local interleague pool team at the beginning of the year all that was a distant memory, despite the best efforts of the Missus to remind me.

Then before the new season even got under way a few players droppped out and a few others explained they had other commitments... and the title-chasing side I had inherited was suddenly in a state of disrepair and needed a bit of rebuilding.

This rebuilding process has now started and the core of the side is still there but it may take a while before it is at full strength again.

One of the plus points to come out of this, however, is I've decided to take a local junior player under my wing and spend some time bringing him through the ranks to strengthen the side in years to come. This happened with me when a long-time county player spotted some potential and started playing against me and taking me to events and helping me improve and that's what I intend to do with my Protege.

It's also good for me because seeing the Protege hungry to learn and improve all the time has made me realise I still love the game and want to improve again myself.

Who knows? I may not quite be ready to hang my cue up yet...

The Sweet Smell Of A Little Bit Of Success (Nearly)...

2011-03-15T07:58:00.000-07:00

I recently entered a sitcom writing competition on BBC Writersroom where the winners get to have their work showcased in front of a panel of industry types. And the good news is I've made the long list of the final 32 scripts from 1200 entries.

I now need to write two more 15-minute episodes and aim to get into the last four to have a chance of getting my work seen and potentially get something optioned. Sadly success in the event is still a long way away but I now need to ensure I knuckle down and make the next two scripts better than the first one.

Having a little bit of success is quite strange as I'm so hardened to having scripts rejected that I didn't quite know how to react at first when I heard I'd made the long list. But I've now decided on a policy of smiling and feeling positive about it and I'm planning on sticking with that... until I start writing the next two episodes later tonight and the usual worry and self-doubt and over-analysis creep in.

But until then it's good news.

Going Potty!

2011-03-09T02:56:00.000-08:00

This weekend I was at the National Intercounty Championships playing pool for my county.

Last year I spent a lot of time on the practice table but got very poor results in the county side and one game into the season it's the same story this year. The Nationals, however, was a chance to redeem that and going into it I genuinely felt like I was playing very well and was about to shine. Instead I missed a few key pots and just got murdered on the table. The team also struggled and we got booted out of the event early doors.

From a personal point of view I've been playing long enough to realise the following: bad results and bad performances happen no matter how well you're playing; and sometimes no matter how hard you try you will get into a rut and it will take time to break out of it.

In truth I may be missing a bit at the level that I play at at the moment but I'm still practising and I'll reassess at the end of the year.

On the plus side, however, I got a chance to sit down and watch a lot of our county youth team play and that really helped instill some positve feelings about the game. The team has four internationals and several other good players in it but the way they carried and supported each other throughout the weekend was superb and at the end of it they claimed a national title.

If my playing days are done then maybe the way forward for me is to help the kids come through. There are a lot worse things I could do and older players taking me under their wing is how I progressed in the game.

It's one to think about...

Genius...

2011-03-01T03:15:00.000-08:00

I came across a new band the other day. They are an American harcore punk band called Gay For Johnny Depp.

I am yet to have a real good go with their music but on the strength of the name alone I'm going to have a dabble.

I suspect many men would be gay for JD.

Royal Fever...

2011-02-21T03:18:00.000-08:00

Firm royalist Jilly Cooper was on Radio 4 this morning discussing the impending royal wedding and one of the interviewers asked her what she'd get William and Kate for a present.

I was praying she'd suddenly discover a repressed republican side and answer: 'A cake and a vibrator... then if they don't like the cake they can go fuck themsleves.'

Sadly she didn't and wittered on about buying Charles and Camilla an ornament with pictures of their dogs on it instead.

A good comedy chance wasted by the bonk-buster authoress, methinks...

Dry...

2011-02-09T03:44:00.000-08:00

I have just completed my annual January off the booze and am now looking forward to my first pint in a month.

It is my fifth year undergoing this self-imposed booze exile and my third time of completing it. I succumbed one year on the final day of the month as there was a pool tournament and another year I cracked after 20 days following a spectacularly awful day at work.

But this year it's been a breeze, largely because I spent several months last year not drinking in preparation for my black belt grading.

I quite like the idea of trying tee-total for a longer period. But I love a pint or two and would miss it.

The only dodgy side effect my no-drinking seems to have had is a series of odd dreams, culminating in last night's night-time imaginings that I was dating Bianca from EastEnders and we were looking at a grotty flat in Goole for her and her kids. I persuaded her it was a dump and told her, plus the kids, to move in with me.

Then me and Bianca got jiggy to celebrate moving in together. And she was a surprisingly tender and responsive lover...

I probably need a pint...

Other Woman News...

2011-01-31T02:35:00.000-08:00

As has been well documented on this blog, my Other Women is a confectionary and chocolate slut. To put it bluntly there isn't much she wouldn't do for a Snickers. Or a Wispa.

But the other day she sent me the following email and I thought I'd share:

'I decided on a new year’s resolution this lunchtime! Here’s how it went:
1.00pm. Go to lunch.
1.01pm Decide that new year’s resolution should be to not buy any confectionary products or cake with lunch.
1.30pm. Have three bites of an apple. It is horrible. Remember why I don’t like fruit.
1.35pm. Throw most of apple away.
1.40pm. Buy a Twix.'

It's just another reason to love my Other Woman in my book.

AWL...

2011-01-23T11:23:00.000-08:00

For a feisty cynic the Missus does have a romantic side.

I say side. It's more of a miniscule area that like Brigadooon only appears on very rare occasions. But recently there was a sighting when she was quite touched to read that Denis Healy and his wife had a code for when they felt they were getting stressed over impossible problems.

Their code was three simple letters which were 'AWL' which stood for 'Aren't we lucky?' When uttered these three letters acted as a timely reminder that whenever things were going badly they take stock and appreciate each other and the lives they had. And 'AWL' usually calmed them and made them less stressed.

The Missus found this quite touching and sweet so we've adopted it.

We have, however, also adopted a less tender trio of letters to explain our exasperation at some of the people and problems we also deal with from time to time. And this is 'TAC' which is shorthand for 'They're all cunts'.

Feel free to share it with your friends...

PJ Harvey...

2011-01-18T04:49:00.000-08:00

There is much excitement at From Beer To Paternity Towers with the impending release of a new PJ Harvey album, Let England Shake.

