Friday, 29 August 2008


Once every six months or so I forget that what I really want in life is a respectable job, money and the ability to walk down a beach in swimming trunks unashamed when I'm fifty and I get another tattoo. Last night I went round this super friendly guy Liam's house and he outlined my new 'piece' (that's what you call them, you never, ever call them 'tats', it sounds retarded, but so does 'piece', so call them what you want I suppose). I always wait six months because it takes that long to forget that a) just before it starts I always get terrible anxiety about how this new tattoo will affect my life forever because it might change the way people view me or any potential future wives won't want their kids raised by a tattooed thug and I'll die poor and alone, b) getting a new tattoo always reminds me of my own mortality as I know this image will still be with me when I'm on my death bed, and then I just get thinking about how I've lived my life so far and I get a bit depressed and c) it FUCKING hurts, so, so, so fucking much, especially if it goes over a non-fleshy bit like this one did (it kind of goes onto my shin) and it's so close to being unbearable that I find myself planning unrelated excuses to leave, like pretending I just got a text saying my mother's died and running out. Anyway, Liam is colouring this in next week and doing an Elvis portrait on me as well, which will be cool. I am a retard and I wish I could grow up and spend my money more sensibly.

Sunday, 24 August 2008


... so I've spent pretty much the whole day arsing around different blogs, finding a bit of music here and there. For the most part, I've been searching for a song that I like and want to own, but can't be bothered to buy. Doing a Google search through 'Blogs' is really handy for this, and I've gotten hold of some good music as well as stumbled across a few really good blogs.

I've also come across a few horrors though, including this one which hosts more Coldplay recordings than I ever wanted to know existed. And more importantly, why do people say shit like this on the internet (in his Profile section):

"dr. Me? u may keeep discoverin all your life and still you may never ever know me... coz u were trying. not 'knowing', not 'feeling'. you see, im one of those loony people you see - you know the ones that roam around the planet as if they owned it. reach for the sky as if they had wings. the minute you try to hold them down, they just smile back and fly away. You think you'd clip their wings sometime... but they just break them off, patiently grow new ones and fly away again... to find their haven of faith in a world that chooses otherwise. Thats me. ... and if you look within, maybe, thats You too."

No, that is NOT me. I always walk down the street like I own it, but I have definitely never reached for the sky like I had wings and then flown off when someone tried to 'hold me down'. Seriously, all this anonymity gives the internet a bad name. The sooner we all know what each other's thinking, the better.

Until then, I'll take advantage of the situation to admit that I can't get enough of real shit music like this:

Real McCoy - Another Night

Hey DJ!

Years ago i used to always go up to DJs to find out thes track names and artists they were playing if i liked the music, then for some reason i got all coy and stopped.

Thankfully I've recently gotten over being so shy and as a result have been rewarded with some real treats:

Seidah Garrett - Do You Want It Right Now

I stole the upload from FUNXORS.blogspot, and it's got some pretty good music on it too, so check that out as well.

Also, Inner Life - I Like it Like That

There's a whole load of Inner Life stuff to download on this blog, I'd really recommend you do.

Friday, 22 August 2008

At work with Dylan

Dylan is on the team now, and he's got his own blog up too: Here he is at work with his peers:

Thursday, 21 August 2008

Stream of Consciousness

This pretty much follows straight on from my last post (below). I thought it would make me look really clever to reference Dostoyevsky like I read Russian literature all the time (I actually do a bit, but only because I’m a really slow reader and it takes me forever to finish even the shortest of short stories).

I bought Iggy Pop’s album The Idiot at the weekend and stumbled upon this blog which goes into really minute detail about why The Idiot is the best album ever. It’s quite good, but I’m not sure I’d go as far as to say that… Maybe I need to give it a few more listens. I was quite bored, so I flicked through some books and saw the below passage about laziness, which is actually in Notes from the Underground, but still quite good. I think when Dostoyevsky was writing this, he probably didn’t imagine his ideas could be taken to the next level on a highflying blog like this…

I also watched Control on the same day, and saw Ian Curtis listening to The Idiot before he hanged himself, so it felt like through all this cross-referencing my whole life was really coming together. I’d hoped that in writing this blog post that all these different ideas would come together to form one big punchline like at the end of a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode, but it doesn’t really seem to have happened has it?

