Sho Long, Sean

Rumour has it that Sean Connery is retiring from acting to concentrate on writing his memoirs. This is a major blow to the film industry - after all, who can they call on now if they require an actor capable of playing a Russian submarine captain (with a Scottish accent)? Or an Irish-American cop (with a Scottish accent)? Or a half-Egpytian, half-Spanish chief metallist to the king of Spain (with a Scottish accent)? Or a big dragon (with a Scottish accent)? Or King Arthur (with a Scottish accent)? Or Robin Hood (with a Scottish accent)? Spotting a pattern here?

He even took the title role in a TV adaptation of a Shakespeare play. I haven't seen it, but I'm willing to bet he used a Scottish accent for the part of Macbeth.

How To Get Head In Advertising

There's an ad on TV that's been bugging me for some time now. Former top cop John Stalker, plugging sun awnings, comes away with the following unbelievable line: "When it's a sunny day, most of us prefer to be in the shade".

Er, no we feckin' don't!! When it's a sunny day, most of us prefer to be in direct sunlight, preferably without any protection, until we resemble lobsters - because we know we probably won't get another sunny day until the same time next year.

Then the clincher - Stalker claims that these appliances are so easy to use that even his dog can operate them (cut to shot of dog placing paw on remote control). If that's the case, my dog must be a feckin' genius - he could work the TV, video, DVD player and CD player - and at a push he could probably knock out his own blog. Hmmm, that gives me an idea...

Less Is More Or Less More

King-size Mars and Snickers bars are to be cut down in size in response to growing concerns over obesity in the UK. The plan is to split the bars in half to make "two shareable portions".

Aye, right. That'll work.

Return Of The King

I've just read that the Return Of The King extended edition DVD will contain an extra 50 minutes of footage. I can't wait to see this; hopefully we'll get to see all the Saruman/Wormtongue stuff that was cut from the theatrical version of the movie - if only to cheer up Christopher Lee, who was mightily pissed off when he found out that he didn't appear at all in the cinema cut.

Another appointment at the hosptial for physio tomorrow morning - not looking forward to it, but then I never do. It never turns out to be as bad as I was expecting though. That's the great thing about being a pessimist at heart - you're never disappointed, and every so often you get a pleasant surprise.

Reading: Stephen King: Dreamcatcher
Today's music: Roddy Frame: Surf

Reality Bites

Hell's arse. Yet another reality show has started - this time it's The Farm on five, in which a bunch of Z-list celebs, er, work on a farm. Beam me up, Scotty.

Our 'famous' faces this time include: footballer and Ulrika-beater, Stan Collymore; Paul Daniels and the lovely Debbie McGee; Jeff Brazier - former boyfriend of Big Brother slapper Jade Goody (so at least he should know a thing or two about pigs); Beckham-shagger Rebecca Loos; and Vanilla Ice and Ritchie (5ive) Neville - both of whom have taken Queen songs and made a complete dog's arse of them.

I'm looking forward to watching Public Opinion, where famous people find out what the public really think of them. One of this week's guests is David Icke, who went from being a footballer, to being a BBC sports presenter, and then on to being completely mad.

I'm not talking about the would-be wacky "I'm mad, me" type of mad here. This is proper, lockable-uppable type madness. Complete insanity. I'm not sure it's a good idea to allow him onto TV, but I'm sure as hell going to watch, just out of morbid curiosity.

Bliar

One of last night's TV programmes was called Do You Still Believe In Tony? Excuse me? Still believe in Tony? Well, I still believe in Tony being a complete eejit, if that's any help.

Pogo No-Go

The BBC has chickened out of broadcasting an animated series named Popetown, on the grounds that "the comic impact... does not outweigh the potential offence it will cause". The BBC received a number of complaints from Catholic groups after excerpts from the show appeared on the internet. The series is set in a fictional version of the Vatican, and one scene depicts the Pope on a pogo stick.

That's 2 million quid of licence payers' money pissed away by the BBC - and why? - just to avoid upsetting Catholic viewers. Surely the Catholic church can cope with a bit of piss-taking - Father Ted ran for three series, and the world hasn't ended, as far as I can tell.