Previous Polly Jean Harvey incarnations have been grunge rock chick, sashaying vamp, cosmopolitan sophisticate and ghostly waif and, like her ever-changing image, her music is a constantly evolving thing moving from grunge to blues to rock to folk with a bit of electronica thrown in.

She remains one of the few artists who strive to create something new with every release and each new CD rarely disappoints. I think she's bloody wonderful and her creativity and immense musical talent are things that should be celebrated. She is really that good with a body of work to back it up. She is a national treasure.

Having heard two tracks from the latest CD it seems she's gone a bit Patti Smith meets William Blake with musings on Albion and its current state.

The album is out on 14 February. Can't wait to hear the rest of it...

Why EastEnders Is Shit...

2011-01-06T02:36:00.001-08:00

EastEnders has a new name at From Beer To Paternity Towers.

It's now called Shit Shouty Cockney Telly Land. It could just as easily be called Shit Shouty Cockney Telly Land Where Nothing Makes Sense And The Plots Have No Basis In The World Of The Characters but that doesn't trip off the tongue.

So Shit Shouty Cockney Telly Land it is.

I once liked Shit Shouty Cockney Telly Land in the days when it was good old EastEnders and it was well written and well acted. But those days are now nothing but a dim and distant memory, like thinking fondly of a relative who used to give you sweets as a child before you learnt he's recently turned into an alcoholic who shoots kittens with a crossbow then skins them for fun.

The new realisation ruins the fond memory but somewhere you hope the kindly old man is still in there. Although if the kindly old mad was an EastEnders character under the current regime he'd be kidnapping children and dry bumming them in the Vic cellar before having a sex change and mainlining horse. And that's a real horse. And that would happen in the space of one show.

Take the Christmas episode which was actress Lacey Turner's big exit storyline. Her character Stacey had an affair with her husband's dad Max that split up a family, killed a rapist, saw her husband Bradley plunge to his death and was diagnosed bipolar to explain the previous storylines so viewers would regain their sympathy for her. Then she had an affair with the father of her baby Ryan.

So lots of material... and all viewers got was some half-arsed love triangle that required lots of last-minute exposition, the worst stabbing in TV history and an escape from the police that made the events of cartoon series Wacky Races seem credible. Oh, and her dead hubby's dad Max declared his love for her at the airport as she was about to leave.
'So that's it? It's all over?' asked Max at one point.
Yes it is all over. And it was shit.

Currently Shit Shouty Cockney Telly Land features a cot death storyline. But that obviously wasn't considered moving or gripping enough so the producers tagged on a baby swap storyline to it as well. Double the tragedy, double the grief. It's like a cover line from Pick Me Up or some other awful real-life magazine.

Unfortunately Jessie Wallace and Shane Richie, Patsy Palmer and Maisie Smith (Tiffany), Jake Wood and June Brown are the only people who can actually act so watching the episodes when they are not involved is pretty gruelling work. It's like watching a local am-dram group who usually do melodrama suddenly have a go at theatre of cruelty for an audience of pensioners who were expecting farce. It's harrowing. But for all the wrong reasons.

The main problem with Shit Shouty Cockney Telly Land is that it's become drama-porn. In porn it's all about the sex and the money shot. Don't worry about little things like character integrity or creating believable stories. Just get to the action. In about 30 seconds, please...

And that's why EastEnders is Shit Shouty Cockney Telly Land. It's drama-porn. Forget the build-up. Just get to the action. And if two people going at it isn't good enough let's add some more and get them to scream a bit louder. In about 30 seconds, please...

You get the impression nobody involved on the production or the storyline side really cares that much any more. It's just another job in TV land. Unfortunately the show and its viewers deserve something better.

And if they do care and they think this is good... They need telling it's not. But on the plus side it's still not as bad a Come Fly With Me.

Merry Xmas: Part III...

2011-01-01T09:20:00.001-08:00

Every year I make a present for the Missus and this year I have probably excelled on previous gifts such as the Self-powered Hairdryer and the DIY Lipsosuction Kit.

We are both fans of potty-mouthed political satire The Thick Of It so I had some tea towels printed. An example of these is above.

I think it's my finest work...

Black Belt Grading: Part VIII...

2010-12-26T03:14:00.000-08:00

I have passed part one of my black belt grading. I am delighted and relieved in equal measure.

Now it's continual assessment for four months followed by a written paper in April with continual assessment for another four months afterwards. If all goes well I could be wearing my black belt in August. If it doesn't I have to start the whole process again from scratch.

There's plenty more hard work ahead and I need to do some work in a few areas but I'm on my way. And very happy about it.

Merry Xmas: Part II...

2010-12-26T03:10:00.000-08:00

Our friends from Oz are visiting over Xmas and I've been getting very excited about seeing them and mentioned this to the Missus.
'I'm really looking forward to seeing them.'
'Well don't get too excited.'
'What do you mean?'
'I just don't want you to get over-excited...'
'Why?'
'Because if you get over-excited you'll get giddy and loud and have a few drinks then have a few drinks too many...'
'You think I'm like an over-excited child drinking too much pop and and eating too many sweets, don't you?'
'Of course not, darling...'

She then picks up a cloth and wipes my top lip.
'Ice cream...' she says, helpfully.

Merry Xmas: Part I...

2010-12-25T05:08:00.000-08:00

Above is a picture of the surprise present I bought for the Missus.

Can you guess what it is?

Black Belt Grading: Part VII...

2010-12-16T02:31:00.000-08:00

The Missus has been very considerate and caring of late and, since the Black Belt grading, quite romantic and tactile by her usual standards.

This obviously aroused my suspicions so I decided it was time to confront her about it.
'You're being very sweet at the moment.'
'I know.'
'Are you dying?'
'No.'

Pause. Then she adds:

'You are...'

Who says romance is dead?

Black Belt Grading: Part VI...

2010-12-13T02:43:00.001-08:00

My black belt grading is over and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I could have been sharper on a few things and it took me two goes to break two boards at one point but overall I felt like it was a pretty good day at the office.

The previous day was a senior belt class and it felt like everything I touched turned to shit and I spent large parts of Saturday evening wondering why I was even bothering to turn up to test the following day.