Infinity Explained

Laziness is a pretty weird concept. Sometimes being lazy takes such commendable dedication and commitment, that it’s actually not lazy anymore. For example, Lying in bed all day watching TV? That is lazy. Lying in bed all day with slippers on? Yeah, that’s pretty lazy.

However, if you really feel like pushing the envelope you could buy one of these ‘Big Slippers’ for £60.

I can’t get my head around the idea of buying a slipper that’s so big you put BOTH feet into it. I mean, that is definitely such a dedication to laziness that it’s gone full circle and you’re no longer lazy. If you need to take a piss, you’d need to go through all the toil of bending down, unleashing your sweltering feet, and then gamboling to the toilet (on a cold floor) and losing all the benefits you’ve just gained.

This is such a perfect example of things going full circle that I should try to sell it to schools for when they try to explain infinity in GCSE maths, like when you draw a graph of the tan 90 curve and it goes so far upwards that it ends up coming up from underneath over the other side of 90.

The only other benefit I can see to these is buying two and leaving them in your living room at night in the hope that any burglar is going to shit themselves at realization that they’ve broken into the house of a fucking giant.

Wednesday, 20 August 2008

Ghost Story

Further to the ghost post earlier this month, this is my buddy George relating a horrifying tale as we stalk the paths of Brompton Cemetery:

This kind of story is standard for him because he's from an old family who know a load of old families who all live in old houses that all have had chamber maids die in the attic or disabled children that have been locked in towers or ancestors that have stolen land from gypsies etc. He literally has hundreds of these tales.


This is kind of late, but in March I went on a tour round America with my housemate's band. I had a whale of a time but it only hammered home how English, pale and awkward people involved in guitar music often are. We tried to shotgun beers in our hotel room in LA, it was so, so lame. This is my housemate's manager's boyfriend giving it the old college try.

Weak huh? We got fucking sunburnt too, me and him did merch at the Roxy for this showcase of English bands and this hot girl approached us and we thought we were in but all she did was offer us some aftersun lotion.

Brompton Cemetery

I've ended up in Brompton Cemetery in Chelsea twice in the last month. Maybe I'm drawn to both the fetid stench of death and the fetid stench of wealth.

I bet the funeral for the person buried here wasn't one of those 'no one's allowed to wear black and there's a great party afterwards' type affairs. It was probably raining and people were really upset and angry, but in a stiff-upper lipped, Victorian way.

Squirrel on a grave.

Crow on a grave.

There were also crypts you could see into with cracked wooden coffins gathering dust in them. For some reason I didn't take a photos of any of them, but next time I will. Also I'm going to get a camera which isn't attached to a phone.

Tuesday, 19 August 2008


I went to Edinburgh last week for work. I went with my (our) friend Dylan, we demonstrated a computer game to spotty teens and precocious children for eleven hours each day and stayed in a Comfort Inn room that only had a double bed and a sofa in it each night. I got the sofa because the airline lost Dylan's bag so he had to wear the same underwear for three days, he was in such a mood that if I'd put up a fight about the bed he would have left and taken the weed with him.

This is the full photo essay from my mobile phone.

Edinburgh Castle is an impressive looking thing, we didn't get to look round it though, because we had to spend all our time in a convention centre. Some people came from as far as Canada to see this fucking game, they had no interest in the city around them.

Scottish people love this shit. It's like Lucozade I guess but maybe I'm only saying that because they're both orange. It's weird that a country could be so into one particular soft drink, I suppose that's because it's from there originally, but imagine if the Welsh were all really into Sprite?

The whole city was made out of the same type of stone, it all looked grim, in the black metal sense of that word. I really wanted to go on a ghost tour but we never got it together because we smoked weed in our hotel room til late every night and were too tired to get anything together.

If you set the fire alarms off you got in a lot of trouble, so we were careful to smoke out of the air vent by the shower. We got pretty high every night. On two occasions Dylan fell asleep in all his clothes, which was bad as he had to wear them all the time anyway because of EasyJet being a cunt. We listened to loads of Black Metal and we had two DVDs with us, Freddy Got Fingered and Grudge 2, I heartily recommend them both.

