That Nipple Crucifixion’s Gotta Hurt

After a day of “working from home” in the company of his 33-month pregnant wife who’s finally commenced maternity leave, my pal Bruce was keen to get out the house last night and enjoy the delights of Bargain Tuesday at the local cinema. These included reduced price admission tickets and the biggest, f#ck-off helping of nachos and jalapenos I’ve ever seen. I, on the other hand, settled for Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream. Fascinating eh?

Anyway, we went to see The Last King Of Scotland which was excellent despite suffering from the biggest plot calamity ever seen in movie history. Ever.

Imagine… you’re a young, virile Scottish male (is there any other type?) newly qualified as a doctor and just arrived in Africa to do good and help others whilst sporting a wide variety of big-collared 70s shirts. After establishing yourself at a medical outpost in the middle of nowhere you are presented with the choice of…

a) Being handpicked as the personal physician to the President of Uganda with a spanking new Mercedes, palatial accommodation, running water, bountiful food and ready “access” to the most beautiful of the President’s wives…

OR

b) staying in the bush with Gillian Anderson.

It’s a no-brainer right? But before you can say this-is-my-Ewan-McGregor-smile, the doc’s up and gone to the bright lights and the big city. The f#ckwit.

So THAT'S What The Hole's For?

It may be due to the after shock and stupefying numbness of finally completing my tax return (“Tax doesn’t have to be taxing” my f#cking arse!) but I only have one pitiful little issue on my mind this week… aside from ensuring that I get out on the golf course before going back to work on Monday.

Why does a bagel have a hole in the middle?

The manual dexterity required to correctly apply butter and Philadelphia (Light) Cheese after toasting without the rapidly melting concoction disappearing down the useless f#cking hole must be limited to only the finest neuro and plastic surgeons in all the land.

The answer, of course, will be something boring to do with ensuring the manufacturing (boiling?) process is most effective but how good would a holeless bagel be. Okay, so your occasional games of hoop-la to spice up things in the bedroom might be curtailed somewhat but think of all the extra filling you would enjoy.

And as we teeter on the edge of the Julian Clary abyss, I think we’ll just leave it there...

Something For The Weekend 3

So, have you had a tough week at work? Stressed out and looking for something to blow a warm summer breeze through the jasmine in your minds? Well fear not pop-pickin’ dudes ‘cause in our ongoing mission to get my pal Dave some quality culture, I have a musical recommendation this week that’s gonna blow your frickin’ minds. Man.

I really only discovered these guys a couple of weeks ago when I was flicking through my TV channels trying to avoid the onslaught of programming about how Jade and her mother are responsible for global warming as well as dragging us into an unpopular war in Iraq. By chance, I stumbled across a fascinating documentary on BBC4 called something like “California Dreaming – Jasmine Blowin’ Mind Music And All That Other Good Stuff” and the very next day I was on a mission to find the album which featured most prominently in the programme. It finally arrived from Amazon on Monday and not a moment too soon because I have been like, so totally dying with the flu this week and the beautiful, groovy music has helped soothe my ravaged body and mind. Seriously, I’ve been so ill that I even had to resort to smoking Silk Cut.

So here it is then… one of those breathtaking he-really-does-have-his-finger-on-the-pulse moments… the album in question is “Crosby, Stills & Nash” by.. um .. Crosby, Stills & Nash. No, seriously. Had you asked me about them a month ago I would’ve ventured something about hippies and Woodstock but that would’ve been it. I had no idea, for example, that David Crosby was once a member of The Byrds. Or that Graham Nash was in the Hollies. Or that he was even British. Or that Woodstock was only the second time the three of them played live together. Awesome. Dude.

Some of you (Donald particularly) might be speculating that I’ve been hitting the Lem-Sip Max Strength a little too hard this week but I’m quite sincere about this. Forget your angsty Blunts and Morrisons and Nutinis; this is a classic album of perfect songwriting, timeless acoustic guitar-playing and simply gorgeous harmonies. Track it down today (or email me and I’ll copy it for you) and then peace the f#ck out. Oh, and maximum listening pleasure can be realised whilst lying back in a large bubble bath of lavender and thyme with a nice glass of merlot in one hand and a sudoku puzzle in the other. I would imagine.