But I woke up the next day and stretched and got my head right. Then before I knew it I was getting up to be an opponent for the lower belts and, to quote Madonna, got into the groove.

Unless you've been through something that intense where you spend months training and honing your skills and pushing yourself to the limit it's difficult to explain what goes through your mind in the months and weeks beforehand but for me there were plenty of moments of panic, self-doubt, fear and nerves.

Then as soon as I was up testing and sparring I remembered something quite simple: to relax and breathe and enjoy the moment. And seven years of training suddenly came down to something so simple.

Best gag of the day belongs to the Missus. Because of my ongoing knee injury I'm not throwing lots of kicks so I've been relying heavily on my boxing during sparring and the head of the academy was kind enough to compliment my hand techniques.

At the end of the grading I went over to the Missus and asked her what she thought of it. She smirked and replied: 'Well... I've always told everyone you have excellent hand techniques...'

I married well.

Black Belt Grading: Part V...

2010-12-10T11:23:00.000-08:00

It's Friday night and I have a red belt class tomorrow then it's time to grade on Sunday.

I want to borrow a line from John Carpenter's They Live and say something like 'I'm here to chew bubblegum and kick arse - and I'm all out of gum' but that would be quite silly. And gum chewing in the dojang is strictly forbidden and kicking arse also suggests a level of enjoying violence that would be severely frowned upon when I'm there to demonstrate control and grace under fire.

So the line would end up going something like: 'I would be here to chew bubblegum but that's against dojang etiquette and I would be here to kick arse... if only I'd gone to a slightly more aggressive and more ego-filled school where oneupmanship is the name of the game instead of learning both the martial and the art.'

But that's quite a shit quote so it's probably best to say nothing and just get there.

On the plus side the nerves are now kicking in a bit so I'm starting to get a bit on edge. But that's a good sign. Edge is good.

Black Belt Grading: Part IV...

2010-12-09T09:48:00.000-08:00

Three sleeps now until grading day arrives and I've had a No.1 haircut. This is something I always do before every grading and usually before any important pool match because, quite simply, it makes me feel quite good about myself.

The Missus, of course, hates it and her previous opinions on the haircut I've now sported for about 13 years have included:
'It make you look like a thug.'
'It makes you look like a care in the community case.'
'It makes you look like a kiddy-fiddler.'
'It makes you look like the type of exceptionally gifted lover, wit and writer that any woman in her right mind would want to have several goes on. Then invite her younger and better looking sister to have several goes on too. Then invite her twin sisters, etc...'

I may have made the last one up. But tonight is my last training session then it's pretty much here. I'm calm, collected and confident. And ready...

Black Belt Grading: Part III...

2010-12-06T09:37:00.001-08:00

It's quite unnerving. In fact it's quite worrying... but I'm quietly confident about tackling my black belt grading in six days.

I've put the work in, I pretty much know what I'm doing and now it's just a matter of enjoying my remaining few classes, before arriving on Sunday and waiting for the nerves to start so that final surge of adrenalin kicks in to get me over the line.

One of my training partners filmed us going over our techniques last week and there are times I look quite competent. I surprised myself. Who knows, there may be a black belt martial artist lurking in there somewhere after all?

Let's hope so, eh? And let's also hope that he doesn't do something really fucking stupid and gets himself badly injured between now and Sunday. That would be very bad...

Other Woman News...

2010-12-01T08:30:00.000-08:00

The Other Woman sent an email yesterday linking to a quite nifty game her long-suffering other half had created to help pull in punters to a website his company runs. Rather suspiciously, however, she used the term 'lovely' before his name so my curiosity was instantly piqued because I've never heard her say anything affectionate about him in public before. Unless he buys her chocolate. Or sweets.

So my mind was racing: Had she cooked something the previous night and accidentally poisoned him and was trying to throw detectives investigating the case off the scent? Had she done something really bad to jeopardise her relationship with a man who is quite frankly better looking and more intelligent than her?

It seems not...

When I approached her about this she confessed because it was getting near Xmas she decided to be nice about him in public in the hope of getting better presents. But when I pointed out this virtually made her a hussy she didn't take kindly to the accusation.

When I also pointed out the phrase 'chocolate tart' was invented for her she also did not take too kindly to the insinuation.

And finally when I suggested a far easier way to achieve male compliance she simply told me I was sexist and crude.

I don't know. You try to help people...

Black Belt Grading: Part II...

2010-11-30T03:07:00.000-08:00

It's my own fault. Preparations for my black belt test were going far too well. My badly injured knee was sort of OK and my less badlly injured knee was pretty much healed up. Even my rotator cuff injury was not a concern. I was even quite relaxed and starting to enjoy myself.

Then I was doing some no-contact sparring with an over-exuberant opponent who thought it would be a good idea to stick his elbow straight through my foot at full force. I obviously carried on with the class and the sparring as I thought it wasn't too bad... but by the time I got home and the adrenalin had stopped flowing I suddenly realised that my foot was bruised to buggery and hurting quite a lot. Swearing hurting. Like proper swearing.

Now it's a waiting game. After resting it most of the weekend I can spar lightly and kick lightly but any type of lateral or pivoting motion is out of the question. And as I need to perform spin kicks to break boards my foot may need some quick recovery or the kicking some supple bodily negotiation.

So, in the words of Cher, if I could turn back time I'd like to say the following to the opponent responsible:
'You clumsy, careless, half-witted fucking oaf. What does 'no-contact' mean in your numb-skulled world? Does it mean I can repeatedly punch you in the fucking face till your skin is flayed off? No. Thought not. You brain-dead fucking cum-bucket for pox-ridden sailors.'

Of course, I could say that. And Cher probably would as I understand she's bit potty-mouthed. Probably too much exercise. Or plastic surgery.

But I won't say anything because I'm too polite. And I wouldn't really mean it. And he didn't do it intentionally. I'd just be venting and I know that wouldn't help.

And I have 12 days to heal up then I have a grading to pass. And my trusty ibuprofen gel seems to be helping. So it's best to let it go and just write about it instead. At least that way it's out of my system...

Black Belt Grading: Part I...

