TV Times

I would like to start this blog post with a formal apology for my lack of attention, but I'm back.... so brace yourselves.

First off, has anyone seen Ricky Gervais' latest offering, Derek? If you haven't then you need to get involved because its brilliant. A lot of critics have slated it as Gervais plays a mentally disabled man who lives in a home, and they feel a lot of the gags poke fun at the character. Its political correctness gone mad! And no, this does not mean I agree with mocking the mentally disabled. Yes, I did once see a blind person walk into a post, and I laughed, but you would have to, and I did also help him up again (which I hope you would have done as well kids). What I am getting at is that most of the jokes in the show actually make fun of the characters who aren't disabled and the way they interact with Gervais, which just so everyone is aware is a common comedic tool used by many of the great and good of comedy. And just to clarify, I have been very careful in my language in this paragraph as someone with Downs Syndrome for example, is mentally challenged, you do not use the word retard, unless you are talking about the cast of The Only Way Is Essex.

Moving on, we recently had a letter come through the door at casa de Binman informing us we needed to pay £140 for a TV licence to be able to watch terrestrial TV. We did pay, but I have to say this seems a bit steep given what we get for it, and what the beeb actually spend the money on. I understand that the BBC have a duty to provide something for everyone, and have to dedicate so many hours to various schedule sectors, but somethings cannot be excused. Why oh why do I have to watch Chris Moyles' waistline (and ego) expand every year on comic relief, the lottery and all the other gubbins he does? And no one in their right mind will pay to see Terry Wogan go senile live on air... its just wrong, he needs a 24 hour carer, not an audience. I'm not sure if the radio gets a contribution from my TV licence, but if they do I will definitely be asking for it back, no way am I paying that much to allow Nick Grimshaw to spend it all on being sexually assaulted by Topman and their styling team. However, there is one saving grace, their new singing show The Voice. Not only do we get Holly Willabooby (thanks Keith), but we also get the crack adled ramblings of Will-I-am as he tries to convince contestants to join his team through a combination of name dropping ("I wrote that song with John, John Legend") and just telling strange stories about dreams he has had ("I had a dream once about when I was walking through a corn field and I saw Rosa Parks, and then the dream ended, and I wrote a song about it, it was called Boom Boom Pow"). I may just send the BBC a check for £14.82 next year as payment for the time I will spend watching Will talk nonsense and leave it at that.

And finally a cautionary tale. Well its been a big month for stupid things in my household, and as I am one of the main culprits for now I shall say nothing of it. Instead, I will warn to be careful when driving with old people. I love my Grandad Doug, but crikey is he a liability behind the wheel. Just this week I heard that when dropping one of my aunts off, he tried to pull away with one of her legs still inside the car, which as you can imagine didn't end well. Don't worry, she isn't badly hurt, but I'm sure he'll get her next time the wiley coyote.

And you video is courtesy of men without hats (why did they stop making music videos with midgets in!?!?!?!)

Queen is dead, Long live Queen

So that Dappy vagabond has released another assault upon the world's ears... I swear if we let him keep this up Jesus Hernandez Christ is gonna kick off in a big way. If I got crucified to give the world another chance and then they let Dappy happen I'd go OJ Simpson on everyone's ass, and by OJ I mean I'd cut Fazer's head off and get away with it....

However, I'm so appalled by the real issue here that I'm ignoring it like a retard in a Turkish orphanage. Brian May used to be the guitarist in one of the best bands ever, Queen. I accept that Queen aren't to everyone's taste, but they were one of those bands that were undeniably good, hell they were so good the great Vanilla Ice sampled them! As a rock legend good old Brian is therefore allowed a bit of leeway in how he lives the rest of his life. He can keep the curly muff on his head, rock stars have crazy hair. He can do a degree in astrophysics, all rock stars have an eccentric passion (I'm looking at you Alex James). But what he can't do is be involved with the musical equivalent of Titus Bramble. I'm afraid that the Bry Guy shouldn't have made it this far. Like the legends of past and present, John Belushi, John Bonham, Kurt Cobain (No, not you Winehouse) he should have gone out in blaze of alcohol and drug induced glory, stoned off his face with a hooker on each arm... essentially what Charlie Sheen is building himself up to, and God Bless him for it! If he had then he could avoided this slow decline into bumbling has been, leading to the ultimate nadir, performing with Dappy. But all this said and done, if I ever see Brian May I will be buying him a pint... and putting a tiny drop of Tiger Blood in it, just hoping to ignite that blaze...