The Catholic church is big enough to look after itself, and if it can't handle having a bit of fun poked at it, then I'd suggest it's in a pretty bad way.

And as for the BBC, if it has the nerve to broadcast drivel like House Invaders, Garden Invaders, Bargain Hunt and all the other wall-to-wall lifestyle shows, surely they could steel themselves to air Popetown.

On the other hand, Popetown features Ruby Wax. So maybe we shouldn't bother after all.

Happy Birthday, Boss

Many happy returns to Bruce Springsteen, who is 55 today. I was lucky enough to see Bruce and the E Street Band at the Old Trafford cricket ground in Manchester last year - despite the efforts of local residents, who campaigned to have the concert cancelled. Miserable bastards, getting to hear a free Springsteen concert and complaining about it. How ungrateful can you get? But I digress.

It was one of those rare occasions where everything seems as good as it gets. It helped that it was a glorious summer evening, and that the venue made a surprisingly good setting for a rock concert. The E Street Band were on fine form, but more than anything, it was all about Bruce, every inch the showman throughout a relentless 3-hour performance - jumping on top of the piano, sliding across the stage on his knees, hanging upside-down from his microphone stand (and, er, falling off).

An unforgettable night. Happy birthday, Boss.

A Right Tit

The US TV network CBS has been hit with a record-breaking fine of $550,000 for Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction" during this year's SuperBowl half-time show. Her performance was a duet with Justin Timberlake, at the end of which, Timberlake ripped off a piece of Jackson's black leather top, exposing her right breast to a TV audience of about 90 million.

The Federal Communications Commission voted unanimously to slap each of the 20 CBS-owned television stations with the maximum indecency penalty. The total penalty is the largest fine levied against a television broadcaster.

Reportedly, the incident generated a record number of complaints to the FCC - more than 500,000.

I wonder how many people would have complained if it had been in the UK instead of the US. I'm guessing the number would be closer to 5 than to 500,000. And 4 of those would be to complain that they couldn't see the breast properly, because of that funny bit of jewellery stuck on it.

550 grand for one breast? On the grounds of indecency? WTF? Would it have been 1100 for the pair? Or do you get a discount? And anyway, since when were breasts indecent? They're perfectly natural; nearly all women - and a growing number of men - have them. I could see the point if Janet had decided to show off her clit piercing on TV, or if viewers had been subjected to the sight of the Timberlake Trousersnake. But it was only a tit (and an oddly-shaped one, at that).

Get a grip. (On yourselves).

[Another] Hospital Rant

Was back at the hospital today (or yesterday, to be pedantic) for physio. I had the first appointment of the day - 9am - giving the me the advantage of not having to hang around in the waiting area first. This leads me onto today's hospital-related whinge...

Hospital wards - in particular, orthopaedic wards, are full of people who have difficulties sitting on, and getting up from low seats. That's why, before these people are discharged from hospital, the occupational therapy department goes out to their home and installs chair raisers and other devices designed to make life a little easier. The raised toilet seat is a particular favourite; you never have to worry about putting the seat back down, as it's permanently wedged up. Hurrah.

Now, these very same people often have to return to hospital on an out-patient basis. Hospitals being hospitals, this usually involves a certain amount (usually a large amount) of waiting. In waiting areas filled with the lowest chairs imaginable.

Genius.

Sound Familiar?

The following is an extract from a story by Lucy Adams in today's Glasgow Herald.

Vivienne Provan was nervous about major surgery when she went into Glasgow Royal Infirmary - not about the food.
She lost several pounds while in hospital because she said the food was inedible. She wrote a four-page letter of complaint when she left, but received no response.
Mrs Provan, 60, said: "The food was absolutely disgusting and completely lacking in nutritional value. After major surgery, you need something appetising but the smell was so off-putting that even the consultants complained about it.
"I felt really hungry at times but couldn't eat it. I had to ask my husband to bring in yogurt and sandwiches for me."

Sounds very familiar to me.