2010-11-25T02:39:00.000-08:00

It's now 18 days until I grade for my black belt. My injured knee seems to be sort of mended and holding up and other niggling injuries on one of my ankles and one of my rotator cuffs seem to be fine.

I've also pretty much got a handle on all of my techniques, both old and new, and some dodgy foot placement in forms aside I'm quite confident. In fact if I can get there in one piece without any more dramas I'm looking forward to it.

That confidence still didn't stop my first grading anxiety dream last night, however.

In it I was in a packed do-jang surrounded by my fellow students and trying to break a wooden board that I just couldn't break. In the dream I knew it was because I was tense and not moving fluidly but the more I couldn't break the board the more tense I became.

After yet further failures of one sort or another the dream ended with the head of the academy telling me I was a nice chap who just wasn't good enough. I may also have been naked. And some female students may have been pointing at my genitals and laughing.

Sometimes that sort of dream, whether it's about hapkido or writing or pool or anything else, stays with you for a while and shakes your confidence.

But I already know I need to be relaxed and I know the not being good enough bit is bollocks. And I'm proving it in 18 days.

Rejection...

2010-11-19T03:49:00.001-08:00

As a writer sending scripts to various theatres and TV production companies I am used to rejection. In fact I have become hardened to it.

But I have just received my worst ever rejection letter in response to a radio comedy show I sent out a few weeks ago. I'd worked hard on the show and really liked it but, to quote the letter:

'...it didn't make me laugh enough... and that is the one single thing we're looking for when we expectantly crack open a new comedy script.'

I'm still not convinced they have a point but I will reread the script and reconsider. But the production company in question have also produced some dross among the good stuff they've done so they don't always get it right either.

So: self-delusion or self-belief? It's tough to know the difference but there are times you have to trust it's the latter and just carry on.

To quote Winston Churchill:
‎'Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.'

But then again Winston Churchill was also funny. Fact. Then again maybe I'd be good at war...

Drunk...

2010-11-17T04:18:00.000-08:00

The final county pool game of the season is always a messy affair as several of the team usually venture out for a few drinks afterwards. And that's a few more drinks than the usual few post-match drinks too.

And as my friend Shaggy and two of the Croydon fellas were my drinking companions for the evening, and as it was my last blowout before knuckling down for my black belt test in four weeks, it was never going to be a sober night.

Previous evenings out with Shaggy have ended with him in hospital after falling off a pavement and breaking his ankle, and the two of us being threatened with death by a man carrying a bike in Hampshire. Fortunately as we also had two mutual friends along for the evening – and thanks the delights of a pub near Reading station that was packed with London Irish fans – the night was lovely and incident-free. Our little group even made friends with two local girls who'd been to watch the rugby.

In fairness my head was not a good place to be on Monday morning and I had distant memories of weeing in sturdy plastic bag on the train when I found the only toilet was broken, then carrying it home until I found a drain to pour it down. But at the time I think I decided it was what Hannibal in the A Team would have done in an emergency weeing situation so I felt I was in good company.

But now there's no more stupidity. It's knuckle down time. I have a black belt to earn and four weeks to nail my final preparations. Gulp...

Ancient Worlds...

2010-11-11T04:59:00.000-08:00

I'm quite a fan of history. History is big, cool stuff and I'm rarely happier than when I'm reading or watching anything on whatever chunk of big, cool history happens to have caught my imagination.

So I was looking forward to watching new BBC series Ancient Worlds in which archaeologist and historian Richard Miles explores the roots of civilisation. And if episode one is anything to go by, I'll probably stay with it as he's an engaging presenter and the idea of examining 'us' 'then' is a smart idea.

Two things annoy me, though.

The first is that Miles is a bit too sexy to be doing this. I want my historians older and uglier and I certainly don't want them to flirt with me. And Miles does.

Sometimes when he talks directly to camera he tilts his head in a coquettish manner and lowers his voice to speak in a husky yet smooth tone that makes him sound like a telephone sex line gigolo. He may be discussing ancient city Uruk but he could just as easily be whispering sweet nothings and wooing millions of viewers into his book-filled boudoir.

The second is that he looks like a slimmer and more debonair version of a bloke I used to work under who was a major arsehole. Let's call the major arsehole Mike. Because that was his name.

Mike was an arsehole and a pedant beyond belief and, added to this mix, he was also a smug, self-righteous twat. So much so that when my football team was scheduled to play his team some years later I actually offered financial rewards for anyone who stuck their studs through his ankle.

In retrospect I'm not proud of this course of action. Although it was the most satisfying £20 I ever spent. But if you'd have ever met Mike and spent more than five minutes in his company you would have offered me more funds to increase the bounty on his ankles. So that he was crippled for life. And therefore much less likely to ever enter your social sphere again. Fact.

And Miles looks a bit like him. So if he can sort out his appearance and his habit of flirting with the camera I'm sure I'll grow to love him and his show.

Thanks.

Cack-handed...

2010-11-05T06:59:00.000-07:00

The very flash and very expensive new kitchen is nearly fully installed and fully functioning at From Beer To Paterinty Towers.

Sadly I am not allowed to use any appliances until the Missus has given me detailed instructions on how everything works because, apparently, I'll 'probably break something' because I'm a 'cack-handed twat'. I'd like to protest that I'm not quite as clumsy as the Missus thinks but sadly it would be a protest in vain.

Recent damages include snapping a metal spade in half, damaging the bath and destroying an electic can opener. And I wasn't doing anything bizarre with any of them either. I was just using them the way they were intended to be used. Sort of...

One item that certainly will not be getting damaged when it arrives, however, is my new cue. It's being made by one of the best cue-makers in the country and it's a replica of an antique Riley tombstone cue I've wanted for at least two decades.

It may be very sad but I'm so excited. It's an early Xmas present to myself. Expensive kitchens are rubbish. New cues are where it's at...

Grappling...

2010-10-29T07:32:00.000-07:00

I'm a little bit obsessed with grappling and groundfighting and, if the opportunity arises, I can spend ridiculous amounts of time rewatching the technique videos on the excellent Submissions101 website with Ari Bolden or the equally excellent stuff on Youtube posted by Stefan Kesting (www.grapplearts.com).

But I came across something new the other day and it's an online course run by Ryron and Rener Gracie of the Gracie family at their website www.gracieuniversity.com, which offers full testing and belt certification via camcorders.

