Let Me Entertain You

And by “me” I mean, of course, Robbie Williams.

I know this is short notice but on Friday of this week (September 1st), ex-fat dancer from Take That Robbie Williams is strutting his not inconsiderable stuff at Hampden Park in Glasgow – the football stadium where we used to win games.

I’m attending the gig together with semi-close friends Bruce and Linda Clampett but – and here’s the really exciting bit – I have a spare ticket for sale if anyone’s interested. The cost is £50, the ticket is for a seat in the main stand and if you don’t want to sit beside me then I’m sure Bruce will be happy to swap and regale you with the story of how he beat me at golf recently.

With time a-pressin’ I will forgo the usual swimsuit parade section of the audition/ticket-selling process and we’ll just make it first come, first serve.

31/08/06 UPDATE: SOLD

Ladies. Form An Orderly Queue

Long ago in the olden days – the days before my computer died and I had to rebuild it all from scratch breaking a fingernail in the process and failing to retrieve my favourite funny video of the monkey who sticks his finger up his arse and then sniffs it and then falls over– I was going to try and post some photos of a recent family wedding attended by me and my kilt. However, after a series of comedic errors of comedy, my camera somehow found its way across the Atlantic to pursue a different career in the New World of opportunity. It’s currently mowing lawns in Connecticut for $2 an hour.

Undaunted by this setback, I returned to a life of idleness and daytime television and was quite happy with my lot until my sassy future-sister-in-law Kathryn got in touch with a solution.

Ring, ring.
Neil: “Uurrgghh”
Kathryn: “Neil, it’s Kathryn. ‘Sup dude?”
Neil: “Are you f#cking serious? How many bloody times have I told you to add five hours before you call from the States? You bloody Americans have NO consideration for anyone elsewhere in the world. Don’t you know what bloody time it is?”
Kathryn: “But it’s one in the afternoon here.”
Neil: “Oh.. eh.. right. Aw, sh#t, I’ve missed the ‘Friends’ omnibus. What do you want anyway?”
Kathryn: “That video of you dancing at the wedding is on you tube.”
Neil: “Who the hell are you calling a tube? And which programme is it on? America’s Most Wanted?”
Kathryn: “No Neili. It’s an internet thing called You Tube. I’ll send you an email with a link.”
Neil: “You’ll send me a whoseit with a whatcha now? Kathryn? Hello?
Click.

Anyway, apparently the whatcha below will take you to a place where a video of me dancing in a kilt will be played. Thankfully, the video is very short and very dark but if you view it closely 200 or so times, you’ll just be able to make out the unmistakable swirl of the tartan as I wow the English womenfolk with my white-man’s overbite and my slinky moves. If the dancing appears out of time with the music this will be because of the satellite delay between here and America. Oh and don’t read anything into the song title – it’s just a dance classic that I love from my days attending those dark underground clubs in the 80s.

This Is Very Cool...

…I wish I’d bloody thought of it.

http://www.wherethehellismatt.com/index.html

Two Become One

NO! Not in THAT way! What kind of sick mind would think that?

Yours Dave?

What I mean is that my room mate Hamish has gone. And I am all alone again. His grandparents came home yesterday from riding the Rocky Mountaineer (settle down Dave, it’s a train, not a ‘hunk in uniform’) so this morning after our daily ritual of me throwing a ball in a field while he runs into a tree, I packed up Hamish’s things and drove him to his new home. Neither of us said much during the journey. I think we were both a bit choked.

As soon as I got back home I discovered that the photos I’d taken of him had finally arrived in my in-box. So I’ve posted them below.

Things I’ll miss about Hamish…

1. His extensive range of regional accents.

2. Mealtimes. His chicken korma was to die for.

3. His pacifist stance on the whole Middle East debacle.

4. He used to do this thing where he’d lie on his back and drag both front paws over his ears to the point where they would cover his eyes. He’d lie like that for ages so while he counted to 100, I hid in the garden shed.