No Work, No Beer

I must remember to phone into the office tomorrow to discuss my plans to return to work. A number of options are open to me, but the most likely is for me to work from home, part-time. I still have a lot of holidays to take before the end of the year, so one possiblility would be to work half-days, take the other half of the day as a holiday, and receive full pay. Which would be nice. My sick pay entitlement runs out at the end of this month, after that I'll have to claim incapacity benefit - and I'm guessing that wouldn't amount to a hill of beans.

It's about time I did something - I've been away from work for six months now. Much longer and I will have no idea what I actually do (or used to do) for a living. Although, to be fair, I only ever had a vague idea anyway. Something to do with computers, I think. I need something to get me away from my current daily routine, the highlight of which is going for a hobble around the block followed by a nice lie down in the afternoon.

To make matters worse, I'm taking a course of antibiotics, and can't even get rat-arsed to relieve the boredom. I haven't been drunk in over six months. I'm guessing that when I finally get the chance to get drunk, it won't take much. My only worry is that I might fall over in the pub and not be able to get up again. Sure, I've fallen over in pubs before, but I always had the strength and agility to get back on my feet again reasonably quickily (on one occasion, even before anyone noticed).

Best music video: Travis: Walking In The Sun

A Rat's Johnson

I've been messing around with Anagram Genius, and came up with the following:

Jonathan Ross is A Rat's Johnson
Richard Whiteley - Dirty Wheelchair
President George W Bush - Super Gore whinged best
Jamiroquai singer Jay Kay is A quasi- imaginary jerk. Joy!

and finally...

Deputy Prime Minister John Prescott is An oafish, toad-faced buffoon!*


*Not necessarily an anagram

C(o)untdown

Hurrah! Guess which 5-letter word I managed to get using the following letters on Countdown today:

P E S N U K I T E

Got it yet? Does this help?

P E S N U K I T E

I feel so proud.

Too Many Books

I'm looking for something to read now that I've finally finished The Silmarillion. I thought about something from my large Terry Pratchett* collection, but most of these are on the lowest shelf of my bookcase, and I can't bend down that far yet. I have a copy of Stupid White Men by Michael Moore on my bedside table, but I'm keeping that for bathroom reading (i.e. whilst taking a dump. Too much information? Sorry).

I like Michael Moore a lot, he's funny and makes a lot of persuasive points. He does however bear an unfortunate physical resemblance to Peter Griffin from the TV show Family Guy. Well, have they ever been spotted in the same room? I don't think so. Although, to be fair, one of them is a rather overweight, buffonish - but lovable - caricature. And the other is Peter Griffin. Hands up anyone who didn't see that coming.

The Atkins diet book has not been chucked out yet - I'm considering putting it onto ebay, after seeing some of the shite people are flogging on there.

* I have almost every Pratchett and Stephen King book in hardback. This is what happens when you join mail-order book clubs - you probably know the one I mean. I also have a large collection of books by authors I've never heard of, on account of my repeated failure to cancel the Editor's Choice book (and being too bone idle to return those that were sent out - apart from one by Jeffrey Archer, which went back faster than you can say 'Twat').

Bad news: Rangers stiffed again, going down 1-0 to Maritimo in the first round of the UEFA cup.
More bad news: Johnny Ramone has died, aged 55.
Today's music: The Ramones: Anthology
Best music video: The Killers: Mr Brightside

20th Century Boy

It occurred to me today that I've been wallowing in nostalgia since I got home from hospital. This only really sank in when I caught myself watching Duran Duran on some or other music TV station, and thinking... 'This is pretty good'. In my defence, it was a new single, so I'm not totally living in the past. At least it wasn't the hilarious 'A View To A Kill' video, the highlight of which is the 'Bon... Simon LeBon' line at the end. How we laughed.

It doesn't end there, though. I've also been enjoying the following items from the past, on a near-daily basis:

• Doom (and Doom II and Final Doom)
• Quake (and endless variations thereof)
• The music of Queen
• X Files reruns on Sky One
• Frasier reruns on Paramount
• Making lists like a twatty teenager

There's probably more, but I don't want to make it sound any worse than it already does.

Fleas

For some unfathomable reason, this is one of my favourite pieces of my own doggerel.