I'm a little sceptical about online courses in anything, particularly in something like a martial art where your best learning tool is often the feedback of your opponent, but I've joined and looked at the first video and it's well put together, very informative and very slick – and, hell, it might even work with a decent training partner.

But with a black belt grading at hapkido in the offing I should probably be focusing on that instead. Grappling remains a fun distraction, though, particularly when the path to black belt at hapkido feels like a real struggle a lot of the time...

Healthy Eating Tips...

2010-10-25T06:49:00.000-07:00

Don't eat a large bag of grapes followed by a whole bag of wasabi peas.

Your stomach and the porcelain won't thank you...

Other Woman News...

2010-10-19T14:42:00.000-07:00

The hapkido academy recently ran a raffle to raise money towards new mats and I won two prizes: number one was a bottle of wine that lasted about two hours from receiving it to finishing it off; number two was a home-baked chocolate cake that was cooked over the weekend and given to me last night.

The cake caused much amazement in class as various fellow martial artists admired and lusted after it. But that's because it looked a pretty amazing cake. And on tasting, it didn't disappoint either... so much so that next year I am running and fixing the raffle so I again win the cake.

The Other Woman, however, may fight me for that honour. On hearing I had cake in class she immediately offered to perform any act so she could taste some. And I mean 'any' act. I could have probably demanded 'water sports' and she'd have agreed for cake.

When this tactic failed she then tried another ruse to claim that as we were such good pals I should offer her half the cake as she'd offer me half the cake if she'd won it. I snorted at this as I know full well that nothing comes between the Other Woman and cake.

One of the first times we went out to play pool she bought chocolate and when I moved in to take a bite the look she gave me suggested that I'd just offered to felate her grand parents after anally inserting copies of The Daily Mail in front of her parents. And all I wanted was a bit of Snickers... And with cake it's even worse.

I nearly took pity at the end of the class as she looked bedraggled and tired and was eyeballing the cake box like a lunatic. I imagined this was how junkies must feel before they burgled a pensioner to get cash for another fix.

Fortunately the cake was successfuly smuggled out of class while she was talking to another martial artist. But I fear denying her cake may be the end of our friendship. Unless I can placate her with a Crunchie. Or a Lion Bar...

Sick...

2010-10-14T05:29:00.000-07:00

The Missus has been very ill and laid up in bed for two days.

She finally ventured downstairs last night when I was watching episode two of The Apprentice. She curled up on the sofa with me and watched for about 10 minutes before turning to me and saying.
'They're all totally reprehensible people. There are not enough bullets in the world for any of them. Come the revolution not one of them will survive...'

It's good to see her back to her old self.

Hair Today...

2010-10-11T15:46:00.000-07:00

I decided my facial hair was obviously to blame for a lack of confidence and form at a recent county pool match so I took an executive decision and shaved it all off.

The Missus, however, was not happy.
'My God. What the hell have you done?' was her initial response.
'I've had a shave.'
'But you've shaved everything.'
'Don't you like it?'

The Missus pondered then delivered her verdict.
'The problem is that you look like a big baby when you're clean shaven.'
'OK...'
'And your head looks far too big and there's just too much of your face.'
'You want me to grow it back then?'
'Yes...'

Of course, I stood my ground and stated I would not. For about three minutes.

Intensive Weekend...

2010-10-06T12:21:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago myself, the Other Woman and 26 other martial arts students spent two days at an intensive hapkido weekend. And, apart from various bits of my body refusing to function properly for a few days afterwards, it was a lot of fun.

Kicking, punching, takedown techniques, forms, joint manipulation, groundfighting and hapkido theory were all covered and there was a huge amount to take in.

It did make me realise, however, that I am a long way off testing for my black belt at the moment. Before I got injured in June I felt as though as I was close to being there but post-injury and post-holiday everything feels much further away, with my techniques rusty, my forms not very sharp, my confidence drained and my sparring sluggish.

But I was talking to my friend The Actor and his girlfriend is also an actor. Unlike him, however, she hasn't had a large amount of work so she's done several admin jobs to keep the wolf from the door, but she's also refused to give up on her dreams and has kept plugging away at auditions. And it's paid off as she's just landed a role in a touring show that will also play in the West End next year.

Like the pool and like the writing, I've always known perseverence is the key. And I know that with my martial arts studies and the black belt grading too, but it was nice to hear about The Actress and have the point emphasised.

Sometimes it's just about staying in there. Nothing of any real value ever comes easy. To quote Vince Lombardi: 'Winners never quit and quitters never win.'

The Apprentice: Series Six...

2010-09-28T09:30:00.000-07:00

'You've never met anyone like me... I'm totally unique...' spouts some posh halfwit on his audition tape for the latest series of The Apprentice.

Two points flop-haired, suit-wearing, twat-face...

Point one: You're not 'totally unique' because the word 'unique' is an absolute so it should never be qualified. It would be like saying 'You are the very biggest cunt in the world' or 'You are the last-ever person I would very ever speak to if all the other people in the world were utterly dead and my life depended on human contact to stave off a wish to end it all by driving six-inch nails into my forehead with a cricket bat.' You see how that works?

Clue: the qualifying words 'very', 'ever' and 'utterly' should not be there. Like 'totally'. And I bet your education cost thousands....

Point two: TV viewers have met many people like you before. Every series of The Apprentice features at least half a dozen of you corporate-soundbite-spouting oxygen thieves. On the plus side, however, the great fun of watching the show is that the audience can piss itself laughing as you brag about how fantastic a salesman you are... then struggle to sell fish or cheese at a street market because you've failed to understand basic concepts such as pricing. You wanker.

Yes. It's back. The Apprentice kicks off next week and, as per usual, I'll be enjoying the ride as the over-educated and pompous wannabe business folk are torn a strip off by the ever-ebullient Sugar until only a few decent candidates remain.

Having looked at the audition tapes on the BBC website, this year's intake look pretty much par for the course with the usual selection of bankers, totally bonkers, stockbrokers, entrepreneurs and salesmen. There does seem to be a large number of bullish, posh City rugger-bugger blokes and three potentially kooky women. But we've met clones of most of them before in previous series. And they were humiliated. And they will be again. Great.