5. If I went into another room and shut the door behind me (you know the room I’m talking about) he would sit outside and make a low moaning sound that sounded exactly like Chewbacca. “It’s all right Hamish,” I’d shout reassuringly. “I’m not being lowered agonisingly into the carbon freezer – just taking a dump. And thank you but I don’t need one of your bags to pick it up.”

6. The way he took an instant dislike to the window cleaner this morning. “Are you trying to tell me you charge my mate Neil four f#cking pounds for five minutes work?” he seemed to be saying through all the growling and excessive saliva distribution. Incidentally, he also growled at a young yob in a Rangers strip yesterday. Pure class.


Things I won’t miss about Hamish…

… nope, can’t think of any. Even the requirement to hoover the carpets daily was a novelty.

Two Do Not Very Much At All

Neil: “So what do you want to do today Hamish?”
Hamish: “Dunno. Wha’chu wonna do?”
Neil: “Well for a start, I want you to stop talking in that Jamaican accent.”
Hamish: “Sorry mon, I was just trying sometang.”
Neil: “Well try something else. If you like, we could do a little… ahem… kittie-chasin’?”
Hamish: “Were you about to use another word for ‘kittie’ just there in the hope of a cheap comedy laugh?”
Neil: “Em yeah, I mean no. Or we could just avoid the showers and stay in to watch these fascinating reruns of 90s classic ‘Party of Five’ along with West Wing wannabe ‘Commander In Chief’?
Hamish: “Nah, I’m not sure that Geena Davis has the depth of acting to carry off being the President.”
Neil: “Well how about we go for a quick walk and then you have a nap while I spend the day frustrated because the photos I took of you on my phone never arrive in my in-box.”
Hamish: “Sounds good mon. Ain’t nuttin like a siesta in de afternoon.”
Neil: “ENOUGH!”

Two Go Down To The Sea

This fascinating story may be edited and updated later if the photos I took on my phone ever arrive in my in-box… stupid, f#cking, modern technology…

When the sun is up, there’s nothing A Boy And His Dog like more than taking a trip to the seaside. What fun it is to see the millions of tourists parking their People Carriers across TWO parking spaces before wandering aimlessly through town dribbling ice cream down their chins. The morons.

So after spending what seemed like several hours packing the car with tennis balls, soft toys, a rug, a quilt thing, some towels, a plastic sling thing to throw the tennis balls, chewy treats, a lead and the ever-popular pooper bags, Hamish and I finally set off this morning for the great Kingdom of Fife. Hamish was in fine fettle, looking forward to getting sand in every orifice and was non-stop chatty on the drive north.

Hamish: “Hey Neil.”
Neil: “What is it?”
Hamish: “Are we there yet?”
Neil: “I’ve just reversed out the bloody drive you muppet. I told you, it’s a one hour trip. So no farting, all right?”
Hamish: “Okay! Jeez, you fart in a new owner’s face once… Say, what’s your column about today in the Daily Record?”
Neil: “Oh very funny. Do you want to go on this bloody trip or not?”
Hamish: “Sorry, couldn’t resist. In all seriousness, I was genuinely sorry to hear you’d been dumped from two jobs within the space of a month. That’s gotta hurt.”
Neil: “As much as having your balls cut off?”
Hamish: “Touché mon amie. Anyway, what’s this music we’re listening to?”
Neil: “Glad you asked me about that. I bought it yesterday at the shops after…”
Hamish: “After abandoning me at home in the middle of the afternoon?”
Neil: “Yeah. Whatever. Anyway, I was in the record shop and this album was playing and I asked the guy who it was and he said it had just been released today; some Irish fellow called Fionn Regan and I said ‘well okay then I’ll take it’ and the album’s called End of History and it’s a beautiful collection of songs and voice and acoustic guitar and I’ll be recommending it to everyone and I bet my pal Sai in Barcelona knows him personally but the funny thing is, it’s been years since I’ve just bought something on the spur of the moment in a record shop after only one hearing. Weird huh?”
Hamish: “F#cking-A. Glad I asked.”

Short pause (paws?)

