Bloc Party...

I am in the kitchen with the Missus discussing the previous night's trip to see the quite brilliant Bloc Party at Olympia when the Boy walks in and goes up to the new cat Willow.

'Be careful,' advises the Missus. 'I stroked her and she tried to nip me.'
'She already bit me earlier,' replies the Boy.
'Well I picked her up and nuzzled her just a few minutes ago and she didn't try to bite me at all,' I say, before ading: 'But then again she probably recognises me as the Alpha Male in the household.'
The Missus smiles...
'We don't recognise you as that, my love, and we're the same species...'
'Well... me and you are, Mum,' adds the Boy.

It's my 40th birthday tomorow and they both have to be nice to me all day. I don't reckon they'll last longer than an hour before they revert to type.

Thinking about it, maybe an hour is being optimistic...

Let The Right One In...

We're all fans of horror films at From Beer To Paternity Towers and vampire movies in particular have been a source of fear then fascination for me for a number of years...

So I could wax lyrical about Let The Right One In as it takes an established genre and turns it into an arthouse rites-of-passage love story between a bullied boy and a 12-year-old vampire.

A wonderful film, beautifully shot, sparsely written and superbly acted, which features under-stated and brilliant performances by its two young leads.

I was going to see it on my birthday but I'm glad I didn't wait.

Hell, it's so good I may even go and see it again...

The Kids...

I went to Yorkshire for a few days to see my older brother play in a pool championship and to catch up with my family and, even though it was only a flying visit, I saw my nieces and nephews and they remain truly fantastic.

It gives me genuine hope for the future because they're such lovely, bright, fun kids and they have such great potential. They really could achieve anything they want to.

They also taught me a rugby league chant, which is sung to the tune of She'll Be Going Round The Mountain When She Comes and it goes along the lines of:
'I'd rather live in Baghdad than East Hull...'

Bless 'em...

Le Corsaire...

I am with the Missus at the London Coliseum to see American Ballet Theatre perform Le Corsaire, a tale of derring-do and piracy which they're performing alongside Swan Lake on a tour of the UK.

As a dance novice I grab the programme and read the plot outline while the Missus grabs us drinks at the bar.
'What's the story?' she asks as she returns.
'It's not very cheery. It's about a princess who gets a spell cast on her and turns into a swan. The some bloke falls in love with her and they both end up dead but reunited in death...'
'Are you joking?'
'No. It's what it says here...'
'You really are a fucking idiot...'
'Why?'
'That's the plot to Swan Lake. You're reading the wrong page!'
'I wondered why it didn't have any pirates in it...'

I get the look. I start to drink and decide to keep my mouth shut...

I Predict A Riot!

To read several internet news sources yesterday and most of the press this morning you could be forgiven for thinking that the British Government were about to toppled by marauding armies of crusties with dogs on bits of string.

Instead, of course, a small percentage of the assembled 4000 protesters kicked off a bit and got kicked back a bit by the assembled riot police. Then some others barged their way into a branch of RBS and smashed a few windows. And that was about it…

From what I could see there were as many would-be journalists and onlookers wielding mobile phones hoping to get a picture of the action as there were protestors. It was all a bit low-key really and most of the assembled throng were law-abiding and peaceful and it all went off pretty quietly.

The media coverage, however, was way over-the-top and suggested London was on the brink of civil war. There are times I hate large sections of the British press but, as ever, thank god for the BBC website for its balanced and factual instead of emotive and sensationalist reporting.

On a related note I chanced upon some very posh, crusty, anti-capitalism protestors on my cycle home who were blocking my route and refused to move. So I threw a £5 note on the floor and they all scrambled after it and my route was magically unblocked.

Down with capitalism and a corrupt financial system? Yeah… right… You should have the speed they went after that £5…

Pussy News...

The Missus thinks I have lost the plot because she walked into our spare bedroom the other night and I was explaining to our injured cat, Buffy, that she only has to stay in the room for another three weeks then she'll be allowed out as the vet has said she'll be pretty much repaired by then.

But I took the wife's comments onboard and created the above planner which I will stick up in her room to give Buffy a visual representation of her ever-nearing release date.

Hell, I may even sellotape a marker pen to her good paw so she can tick the days off herself. I love my cat. And not in a wrong way...

The Apprentice...