The only sane two out of the new bunch seem to be a woman called Joanna Riley and a former Marine named Chris Farrell. But I'm sure other favourites will emerge as the series goes on.

So enjoy. And if you have a preference for City-type fellas who are bullshit-spouting corporate arse biscuits then your luck is probably in.

No wonder the economy has collapsed if several of these are the calibre of folk in charge.

The 500 Club...

2010-09-22T00:33:00.000-07:00

It's been a good year in my local pool league and in my interleague pool team, too, but 2010 has been a largely frustrating year at county pool. To put it simply, I can't buy a frame and I'm about to return my poorest A Team stats in 25 years.

Even worse I've put the hours in on the practice table but the results just aren't coming. It's true I've missed a few absolute sitters to win a few extra frames this year but it's also equally true that I've been shooting dead in too many frames, meaning that whenever I come to the table I'm in major trouble to begin with.

On the plus side, however, I did play my 500th frame for my county pool team at the weekend and I won it as well. Although I did miss a straight black in the middle to win it on my first opportunity.

It means I now join quite an exclusive little club in the history of my county pool team. It's not a major achievement in the grand scheme of thing but it's a nice one. I've not only being good enough to play that many frames at that level but I've been committed enough to stick around and play that many frames.

When the season is not going well on the table at least I have that crumb of comfort to cheer me up. And, of course, the season's not over yet so there's still time to turn it around. And there's always next year. Probably...

Other Woman News...

2010-09-20T03:16:00.000-07:00

Me and the Other Woman attended an intensive weekend of martial arts seminars and by the end of the weekend we were both utterly exhausted so we retired to the pub.

We'd had a minor spat earlier in the day after she'd bought a copy of The Mail On Sunday because it had a free Kylie CD. She argued the quality of the CD excused her decision to purchase and therefore fund the right-wing, racist and homophobic rag while I argued no amount of free stuff could ever warrant buying that vile publication.

So we renew hostilities over this in the pub and one of our friends around the table asked how we'd ever become friends in the first place if this is how we carried on. The Other Woman pondered for a second before offering:
'It's because I attract idiots.'
I countered with:
'It's because I attract sluts.'

We eventually made our peace over a pint but the Kylie Incident, as it is now known, will remain an icy plateau to which we will never return less we both slip off mid-argument and plunge to an unpleasant death.

I returned home and was explaining our debate to the Missus and ended my argument with:
'I mean, you wouldn't buy Mein Kamp if it came with a free handbag, would you?'

The Missus paused to consider the proposition.
'Depends on the handbag.'

The women in my life are in cahoots to send me insane.

The Last Wrestlers: A Far-flung Journey In Search Of A Manly Art...

2010-09-14T09:44:00.000-07:00

Marcus Trower was a martial artist who became obsessed by wrestling – but not the costumed hi-jinks of Big Daddy and chums in the UK or The Undertaker and his ilk in the US. Trower loved real wrestling and researched then trained wrestling techniques with several partners in his native England until a mystery illness struck, an illness which meant he had to take a lengthy break from any strenuous activity for several years.

His book chronicles his own love affair with wrestling, his illness and recuperation, and his journey around the globe to visit the last outposts of the sport where wrestling exists as it has for hundreds and, in some cases, thousands of years.

Trower joins wrestling schools in India and Brazil, as well as journeying to Nigeria to witness the wrestling styles of two remote tribes and visiting Mongolia where wrestling remains a national obsession. He also briefly discusses the tradition of wrestling in England and Ancient Greece and forms his own theories about the origins of this ancient sport.

The only criticism of the book is that he never examines the flourishing college wrestling system in America in any real depth but, that minor point aside, the book is a fascinating and entertaining read very much in the style of Angry White Pyjamas by Robert Twigger. It is peopled with fascinating characters and written in an accessible and easy-going style and Trower remains a very likeable narrator.

Well worth a look.

The Car...

2010-09-08T09:12:00.000-07:00

Me and the Missus are in Greece and her Jet-setting Photographer Brother has joined us for a few days so he decides to hire a car.

I cannot drive and the Missus hasn't driven for years but having seen what passes for road safety in Greece we're confident we could have a go and get away with it.

In short Greek drivers are nutcase-on-crack dangerous behind a wheel. Fortunately the Jet-setting Photographer Brother is a seasoned driver on several continents so we decide we are in safe hands.

So we head off to pick the car up but when we arrive at the car hire place one very grumpy woman takes a look at his driving licence and tells him it is no good. The licence is Australian and she will not accept it as proof of his driving credentials. He has driven on all continents and never crashed. From what we've seen if he was blind he would still be the safest driver on this island. But she is not having it and we walk away without a car.

To add insult to injury we then get a cab home home driven by a lunatic whose idea of customer service is to drive with Guns 'n' Roses blaring out as he narrowly avoids oncoming traffic.

As we get out of the cab the Missus turns to her brother and smiles before adding:
'He's allowed to drive here.'
Her brother smirks.

We arrive at the hotel bar and order drinks. As we sit down a father arrives clutching his two-year-old daughter who in her hands has a set of car keys keys she is fiddling with.

I lean over to the Jet-setting Photographer Brother and join in.
'She's allowed to drive here, too...'

The gag runs for the rest of the evening.

Word Of The Day...

2010-09-04T13:55:00.001-07:00

I am on holiday in Greece with the Missus and I am playing Scrabble and come across the word 'boi', which apparently is slang for a lesbian who dresses like a man.

All this and thousands of years of culture, too.

Learning is a wonderful thing.

Pants II!

2010-08-26T03:43:00.001-07:00

I am in the bedroom with the Missus after having a shower and I am sporting the much-derided and recently purchased Y-fronts.
'I don't think they look too bad. They look a bit retro sporty,' I say in their defence.
'They look awful,' replies the Missus.
'Well they are very comfortable.'
'They are horrendous. I may well burn them if you leave them anywhere near me.'
'Well I am going to wear these pants with pride,' I state aiming to end a discussion that is clearly not going in my favour.

The Missus smirks.
'You should wear them at Pride... with nothing else.'

Pants I!