So in the news this week some Cardinal who I will name and shame, Keith O'Brien, has been attacking the idea of same sex marriage. I have to say I that there are much bigger problems in this world than 2 people of the same sex getting hitched. Such as the Catholic church, which is an institution that has a three strikes and your out rule for child molestation. That's right, the Catholic church actually sat down and said, "You know what, maybe they just made a mistake, we don't want to be too hasty... lets give them three chances to explain away touching children". That's the craziest thing I have heard since John Prescott had an affair, who'd have thought one woman would sleep with him, let alone two. I wouldn't normally wade in on such a serious issue but I live with a gay chap, James Green his name his, and a lovely fella he is too. He cleans more than his fair share of the house, always turns lights off and doesn't mind when I turn into an angry drunk. I've got to say, out of everyone I know he is the least likely one to burn in hell. So, just for Jimbo, I'm saying you're A-ok to marry a gay (Did you like the rhyme?). I also have my own reasons for wanting men to be able to marry other men... less competition for the ladies, I need all the help I can get.

You're cautionary tale doesn't come from my own experience, but that of Ryan Jarmin of Cribs fame. If you are lucky enough to be allowed to collect an award at the NME awards on behalf of Franz Ferdinand, do not jump onto the Kaiser Chiefs table, as it may cause glass to pierce your back and require you to be taken to hospital. And if you get taken to hospital do not then discharge yourself and got to the NME after party as you may pass out in a back corridor and nearly bleed to death. Jarmin was saved by a beardy, Kiwi DJ, but you might not be... you know the old adage, Zane doesn't strike twice.

Fun and Provocative, classic Bloodhound Gang

I hope I never bump into this hard bastard!

I have spent a lot of time looking at a blank page trying to write this post... I didn't want to do the standard Valentines thing, whine about it if you're single, wank about it if you're not. But, I am single, so here we are!

First off, does anyone actually know what St Valentine (or Valentinus if you want to be precise) actually did with his life? You celebrate a day that is named after him (though was removed from the Catholic calender in 1969) so why? I would say 10 points to whoever gets it but I think the bigger prize for knowing would be that you actually know more about a Saint than the Catholic Church. That's right folks, even the Church has no idea why St Valentine is a Saint, and the bloke himself has no connection to love at all, we are all just going along with an idea made up by Jeff Chaucer! I would like to humbly propose that we sack St Valentinus and go for a Patron Saint of something that is at least somehow connected with the end result of St Valentines day. Therefore, next February 14th I shall be celebrating the life of Saint Fiacre, the patron Saint of Sexually Transmitted Diseases, by trying to pass on a raging case of Herpes!

They say that you always remember where you were when you heard really important news, like the first man walking on the moon, when Lennon died or when Mario Balotelli drove around Manchester handing out money dressed as Santa. Obviously, I don't remember where I was when most of these things happened because I'm not as old as my Hellenic housemate, but one thing I will always remember is where I was when Whitney Houston died. This is because I was in Flares, the club where the 80's went to inject itself with heroin and get fingered by a fat bald fella for a fiver. And the reason I will always remember why I was in such a glorious establishment for the death of a pop "legend"... because it was the DJ who broke the news to me. True Story.

So that's me for this installment. I'm not sure if its as good as usual, but it's something! I would just like to sign off by wishing James Green and his new girlfriend Sara a lovely first valentines day together. I hope Sara takes you somewhere nice... other than up the arse.

My video this week is dedicated to all you Valentines, think of this when you're with that special someone!

Talking 'bout People

So people, we're an interesting bunch... and I'm going to talk about two very interesting ones indeed!

In the red corner weighing in at a mighty 135lbs, hailing from Wisbech, Norfolk, Glenn Drawbridge. I often worry about Glenn, the way he views the world terrifies me, I genuinely think this is how Josef Fritzl might have started out. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not going to get all high & mighty, I am a disgusting human being, I have done terrible things and I will probably end up in the same special corner of hell as Frankie Boyle for the horrendous things I say, but next to Gwenn Drawbridge (intentional w) I might as well be Gary Linekar (Never booked in his whole career...stat!). My main concern right now is for the young women of Birmingham and the surrounding area who happen to bump into / share Facebook friends with Glenn, especially those who don't own rape alarms. Most men will happily joke about sleeping with borderline young women, myself included, but we have a line we draw age wise. My personal one is 18, if she can't legally drink then she won't be able to get drunk enough to black out the memories of sleeping with me. But Glenn has manged to coin a phrase that chills the blood in even my icy heart, "I didn't ask how old she was, I asked if she was fit". And please don't think this is an isolated incident, it started with young looking 18 and 19 year olds, but it has taken a sinister turn recently with references to 15 year old cousins of a yiddish looking man I know. So really I guess this part of my blog is a plea, dear West Midlands police, if you're out there, catch this man and stop him, before the thought of the crime isn't enough... Don't look now, I think he's behind you.