It's no secret that I love The Apprentice. Whenever it's opening music comes on I sit there in anticaption like some Pavlovian dog salivating in preparation for the feast ahead.

Sadly, I know that what I should really do when the opening music comes on is press the off switch on the TV set and put on some Beethoven and try to work out why everyone else gets it and I don't... or read that book on cartography that I ordered to research a new play idea that I haven't got round to picking up yet... or find some 1970s pornography and masturbate furiously until there's nothing left of my manhood but a bloody, exhausted stump that will never function again without the aid of major surgery...

And that's because I know that pretty much anything else I could do to pass an hour would be morally and educationally better than watching this bilge. But it's my guilty pleasure...

So here's what I've learnt so far after episode one:

i) The candidates this year are really odd-looking. There's Anita, who got booted last night, and has the smallest mouth in the history of the world, which with the red lipstick she wore last night makes it look like a bottom hole after a hot curry. There's also a chap called Rocky who seems to have a shrinking head and a woman called Debra who seems to have an ever-expanding face. It's like a lunar landscape that just goes on and on and on...

ii) Alan Sugar has new scriptwriters. The Amstrad mogul opened the show last night by telling his wannabe business lackeys that 'You can't play me... I'm harder to play than a Stradivarius and you're easier to play than... bongo drums!'

iii) Sugar is becoming more and more like John Culshaw's impression of him with each passing series. I can now genuinely no longer tell the difference between the two.

iv) The business soundbite, utter cock-jockey detector nearly went off the scale last night with gems such as 'Business is the new rock 'n' roll and I'm Elvis Presley' and 'To me making money is better than sex!'

v) They've changed the voiceover on the opening titles boasting about the net value of Sugar's operation because it's obviously no longer worth anywhere near what it used to be.

vi) And the winner is... don't really care as they all seem equally hateful at the moment. Based on last night's evidence I wouldn't hire any of them to run an idiot-proof bath that only operated via an on-off button let alone a business.

Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle...

Most television is shit. And as a professional journalist working on the TV sections of several national newspapers and on several national TV magazines for the past 20 years this is my honest-to-goodness professional opinion.

It's mostly mind-numbingly awful shit masquerading as human interest in the case of the never-ending stream of reality TV and in the case of pretty much anything ITV chooses to screen it's just irredeemable shit. Mostly...

Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle on BBC2, however, is the sort of show that provides hope that TV can be funny and articulate and entertaining and make people think. That's right... think. Think... while watching... telly.

The format's pretty simple. Stand-up comedian Lee delivers a 30-minute routine on a chosen theme and this is interspersed with a few sketches to underline the points he's making. And that's pretty much it. No fancy gimmicks, no celebrity guests, no quirky format surprises... just a man talking to a studio audience and saying intelligent things that are funny and thought-provoking.

The opening show was on books and Lee ripped into the rise of the celebrity biography while the second show was on the medium of TV itself and Lee waded into all manner of celebrity shows and reality TV.

Some of the material is culled from his stand-up shows over the past few years but as they were fantastically good it's hardly a trauma to see it repackaged annd presented again for TV, especially as there is plenty of new stuff too.

Basically it's the most intelligent and entertaining thing on TV at the moment, an oasis of brilliance in a sea of mediocrity. Watch and enjoy...

Sparring...

Sparring: Strategy, Tactics, Technique is the new book by UK martial arts legend Bob Breen.

His first book, Fighting, was a guide to basic martial arts strikes and techniques and it was well written and well illustrated with lots of good pictures and it emphasised drilling technique on basic strikes rather than learning fancy new techniques.

His new book is very much a companion to this book but it takes the reader a stage further and discusses ideas and strategies for sparring using the basic kicks and strikes discussed in the first book.

Like its predecessor it's also well laid out, well written and draws on Breen's extensive experience as a fighter, a martial artist and a teacher to give the reader a comprehensive but never alienating account of the ideology and practice of sparring.

A must-read for any aspiring martial artist.

Pussy News...

We are in the kitchen at From Beer To Paternity Towers. I am cooking, the Missus is reading a magazine and the boy is playing with the new cat Willow.

The Missus looks on affectionately.
'You love that cat more than anything in the world, don't you?'
'Yes. She's my cat...'