2010-08-24T15:11:00.000-07:00

Me and the Missus are going on holiday for two weeks so I cycle into town to make the last of my holiday purchases, namely a few t-shirts and some new boxer shorts.

So I fold up my bike and nip into Uni-Qlo and grab two t-shirts, a very funky polo shirt and what I assume are four pairs of boxer shorts. Job done.

So I arrive home and the Missus, the Boy and the Boy's Girlfriend are sat in the kitchen. So the Missus inquires about my shopping trip.
'How did it go?'
'I'll show you...'

So I reach into my rucksack and pull out the two t-shirts.
'Suppose they're OK,' says the Missus.

Then I go for the banker and pull out the polo shirt. The Boy takes a look and sniggers while the Missus smiles the smile she reserves for children with learning difficulties.
'You don't like it, do you?' I ask.
'It's a little...'
'Gay.' adds the Boy.

So I try the polo shirt on and they are right, prompting the Missus to add:
'It looks like you are a straight man trying to channel his inner gay.'

But worse then follows...
'Well at least the boxer shorts are nice!' I add flinging them on the table.

It is only when I open the second packet that I realise I have have picked up some Y-fronts by mistake. And they are horrible Y-fronts. The sort of Y-fronts a pensioner with a wee-stained truss would turn his nose up at.

The Boy is now giggling uncontrollably until the Boy's Girlfriend tells him to stop. I am beaten. I admit defeat.
'See what happens when you don't come clothes shopping with me!'

The Missus gives me a hug.
'Don't worry,' she says. 'It will never happen again.'

Old People...

2010-08-16T12:53:00.000-07:00

I generally like old people. But I now have an exception to this rule and that is the old woman who has a habit of shuffling past From Beer To Paternity Towers when I am putting the rubbish bin out.

The first night I saw her she smiled at me. So I smiled back and she asked me a question that I didn't quite catch so I smiled and said something bland back.

But I saw her a week later and she asked what sounded like the same question again, which was:
'Are you moving house?'

I've now seen her twice since and she has asked exactly the same question and, to be frank, I think she's taking the piss by implying that I look like I live in a rubbish bin.

And to think I gave to Help The Aged at the weekend. The sarcastic old cow.

Making The Grade...

2010-08-02T13:21:00.000-07:00

Several of my peers graded for their black belts a few weeks ago. I had hoped to grade alongside them but even though I'd been putting the hours in I wasn't up to speed. This was frustrating.

Then I injured my knee so I couldn't continue training to start making the necessary improvements I needed to make to ensure I'd be ready for the next grading in November. And that was really frustrating.

I still attended the grading, though, to support my wannabe black belt colleagues. The Other Woman also graded and was fab. Because we see other socially and have a flirty banter which borders on the occasionally filthy I sometimes forget how she's a strong martial artist in her own right. It was good to watch her and be reminded of this.

There was also quite an emotional moment at the end of the grading when the Other Woman Who Loves Other Women was presented with her black belt. The OWWLOW cried. I was pretty close myself.

It's heartening to see the people you love do good stuff and be rewarded for it. It also offers you resolve to ensure those days come for you, no matter how far off they may seem at the moment...

Alex Higgins: RIP...

2010-07-24T13:20:00.001-07:00

It was in the early 1980s that I first picked up a snooker cue and I instantly fell in love with cue sports of all descriptions. And it's a passion that's stayed with me...

It was English eightball pool that I eventually decided to focus on but I also played snooker and was an avid fan of the game in the period throughout the 1980s when Steve Davis was in his pomp, and then in the 1990s when Stephen Hendry firmly established himself as the best player to ever play the game. Even now if a tournament is on TV it takes all my will power not to sit down and watch it and forget about anything else. Like my wife. Or eating.

The man largely responsible for this ongoing love affair was a player from Belfast who won his first world title in 1972 then won his second amid emotional scenes where he was joined on stage at The Crucilble in Sheffield by his wife and child in 1982. The man was Alex 'Hurricane' Higgins and to this day I have to see a player with such natural ability or vision in cue sports of any discipline.

Living as a Higgins fan was sometimes a tough existence. Just as he was capable of shots and breaks of breath-taking brilliance, he was also capable of missing the easiest of shots or self-destructing through a combination of booze and a fiery temper. Higgins lived life on a knife edge and that's also how he played his snooker.

And existing as a Higgins fan was also never a good experience if you were a betting man. He did win tournaments but he was also capable of throwing away winning leads by taking on shots of such audacity that even veteran commentators were baffled.

To be a Higgins fan was to put yourself firmly in the camp of the outsider fighting against the snooker establishment - an establishment, ironically, Higgins' popularity had helped turn into a huge money-making industry.

The nemesis of Higgins, of course, was Steve 'Interesting' Davis and he was everything that Higgins wasn't. If Higgins easily bored of the practice table, Davis lived for it; if Higgins could be found drunk in a nightclub at 2am the day before a big match, you could be sure Davis was tucked up in bed with his cocoa by 10pm. And Davis was virtually unbeatable.

But the fact that Higgins was the outsider and the bad boy and the underdog just made his victories all the sweeter. His 1982 World Championship Final victory against Ray Reardon was one of the sporting highlights of my youth, especially considering it followed his epic semi-final against Jimmy 'Whirlwind' White, a match still considered to be one of the all-time greats among snooker doyens.

My favourite Higgins match, however, was the 1983 UK Championship Final when he faced Davis. I remember watching the afternoon session in patches through several TV shop windows when I was out shopping with the family. And it wasn't pleasant viewing: Davis battered Higgins with a humiliating 7-0 first-session booting.

But then came the evening sessions and the street fighter in Higgins woke up and over the next three sessions he fought back to win the final and the title 16-15. It was a stunning performance and perhaps his finest moment. It was also one of his last great moments on the table as future form proved intermittent and disciplinary problems lead to an eventual suspension.

Higgins then began to feature only on the front pages for drunken behaviour, various personal and relationship problems, one assault and for health-related issues such as the throat cancer that he developed in his later years. It made painful viewing.

But recently Higgins had started playing again and was doing the odd exhbition and his cancer seemed beaten and his health improving. But it was only a brief respite and he died today aged 61.

Davis once described Higgins as 'the only true genius that the game of snooker has ever produced' and, while that may not be strictly true, his ability to see shots and the vision of his break-building, plus a very under-rated safety game, was a stunning thing to behold when in full flight.