Hamish: “Neil?”
Neil: “What?”
Hamish: “Are we there yet?”

Two Go To Billycock Hill

If you’ve passed by this way before, you may remember that some time ago I was looking for a room mate. Ideally, the lucky lady would have been no stranger to a bikini and quite handy with a duster but as things turned out I couldn’t make up my mind between the hundreds of hopefuls that applied.

The search never ended however and after many months I have finally found someone with whom I can share my space and my love of constant snacking; someone who’s happy to let me be in control of the remote and who’s needs are minimal; someone, in short, who is the wind beneath my wings… or at the very least, the wind beneath my blanket.

Would you like to meet the lucky person…?

Are you sure…???

Okay, here it is then…

Scroll down a little bit more…

And meet…

HAMISH
(Apologies for the camera phone-quality pictures)

As you may have noticed, Hamish is a dog. To be a bit more specific, he is some type kind of collie. The type with a beard I think. His real owners are the Campbell family of Polmont, Falkirkshire who have selfishly gone on holiday to Bulgaria to drink themselves into a stupor. So for the next few days Hamish and I get to spend some quality time together.

Already today, we’ve enjoyed a long walk in the local country park and afterwards, we both had a right good scratch. Hamish loves to see his tennis ball get thrown across the fields but will then run in exactly the opposite direction to amuse himself with a twig instead. We didn’t meet many other people at the park so there was little incident to report. Although there was that one hairy moment when I fell down a well and Hamish had to run five miles to get help. Luckily, we can both laugh about it now. Ha, ha, ha.

As you can see below, we tucked into a hearty breakfast when we got home (The other bowl is mine. I’m a fast eater) and later today I can confidently predict that we’ll both enjoy an afternoon nap.

Tune in later this week for more adventures of A Boy And His Dog where we’ll no doubt foil some bad guys on a mystery island and still be home in time for cake and lashings of ginger beer.

And The Winner Is...

Last week I made the very rash promise that if anyone could tell me how to fix my computer I would ignore all restraining orders and come to their home to deliver a pizza as a show of gratitude for the pc-fixing advice. The suggestion that seemed to work best (for a while) came from my friend Andrew who said…

“For f#cks sake Edge. Where the f#ck is that f#cking golf report you promised me four f#cking weeks ago? Take a Dyson to your hard drive and get yer f#cking finger out. NOW!”

Later that evening - while Andrew was at his Tourette’s For Beginners class - I did as he suggested and everything seemed to be running smoother and sounding better. Next morning, the problems returned so I called a geeky guy whose ad I’d seen in a local directory. He turned up on Tuesday morning, tried a bit of tinkering, loaded a few disks, hummed and hawed a lot, did the hokey-cokey and then charged me £20 for the following stellar advice.

“I think your graphic card’s overheating which is causing your hard drive to freak out and shut down before it gets shafted in the showers as it’s bending down to pick up the soap,” he informed me as he snatched the money from my hands. “Then again, it might just be getting old and about to die for good. Have you backed up everything you need?”

“Yes, of course,” I lied, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

However, since yesterday, things seem to be running a bit better although I’m too scared to have the computer on for more than an hour at a time and keep expecting it to crash at any moment. I’ve even managed to do some of that fancy backing-up malarkey with those shiny cds and everything.

So Andrew, since your suggestion helped a bit, here is the stunning prize that’ll be winging its way to your flat/porn den in due course.

Now I know some of you are speculating that the combination of haggis and mozzarella cheese on a pizza may well be the most disgusting combination of flavours ever devised. And you know what? You are absolutely right. I had one last week and in the words of Monica’s Mom after she’s tasted Rachel’s Thanksgiving beef trifle (an episode I watched yesterday after my afternoon nap) IT DID NOT TASTE GOOD. But I’m sure you’ll love it Andy!

Oh, and I know some of you fine Americans have tasted and appreciated haggis but for the rest of you, let me just clarify that it is not a small animal that we hunt over here – hunting was banned several years ago so now they’re reared on specialist farms. And you thought the Discovery Channel was informative.