I interrupt.
'What happened to Buffy?'
'How do you mean?'
'I thought Buffy was your cat?'
'She was... but she broke...'

The Double Life Of Laurel And Hardy...

Simon Louvish's book The Roots Of Comedy: The Double Life Of Laurel And Hardy is an absolutely wonderful read.

It not only chronicles the life and times of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy and charts their rise from humble beginnings to worldwide stardom, but it also produces an evocative and entertaining history of the early days of the silent movie industry and its move into the world of the 'talkies'.

Included in its cast of guest characters are Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd, Hal Roach and Jimmy Finlayson and a host of other early movie stars, but it's Louvish's ability to interweave the stories of these people without losing focus on the main stories of Laurel and Hardy (then the story of Laurel and Hardy as a comedy duo once they come together) that makes it truly superb.

Although Louvish clearly adores his subjects he isn't shy when it comes to discussing the scandals and various marital problems that plagued the duo throughout their lives. But he handles this material with sensitivity and the book is all the better for sticking to the facts rather than indulging in sensationalist speculation.

It's a truly wonderful and enlightening book and its final chapters that chart the end of Hardy then Laurel's lives are both moving and uplifting.

Pool News: Part II...

I’m nearly 40 and I’ve been playing eightball pool at county level on and off since I was 17.

In fact playing pool has always being a large part of my life and, since I no longer direct plays, much of what I now do for hobbies, such as writing, cycling, hapkido and boxing, can be quite solitary things where I often work or train on my own a lot because I’m largely doing them for myself.

But every so often it’s good to be reminded why it’s important to belong and be part of a wider group that you contribute to and get something back from. And that’s pretty much why I still play county pool because it’s a team event and you’re playing with your mates and you support and cajole one another through both good times and bad.

In fact playing pool for me has always been about the people rather than the game and this weekend, when three of my county's five pool teams attended the National Inter-county Championships at Great Yarmouth, only served to reinforce that idea.

At stake were national titles and we'd all played well and really supported each other as teams to qualify for this event throughout the previous season. And there were a few times over the weekend that my lot, the Surrey B Team, looked in trouble.

Instead of giving up, however, we all got behind each other and spurred each other on and it was fabulous. At times the noise and enthusiasm was like a wave surging forward to move everything out of its path.

It provided a real lesson about positive thinking and self-belief.

It also made me really proud to call this diverse group of people my friends and winning not one but two national titles, as the Surrey A Team where I played for years also won, made it extra special. And just to make it that little bit better the Kent Ladies, who play in our region, won too.

The winning and the subsequent celebrations will be a memory that will help me smile in old age when less happy things make me sad.

And I wouldn't ever have been able to have that memory without my friends. So if any of you ever read this at any point... thank-you.

Pool News: Part 1...

For all my inner spirituality and love all the people all the time attitude I am also a bit of a child who laughs at smutty and stupid things. Quite a lot. A very lot actually...

And when I head off to play pool it's almost like a holiday from myself where I can let rip and gob off a bit and play the goat for a day and this character trait is amplified when I have weekends away with my pool-playing fraternity of friends.

And one of my little habits on these weekends away is to invent a new game that will keep my team-mates amused and give us something to do when we're not playing pool besides drink. So it was bearing this in mind that I came up with Call My Muff!

The rules are quite simple. A player pops his hand into a big bag called the Clown's Pocket and pulls out a bit of paper. On this bit of paper is written the random title of a porn pastiche of a mainstream film. The player then has to give cryptic clues until the other players correctly guess the film then they have to work out the porn pastiche title.

RANDOM CLUE: Life is like a box of chocolates.
FILM ANSWER: Forrest Gump.
REAL ANSWER: Forrest Hump.

Whoever correctly guesses the porn pastiche film title on the card then pops their hand into the Clown’s Pocket and the game continues until a set number of points is reached or, more likely, everyone gets bored and goes to the pub.

It was a hit at the weekend and I may yet patent it. And my favourite film title? Glad-he-ate-her! It's genius.

Grumpy...

It's been a trying few weeks at From Beer To Paternity Towers and I was going to rename this blog Is It Just Me Or Are Some People Just Becoming Total Cunts These Days? Sadly it was a bit long for a title...

But cheery news is on the horizon with our eldest cat Buffy (pictured above) finally starting to move around a bit after her operation and trying to get her leg back in working order.