My dog has fleas

And they're Chinese

I don't know how he got 'em

Their only vice

Is frying rice

And eating it near his bottom

Hospital Blues

Had a hospital appointment today to have my ankle checked out by the consultant who operated on it. It seems to be healing a little slowly, but this probably isn't surprising considering how badly fcuked it was after the car accident - 'smashed to smithereens' was how the consultant described it. He said it might need bone graft surgery at some point, but for now he's going to leave it alone and see if the bone grows any more on its own. I was more than a little relieved by this, as the thought of further surgery and another spell in hospital is not an appealing one. I have to go back for a further appointment to check on progress in December.

Met or saw no fewer than five guys who had been on the hospital ward at the same time as me. I guess I shouldn't be too surprised at this, considering the length of time I spent in the fcuking place. Four of these guys were good blokes, but the fifth was a complete crabbit old bastard. We'll call him 'Mr C.', just like that piss-poor rapper from The Shamen. And we all know what the 'C' stood for there.

He wasn't the worst, though. Not by a long shot. During my stay, I had to put up with junkies, alkies, manic depressives, mental old blokes wandering around naked at night (and sometimes crashing into my bed - which is no fun with a leg in traction), a nutter who pissed into his soup bowl, and loonies who insisted on getting up at 5 in the morning and waking everyone else up in the process. Bastards, every one of them.

Back to the hospital tomorrow for physio. For reasons too boring to go into, the hydrotherapy hasn't happened yet, and is unlikely to happen for a while. So, for the forseeable future, I'm stuck with land-based torture instead. Joy. I only hope they don't want me to go back for a second appointment this week, because frankly, I can't be arsed.

Talk Proper

Whilst watching a rerun of 'Roseanne'* on the Paramount Comedy channel, I heard one of the characters refer to something as an 'urb'. A what now? Urb? What they meant to say, of course, was 'herb'. Where the hell did 'urb' come from? H-E-R-B. Herb. Rhymes with 'verb'.

And another thing - the first letter of 'herb' - as the sharper amongst you will have spotted - is 'H'. The name of this letter is pronounced 'aitch'. Got that? 'Aitch'. Not, as some idiots insist on saying, 'Haitch'. No such letter. I used to long for the day when Bob 'Blockbusters' Holness would say to some spotty adolescent, 'No, you may not have a haitch, as there is no such letter in the English alphabet. Would you settle for an aitch instead?'. Alas, it never happened.

Finally, and mercifully, the 11th of September seems to have passed without incident. That's 11/9, incidentally. Not 9/11.

Today's music: The Randy Newman Songbook, Vol. 1
Reading: J.R.R. Tolkien: The Silmarillion (yes, still)

* It was on after 'Frasier', and I couldn't be bothered to switch channels.

Eat Shit

One advantage - of sorts - of my insanely long stay in hospital has been the resulting loss of weight. For this I can thank Glasgow Royal Infirmary for providing the most toxic, inedible and thoroughly vile excrement known to mankind, and having the audacity to refer to it as food. True, it was served on plates or in bowls, but there the similarity ends. On many occasions the most appealing 'food' was the toast they served up after visiting time, along with a beverage bearing a vague resemblance to tea or coffee (it was difficult to be sure which).

Anyway, the outcome of this is that I'm now skinnier than I've been at any time since around 1993. For the first time in ages I can look down and see my feet (amongst other things), and I can fit into all the clothes that I grew out of over the years. The Speedos however, are being binned on the grounds of taste and decency.

The Atkins Diet book (unread) is going with them.

The Pirate

Another example of my rancid poetry...

'The Pirate'

The boy asked the pirate as he passed by

"What's with the patch across your eye?"

The pirate replied, "If truth be told,

It's because my eye is made of gold

My teeth are mostly made of steel

I've a silver-plated achilles heel

My knees and elbow joints are tin

My right foot's an ingot I found in a bin

You'll find a zinc foot within my left sock

And inside my pants, an iron cock

My wife also has her own metal bits

Like her jewel-encrusted solid gold tits"

The Twat In The Hat

Piss-poor pop pillock Jay Kay, of Jamiroquai notoriety, has been banned from driving for six months. I wish someone would ban him from making records.