An old mate of mine became quite good friends with Higgins for a while in the late 1990s and I had the chance to meet him. But I turned it down. Higgins was one of my heroes but I was also aware that he was a troubled man who could sometimes be very unpleasant and I didn't want to meet that man. I wanted the hero and for me that's always what Higgins was and will remain.

Rest in peace, Alex.

Guilfest

2010-07-23T04:22:00.000-07:00

Me and the Missus, plus our Yorkshire Chums From St Albans and their We-Get-Him-If-They-Die-Kid, ventured over to Guilfest at the weekend. This was a largish music festival at Stoke Park in Guildford and headlining on the day we went were Ndubz and the Human League.

The Missus is an old punk and gig-goer of many years experience and when we were first going out we compared notes on the gigs we'd been to. She reeled off the Clash, the Jam and a veritable who's who of all the important punk, new wave and ska bands of the late Seventies and early Eighties... while my rather paltry offerings included the Housemartins, the Mission and the Waterboys. If our share-and-compare was a boxing match it would have been ruled a no-contest.

Rather brilliantly, though, one of her first gigs was the Human League in their Being Boiled and pre-girl backing singers days so it was quite a sweet moment when they came back on stage for one of the encores and performed... Being Boiled. She was happy.

Other highlights included Hazel O'Connor doing a version of the Snow Patrol song, Chasing Cars, and Kid Creole and the Coconuts.

My only concern here was that the Kid is now 60 and still allowed to be the Kid but the Coconuts are obviously not the originals and were replacement Coconuts. I imagined the Kid has to sit down with the Coconuts every so often and tell them they're going to be replaced.
Kid: 'Girls... I've got some bad news for you. I need to send you to the Coconut retirement home and get some younger models.'
Coconut 1: 'We're still good for another, Kid. Honestly...'
Coconut 2: 'We're young at heart. We're still Coconuts!'
Coconut 3: 'Come on. You're 60 and you still call yourself the Kid!'

Another highlight of the day was taking our friends' We-Get-Him-If-They-Die-Kid to his first grunge gig in the Indie tent. The band was a group called Japanese Voyeurs and they're quite rocky and they have real potential. They're very tight musicians who also manage to get that raw and growly grunge sound and they have a single out on iTunes. Four songs into their set I turn to ask the We-Get-Him-If-They-Die-Kid what he thinks.
'They're very loud, aren't they?'

Comedy moment of the day, however, was walking past the Kidszone area to hear some wag had put a Gary Glitter song on. Now that's pretty funny.

But Guilfest was great. A really friendly and fun day out.

Quiz Question...

2010-07-16T05:02:00.001-07:00

Q. Which English castle suffered badly from smoke damage in the Eighties?
A. Roy.

Home Rule...

2010-07-15T02:31:00.001-07:00

The new From Beer To Paternity Towers is quite wonderful. The Missus is happy, I am happy, even the Boy is quite impressed when he visits from university... although I suspect he still hasn't forgiven us for moving away from London and all his mates.

The cats, however, are having territory issues.

Our new neighbours (who are very nice) have two older, bigger cats who apparently used to be regular visitors in our new home as they were on friendly with the previous owners' cats. But now they are persona pussy non grata and they are having trouble getting the message.

What they are getting, however, is right on our bloody nerves by pouncing on our cats every time they venture into the garden, so much so that they now only venture out when me or the Missus go into the garden with them.

This is slowly starting to annoy me as I am increasingly acting cat bouncer in our garden so I am considering marking territory in the only way cats understand. I initially thought about spraying the places the neighbours' cats sit with lemon as cats hate citrus. But the Missus thought that wouldn't be strong enough. So I asked her if I should mark territory the way cats mark territory.

'So you want to wee on the wall where the neighbours' cats sit?'
'It's an idea...'

The Missus shakes her head then stops and smiles.
'Actually that's a really good idea. You should do it when the school that our garden backs onto is open and all the school children are on the playing field too. That will help the process...'

Sometimes she’s just not supportive.

Chris Sievey: RIP...

2010-07-05T08:55:00.000-07:00

Comedian Chris Sievey (aka Frank Sidebottom) died last week.

With his outsized, cartoon, papier mache head and his whimsical flights of fancy, Chris's creation Frank Sidebottom was a real one-off. Frank was a showman and singer who never hit the big time but believed he sort of had; think of a slightly angrier and more ridiculous and frustrated John Shuttleworth and you're sort of there.

It was a truly fantastic comic creation.

Author Jon Ronson, who in the early days used to play keyboards in Frank's backing band, was on the radio at the weekend lamenting the passing of his former mate and told a great story.

Apparently Chris (with full Sidebottom head on) and Ronson were touring and driving down Edgware Road in London on the way to a gig when Chris demanded that he pull the van over and briefly park up. Ronson duly obliged and Chris in Frank persona and head rolled down the window and buttonholed one bemused passerby.
'Excuse me, mate. Is this London?'
'Yes,' replied the slightly confused fella.
'Well can you tell me where you want this wood?' asked Chris in Sidebottom mode.

I don't think I've heard anything more ridiculous or funnier. Ever.

Dream Lover...

2010-06-27T02:56:00.001-07:00

I am having a dream. The Missus is having an affair with a photographer and I have tracked them both to his very swish place and confronted her. He is in the bedroom and she will not let me confront him so I give her the option to leave him and come home with me.

But the total cow decides to stay another night and tells me she'll be home in the morning. I leave upset...

I tell the Missus about the dream when I wake up. Does she offer succour for my night-time distress? No. Instead she offers the following words of comfort.
'It's highly unlikely to happen. I'm far too lazy to have an affair with anyone...'

Thanks.

Team Talk...

2010-06-23T04:02:00.000-07:00

Come on England! Come on you over-paid, over-hyped, over-exposed, affair-adoring, self-obsessed, roasting-loving, disgraceful set of human beings.

For once remember you are football players with a job to do and a nation behind you...

DISCLAIMER 1: This was written three hours before kick-off. The management reserves the right to edit any posts and change its opinion in the event England get an utter booting.

DISCLAIMER 2: At least were not the French.