In the blue corner weighing an impressive 200lbs, from somewhere posh I have never heard of, "creepy" Mike. Creepy Mike is actually a chap I work with at a law firm that shall not be named, and he makes it into my blog because of his interesting method in dealing with a situation most men will find quite awkward. Imagine you're walking into / out of the toilets at work as someone else is doing the opposite. Its not fun, but most rational human beings will give a quick nod or tight lipped smile that says, "Yeah, that smell was me, but in about 10 minutes it will be you, so deal with it". Not our Michael. Oh no. As I was peeing at a urinal the other day he came in, and instead of just using one further down (I followed the rules and used the end one) he leaned up against a cubicle and talked to me like we were best friends til my bladder gave in and decided half empty would have to do. This was the second time I had ever met him. Spare a thought for the guy who sits behind me in the office who has worked there about 2 years. As he walked into the toilet Mike was coming out of a cubicle after having done the naughty. This time talking wasn't enough, he planted a meaty (and unwashed) hand on my colleagues chest, muttered something along the lines of, "I hope you're well" and with that he left. Terrifying stuff.

Anyway, I guess the moral of this blog is that even normal looking people can be so much more deadly / sinister / rapey than you ever could imagine. So be safe out there children, and as a wise man once told me, "Be careful when buying settees and chairs... never by suites from strangers".

Your videos this week:
Zane Lowe dropped this bomb on me and it won't leave my head

And comedy from Zane's show Gonzo... I love the Killers, but this does tickle me.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it even a sport?

The title of this blog is in relation to darts. Now don't get me wrong, I love watching darts on the TV. Sid Waddell's classic one liners, the chanting of the Ally Pally crowd and the near lethal amounts of alcohol. But, its not really a sport if a man with a physique like Andy Fordham can be one of the greats. Plus having just watched the annual tungsten toss at the lakeside you don't even have to be that good to take part. Averaging less than 30 points a dart is poor even by David Blunkett's standards. Then again seeing Phil Taylor throw darts like exocet missiles does prove there must be some craft and technique to the game. All in all I personally feel that no sweat = no sport, so in theory darts doesn't count and is a waste of time, but rules are made to be broken and the exception to this one is provided by the great Sid Waddell himself, "This lad has more checkouts than Tesco's". Any activity that can have a line like that said about it is solid gold. 

Here's an interesting thing I recently discovered, if you go into any shop in the world, walk up to the most gorgeous sales assistant and ask her for a random item of fancy dress that they probably won't sell, she'll be like putty in your hands. I am a fairly unattractive chap, and I have a balding housemate who is even more terrifying on the eye, but when he walked into H&M in the bullring and asked about animal print onesies the young lady he cornered looked like at him like he was Johnny Depp! Every shop we went into in search of costume pieces gave us the same result, smiley faces, cheeky banter and a look in her eye that says, "Meet me by the waterproof macs in 5". All I can put it down to is that women love confidence and a man who is slightly crazy in his efforts to separate himself from the crowd. So, this weekend I'm off to Selfridges to inquire about a lycra tuxedo to play rugby in.

No cautionary tale this time I'm afraid.... oh go on then, just a quick one. Keeping with the theme of fancy dress, if you do have to go out and make a spectacle of yourself make sure you do it in a tough, durable costume. Under no circumstances do you make a suit out of bin bags and then wear it to the SU... especially on a night when no one else is in fancy dress. If you do, the, "costume", and I use the term quite loosely, won't last 5 minutes before getting ripped off and you will walk home semi naked in the freezing cold at 3am. 

And your video is courtesy of Sunny Modhara: I only fly Southwest Airlines 

I know its been a long time coming (much like many of my ex-girlfriends) but here it is, my second post. I graduated six months or so ago now, and I have in that short time learnt that becoming a graduate is the worst thing I could have done. Yes, I have just got my first job out of uni, and have started to earn some money (though not that much), and I am now allowed to complain about anything and everything government related without being told I am student and so until I am no longer a drain on society I don't get to comment on it. But these delights are far outweighed by the fact that now I have got a law degree I am a free legal encyclopedia, that everyone I know is determined to use. Since finishing uni I genuinely think I have been asked to help with legal problems about 20 times. You all need to realize that me having a law degree does not make me a lawyer, it just means I am a semi alcoholic 22 year old who has spent 3 years learning how to commit rape and murder and get away with it. You have been warned.