(See also Mick Hucknall)

Best music video: The Killers: All These Things That I've Done

Grease Balls

The movie Grease was on TV this evening, and I was wondering - what the hell kind of school was Rydell High? When I went to school, all the pupils were 18 or under. Not at Rydell - most of them looked old enough to the parents of the kids. The worst of the lot has to be Rizzo (Stockard Channing), who was well into her 30's when the movie was made, and looked every day of it. These days if someone that old kept hanging around a school, I think the police would be notified quite rapidly.

Doctor What-The-F***

Finally, after a 15-year absence, Doctor Who is coming back. And about time. Playing the Time Lord this time around is Christopher Eccleston. Huh? Great actor, sure, but is he really right for the role? No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Too young. Too earnest. Too... dull. What you need is someone with bags of character, someone quirky, and frankly someone older. Like, for example: Eric Idle (or for that matter, Terry Jones). Bryan Pringle would have been almost perfect, apart from having expired a couple of years ago. Or how about Tom Baker? I reckon he'd be great...

And another thing - the Doctor's companion. Billie Piper?!? Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!? Two words: Bonnie Langford. Please don't let that happen again, I'm still having nightmares. Far more scary than the Daleks, the Cybermen and the Talons of Weng-Chiang all put together.

Peregrine Felch (or, The Poem What I Wrote)

This is a poem I wrote during a busy afternoon at work about 4 years ago, not long before I got canned from that particular job, funnily enough. I just discovered it in a drawer at home earlier this evening...


Peregrine Felch was an unlucky fellow
When he woke up one morning his tongue was bright yellow
His left foot had taken a dark greenish hue
And one of his testes had turned navy blue
His ankles were swollen and violently red
And strange purple blisters covered his head
A thousand pink boils had appeared on his back
And his once purple helmet had now become black
His armpits were orange and matted with pus
His buttocks had grown to the size of a bus
Where once he had one nose, now there were two
That's what you get for sniffing glue

Big Al No Function Beer Well Without

Yesterday, the physio guy at the hospital gave me an information leaflet about the hydroptherapy pool. I only got around to reading it this afternoon, and blimey...

First, you have to take a shower before getting into the pool. Then another shower after getting out of the pool. After that you have to sit around for about 20 minutes and they give you a drink of orange juice. All this for.... wait for it.... 10 minutes in the pool.

10 minutes !!!!

Fcuk me ragged, I just want to get in there and back out as fast as possible. And if they insist on giving me a drink, I'd prefer beer, thanks very much. It's not like I'm going to be driving any time soon.

Speaking of beer, I really must make more of an effort to get to the pub sometime soon. Would certainly be more rewarding than hobbling aimlessly around the block, although admittedly more expensive.

Mmmmm.....beeeeeer.

Today's music: Warren Zevon: The Wind

Balder Dash

Bollards. There's no point denying it any longer. I'm going bald. Or at least, extremely thin on top. The most annoying part is, every other part of my body is sprouting hair like it's some sort of contest. Well, almost every other part - I don't have hairy palms yet (although that's probably only a matter of time). I'm considering biting the bullet, and having it cropped really short. Or possibly growing it even longer and looking like Fish from Marillion circa 1985. Speaking of which, I'm currently reading Tolkien's "The Silmarillion", from which the above named beat combo took their name. It's rather good, but at times it feels a little like reading the Bible. Although I've only ever done that once, when I was extremely drunk and alone in a hotel room.

By my calculations, my physio appointment today marked the first time I have been inside a gym since 1987. I've always avoided physical exertion like the plague, a matter which may seem strange given that my dad was a P.E. teacher. He would probably be turning in his grave, if not for the fact that he was cremated. Perhaps he would turn in his urn.

Today's music: Embrace: The Good Will Out
Best music video: The Streets: Dry Your Eyes

The Days Grow Short...

Not long back from my first physio appointment at the hospital. Nothing much to report, except that next week I start hydrotherapy treatment. The physio guy had to ask me a few questions about my general health and suitability for hydrotherapy. One of the questions was 'Do you have any hearing difficulties?'. When he asked this, I pretended not to hear him, which he said was 'Very funny'.