This was the view from our shitty hotel. It takes your breath away huh? On the second last night we tried to get up there but there were too many fences to get very far. The fresh air really cleansed our mental palates of the video game though. We got stoned out there and then all these flares went off in the woods, Dylan thought people must be in distress but I was off the opinion that it was locals trying to light up the sky so they could find us and shoot us for trespassing/being English. I talk a big game about being from the countryside but it actually scares me a little.

It seemed like everyone in Scotland was as old, ugly and fat as the bloke you can see here. That's probably not true but I sure didn't see that many babes.

Loo cleaner, matches, semi-pornographic magazine, weed, half-eaten fruit.

Dylan in full white wizard/necro regalia. When he comes out the shower he wears his towel really high, sometimes only about an inch below his nipples.

This girl was at the computer games convention trying to get laid. Fuck. There was also a girl with only one hand who operated the controllers with her stump. I really wanted to see how she did it so I followed her to each different console stand, then she came to mine and I did a really good job of not staring when she had a go on my controllers and I think she appreciated that, which made me feel guilty as I'd been following her about.

Everyone who worked on our stand fucking hates computer games, and all these geeks thought we were so cool cos we worked there, and wanted to know how to get our jobs. Our jobs are dumb.

On the last day we wandered around town and there was a Scientologist jive band playing in some square or other. I don't get it, it doesn't make sense.

When I

hear this song:

Ginuwine - Pony (Right-Click to Save)

I feel as excited as this kid:

Except in more of a:

kind of way.

Guilty (Rap) Pleasure Du Jour

I've had this in my head all day. Pretty tough to sing along to without sounding like you're taking the piss out of disabled people.

Fleetwood Mac

If you ever actually paid attention to the links down the side you would probably know this already, but this really is too good to miss, so I thought I’d flag it up.

the21gunsalute is one of my favourite and most checked blogs, mostly cos they upload pretty good music quite consistently, and in fact that’s where I get most of my music from. They’ve gone one better recently and uploaded a whole Fleetwood Mac documentary about ‘Tusk’ which includes a large number of images of drug use like this:


Monday, 18 August 2008


Techno Techno Techno

What the hell is up with Cyberdog? Are there really that many people in the world who want to live their life like Mad Max?

Why has it not closed down? Maybe someone should tell whoever is buying these terrible post-'New World Order' clothes that the nuclear apocalypse is not just around the corner. The Cold War is o.v.e.r.

And If the bomb drops there's no amount of mingey dreadlocks, orange combat trousers or furry boots that can save them.

Friday, 15 August 2008


Come on now, you've already convinced everyone in football and Formula 1 that you're massive racists and now you're using the Olympics as an opportunity to show that these questionable morals extend to tennis...

(Spain's Olympic tennis team)

and basketball.

Thursday, 14 August 2008

My Proudest Creation of the Last 2 Months

I made this for my boy Prancehall's party. Pretty good work I think. Check him out at:

Tuesday, 12 August 2008

Premier League Darts

Where's this at the Beijing Olympics? I would love to have seen an important Chinese politician putting medals around the necks of 3 sweaty and morbidly obese men that smell of fags and lager.
Probably still wouldn't get up at 3am to watch though.

hello buddies!

Thursday, 7 August 2008


You are literally wasting your life if you are drinking any soft drinks that are not made by San Pellegrino. The Lime flavoured ones are my favourite, but they've also got lemonade and orangeade on total LOCK DOWN. From when you first rip off the foil top to the can, you know you're getting quality.

Wednesday, 6 August 2008


I kind of believe in ghosts. There's varying degrees of belief obviously, from thinking you saw one, to consulting mediums, to levitating and speaking in tongues. I'm at the 'embarrassing superstition I'm ashamed of' end of the spectrum. What I mean is, I know I shouldn't believe in them, every rational part of me says it's all a load of rubbish created for Living TV, but when I stay in a big creeky house I usually sleep with the lights on and if I go for a piss in the night I try not to look too hard into the darkness along the corridor and sprint back to bed super-fast after I've done my business. My girlfriend is the same and recently I think we've been making each other worse, plus she loves to smoke weed and that's been increasing prang tenfold...