My cautionary tale this time is about making sure you ask enough of the right questions, on this topic the grandparents were right, to assume genuinely does make an ass of you and me. Imagine a young man out with a group of his friends in a posh London club having a pretty good time, when up comes an attractive woman (she’s not a stunner, but then again this isn’t a fairy tale). They have a chat and a dance, enjoy each others company as you would expect and just as the boy is about to do a Cinderella and go home on the stroke of midnight with his friends, the young lady suggests that he can stay at hers… “This sounds like a good night for all involved, where is lesson to be learned?”, I hear you cry. The young man in question didn’t ask where the bed he had been offered was, and even upon being told Oxford, he naively assumed she meant Oxford Street, or Oxford Circus, not the acclaimed university city. She did not mean a hip part of London, she meant a city 62 miles away, which surprisingly has a 24 hour bus service between London Victoria Coach Station. So, be careful, before you make a decision get all the facts, or you could be left with a choice between staying in the a city you don’t know with a woman you don’t know, or wandering round a city you don’t know on your jack.

Finally I once again treat you to two videos courtesy of the youtubings:

Another one of those nasty racist folks gets their comeuppance.

And a wonderful offering from skittles

Popping My Cherry...

So this bad boy is my first post, and hopefully the first of many, unless someone decides I need to be locked up after they read this... I'll just crack on and hope they don't.

As its the first blog I'm actually going to try to stick to the title and give you a thought, observation and cautionary tale. Starting with a thought, when does banter go too far? There are quite a few references in the media at the moment about "banter" and what people seem to think it is, generally journalists seem to be under the impression that its bullying, with a nicer name. Its not. I love banter, and I'm not a bully, but I love ripping into my mates, and they give a lot back. Yes, to the untrained eye it might look and sound like bullying, but the definition of banter is a joke at someone or somethings expense, it only becomes bullying when it goes to far, and is directly aimed at hurting or upsetting someone. So, I think we should all just calm down about "banter", and just relax a little, there are bigger things to worry about... plus, I'm sitting on a dynamite impression of Kelly Rowland that if I do at the moment is definitely going to get called racist. But its only banter.

At the moment I'm unemployed (woohoo!) so I have a lot of observations to choose from, but I'm going to go with one that's to do with all these claims of racism in sport, namely football. John Terry and Luis Suarez are the two big names in the Premier League accused of racially abusing two of their opponents. Maybe, just maybe, I've over simplified this and you're all going to absolutely hammer me for it, but these guys both play and train with coloured players every day, and have done for the past 20 years, since they starting playing football. I'm just going to put her out there and say, if they were really racist then they probably wouldn't have; 1) started playing a sport that means they will be playing with people of all different ethnicity's and backgrounds everyday and 2) they wouldn't have got a whole decade into their professional career before saying something racially offensive. I'm not taking sides on whether they did or didn't say anything, and if they did they should definitely be punished, but isn't the bigger problem in football that week in week out there are stadiums full of "hardcore" fans singing racist songs at players... Just an observation you understand.

And finally my cautionary tale. This week its on the dangers of alcohol, specifically alcohol that is past its sell by date. On Friday, along with my housemates, I decided to sit in and have a couple of cheeky beers, targeting the stockpile of loose bottles that had been sitting next to the fridge multiplying for the past couple of years. To spice things up we picked 3 random ales (thats right, cultured) and took one each. I ended up with a delightful little concoction known as "Cleveland Ale" which claimed to be from the lake district and full of natural flavor. It was full of flavor all right, terrible flavors created whilst it sat in the corner of the kitchen slowly going off. In fact it was only two weeks out of date, but when you consider the average shelf life of a bottle of beer is two years that is quite some feat. Anyway, I won't claim to be a huge drinker, but this ale tasted, for all intents and purposes like rams piss, and gave me a hangover after having just the one bottle. So in future children, when you crack open a bottle, check the date on the lid, and if its out tip it away, no matter what your friends say about finishing what you started. There is nothing cool about (out of date) alcohol.

So, as you managed to sit through all of that (I promise I will try to keep them shorter) I think you deserve a treat or two. The first video is a wonderfully choreographed dance number that never fails to put a smile on my face. You can't touch Vader.

I have a friend. Just the one mind. And he goes by the name of Tom Barter, and Tom Barter has a skill for finding new and unusual music on the interweb. No matter how hard I try I can't top the gems he unearths. Well in this case Tom, I think you have been served. Hey Ya!