I am cheered by a cat. There is hope for my faith in humanity yet...

Getting To Grips...

My current fascination with the Ultimate Fighting Championship is showing no signs of abating and there is now the very real temptation that I may actually want to fight in something at some point.

I am putting this down to my impending 40th birthday in April and me undergoing some type of belated or early midlife crisis, but it's been an itch that I so far have not been able to scratch away despite my ongoing hapkido and boxing training.

Bearing this in mind I've decided it is a good idea to brush up on and extend my limited grappling skills so I've been reading the excellent No Holds Barred Fighting: The Ultimate Guide To Submission Wrestling by Mark Hatmaker and Doug Werner.

And on top of this I've also discovered a great website called Train, Fight, Win which has an idiot's guide to basic submission techniques which is so fool-proof that even I can learn from it.

This could be a great new adventure...

Pussy News...

Our eldest cat, Buffy, has snapped her cruciate ligament and one of her side ligaments too.

We have so far seen three vets and spent just under £400 but have yet to be advised on a suitable course of action to ensure she is soon well again.

Tomorrow we see a specialist in cat leg injuries (I don't think that is actually his proper title) and an operation to make her right again will probably cost about £1000.

It's a good job I love that cat more than I love most people...

Anger Management..

Me and the Missus are at the National Theatre waiting to go in and see the Pitmen Painters, a play about a group of miners in the 1930s who took up painting, and she is discussing a debate on Radio 5 Live.

'The topic was wives who abuse and bully their husbands and many of the men who were phoning in were explaining how the mental cruelty and constant hectoring and belittling was often much harder to bear than the physical stuff. Many even said that the scars from the mental abuse took much longer to heal than any physical marks. Anyway it got me thinking that maybe I am mentally damaging you in the long-term.'
'It's quite possible...'
'I mean it's obviously not going to change a damn thing but I thought I should let you know that at least now I'm aware of it... There... I feel better for getting that off my chest.'

Business as usual then...

Gaslight Anthem...

The Missus has a new fave band and she took me to see them on Sunday at Shepherd's Bush Empire.

They're called Gaslight Anthem and they hail from New Jersey in the US and they're a sort of indie guitar band who sound a bit like Green Day playing a rocky Bruce Springsteen.

They're well worth a listen and their curent single, Old White Lincoln, is a pretty good example of what lots of their stuff sounds like.

I think they're jolly good and they sound even better live as their music has a much rawer edge and energy.

Settling Down...

Me and the Missus are walking back from the pub. It is cold and snowy and quiet and she's holding onto my arm.

Normally this would appear to be a romantic gesture but I know full well she's doing it so she doesn't fall over and end up sitting on the pavement with a freezing arse swearing at me in the snow like some mad old women who smells of wee and has 50 cats.

I do, however, take the chance to be romantic and hope that she will respond in kind.
'We're still happy after 12 years together, aren't we? We even still quite like each other...'

The Missus ponders before replying.
'Yes we are... but that's because we've settled for each other.'

We walk on. I try not to delve too deeply into her comment but I can't help myself.

I'm a 'settled for' husband. That's probably like being a safe pair of hands. I am the marital equivalent of a safe pair of hands. The BHS of husbands. Not particularly classy or fantastic to look at but dependable and reasonably well-made.

I conclude I'm not trying to be romantic ever again.

Adventures In Pool Land...

The county pool season kicked off on Sunday with an away trip to Southampton and my good self moved back up to the A Team after helping the B Team win the regional title last year.

The pool match was engrossing although I struggled to win frames but I know decent form is not far away as I'm playing properly again so it's just a matter of keeping the faith.

The journey down and back again, though, was an absolute joy.

On the journey down I'd nicely settled in with my iPod and a decent book when several of my colleagues boarded the train and within five minutes I'd had the details of one friend's latest sexual encounter and a new friend's spell behind bars for ABH, as well as a very insistent offer of starting on a litre bottle of vodka. And it wasn't even 10am...

I'm used to such shenanigans but the Observer-reading thirtysomething couple sitting in the seats next door didn't quite know what to make of it.

Needless to say the journey back involved more lively debate and a stop off at a local watering hole. I did avoid the vodka, though, and it was mostly good, cleanish fun. Sort of...