Those of you who know me know I am a lazy cunt, but no one could accuse me of not being proactive about developing my neurosises and superstitions. Ever since I was a kid I've sought out sensationalist books about the supernatural, there was a book in my prep school library called Ghosts and Demons which had a painting of a banshee so harrowingly scary I used to have to dare myself to look at it, and it would fucking scare me every time. When the internet came along properly I scoured it for footage, photos and stories -evidence really- and still do that about once a month to this day. Usually I do this late at night when I'm on my own in my flat, I love to psyche myself out. For me it is less about factual proof and more about a sense of the uncanny, I like fear. One of my favourite things to do is download some EVP (Electronic Voice Phenomena) -which is supposed to be recordings of ghost's voices- and scare the fucking shit out of myself. Remember that Smiths track that begins with a woman saying 'you are sleeping, you do not want to believe'? That's off some record of EVP that Morrissey loves, now when you hear it you'll be scared because that's supposed to be the voice of a fucking GHOST and it's in your room coming out of your stereo.

Poltergeist shit is scary too, I love this video cos you can hear how fucking scared the guy filming is. I try really hard not to believe in shit like this but it's more exciting if you just imagine that it is real and what it would feel like if you were there.

Finally, this documentary has footage that shits me right up when I'm hanging out on my own, if I found out for certain it was a hoax I think I'd be quite upset:

Tomorrow I'll blog about my first period and how Emma from the year below is nice but I think she's always trying to copy my style. This and Weezer post have been pretty fifteen year old girl-ish I know, sorry fellas.

Sunday, 3 August 2008

Political Apathy

If there has been a political heyday in living memory, where people actually gave a shit about politics, it has to be John Major's era of Sleaze in the 90s. From David Mellor having sex in a Chelsea shirt,

And lurid stories of Ron Davies' getting himself mugged whilst cruising on Clapham Common (and afterwards claiming he was looking for badgers)

There has never been such public interest in the Government. Now however, I think most people would struggle to name a single member of the cabinet. In fact, these days there's such a shortage of Ministers fingering their secretaries that the nation has been reduced to making up public figures of interest, culminating with the recent prying through Max Mosely's sordid little lunch hours.

Compare this to Europe, where we've got Silvio Berlusconi. I couldn't imagine Gordon Brown giving the 'Rumpy-Pumpy' gesture to seomeone outside Number 10...

Or imagine him saying all the women in the opposition are ugly. But that's exactly what I want.

I think the only hope for Britain to become Great again is for The Queen, Charles and William all to become involved in a terrifying asphyxi-wank suicide pact, leaving Harry to become King and get the tabloids up and running again. More newspaper sales = more advertising = more spending on the High Street = Britain strong once more.

Give a little bit

Quite right, the happy-go-lucky tarts who present these Bullshit Phone-in competetitions have been all 'Take, Take, Take' for too long.

I'm with this guy; if I'm spending £2 per minute on a phone call I want a little more than just 'a chance of winning a Nintendo DS'. I want the girl in the studio to actually leave her job immediately, take a cheuffeur driven limo to my house (however far away it is), come into my house and give me some Head.

Or at least to look like a completely broken soul when I ask her this.

Friday, 1 August 2008

Something else that can fuck itself

Remember when mobile phone companies had an arms race about size of phones and it got really stupid and they got as if not more inpractical as the really big phones? Now they seem to be doing this with memory sticks, I just got issued with these tiny little turds:

Any woman will tell you small is not always desirable, and that's the case with these useless 'Sony MicroVault Tiny' things I'm supposed to store my bullshit 'work' on. Firstly, they don't really work in all computers because they've removed the metal bits that usually go around the connection points or whatever so it's touch and go whether or not connection points even connect to the ones in the computer cos it sort of wobbles a bit instead of sturdily being held in place by a bit of metal. Secondly, they are so small you lose them on your desk about 18 times a day. Thirdly, they have nothing to attach themselves to a keyring or anything like that, they just come in this gay little holster (see below), which in turn is only attached to a bit of springy rubber that is attached to a tiny piece of string. But the fucking things are bound to fall out of the holster, the holster is bound to split cos it's only may of shit plastic, the rubber springy bit is bound to snap and the string is bound to perish. This product is shit and makes my day that little bit longer, duller and more frustrating. I have ten days left thank fuck.

Guess what can go fuck it's self...

Yes, plastic inner sleeves can go fuck them selves! If i get home from the pub and want to listen to Ice Cream - I DO NOT want to fiddle about with crinkly plastic sheaths. Who thought these were a good idea? I will tell you who - total dick heads. It is such a pain trying to get these in without creasing them up - paper doesnt do that - does it now.