Just Have To Say...

… Rocky Balboa.

Completely and utterly like, so totally brilliant.

Fighters fight, so let’s start building some hurtin’ bombs ‘cause the only respect that matters is self-respect so he gotta go out the way he gotta go out and it ain’t never over ‘till it’s over.

Yo Adrian, he did it!

What, No Charlie Sheen?

Tuesday nights seem to be fast turning into Go To The Movies With A Close Male Friend, Who’s ‘Close’ Only In That Manly, ‘Best Bud’ Type Of Way, If You Know What I Mean Night. Last week it was ‘Apocalypto’ with the jalapeno-belching Bruce and last night I had a somewhat less pungent cinema experience when I went to see a special preview screening of ‘Bobby’ with my pal Andy.

Andy was very enthusiastic when I told him about the screening but in his excitement, he misheard my explanation of the evening and turned up in full tuxedo and black tie expecting to rub shoulders (and other body parts) with the likes of Sharon Stone and Demi Moore at a premiere. Luckily for him, I’d decided to give another outing to the slinky backless number I sported at the Golden Globes last week so he didn’t look too out of place.

Written and directed by brat-packin, breakfast-clubbin’, young-gunnin’, mighty-duckin’ Emilio Estevez, ‘Bobby’ is the story of the assassination of U.S. Senator Robert Kennedy, on June 6th, 1968, and centres around 22 people who were at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles where he was killed. There are endless scenes of people having arguments, making up, talking about the past, looking towards the future and the film sure has a lot of things to say for itself about war, hope, peace, love, baseball and relationships with God via LSD… although what any of these things are, I’m not too sure. (War – bad, Baseball – good, presumably?)

The film just kinda drifted along and left Andy and I pretty thankful that we hadn’t had to pay to see it. Not rubbish, not outstanding but interesting from a spot-the-star perspective if nothing else.

Best Bits: Sharon Stone and Demi Moore really are excellent (and not just because one spends a fair amount of time brushing the other’s hair) as is Freddy Rodriguez – so good in ‘Six Feet Under’ – who plays kitchen hand José.

Worst Bit: A world where Pacey Witter heads up a Presidential campaign just doesn’t ring quite true.

Oh, and I don’t think I’m giving too much of the plot away (Hammy!) when I tell you that the Senator gets shot in the end.

Manly Stuff

As a small thanks for all of the good cultural learnin’ he’s been getting lately, my pal Dave sent me this last week. (No.13 is the best feeling ever!)

Things that make blokes proud of themselves... GRRR!!!

1. OPENING JARS – She’s struggling. You take it from her hands, open it effortlessly and pretend she loosened it for you. She didn’t. Jars are men’s work.

2. CALLING SOMEONE ‘SON’ – Especially policemen but even saying it to kids makes you the man.

3. DOING A PROPER SLIDE TACKLE – Beckham free kicks are camp. A Stuart Pearce tackle is the pinnacle of the game, simultaneously winning the ball and crippling the man. Magic.

4. SHARPENING A PENCIL WITH A STANLEY KNIFE – “Blunt, is it? Hand it here love. No, I don't need a sharpener, I've got a knife thanks!”

5. GOING TO THE TIP – A manly act which combines driving, lifting and as you thrillingly drop your rubbish into another huge pile of other rubbish, noisy destruction.

6. DRINKING UP – Specifically, rising from the table, slinging your coat on and downing two thirds of a pint in one fluid movement. Then nodding towards the door, saying, “Let’s go” and striding out while everyone else struggles to catch up with you. You're hard.

7. HAVING A THIN BIT OF WOOD – in the shed, solely to stir paint with.

8. HAVING A SCAR – Ideally it’ll be a facial knife wound, but even an iron burn on the wrist is good. “Ooh, did it hurt?” “Nah.”

9. HAVING A HANGOVER AND THICK STUBBLE – When burdz have been partying they just whinge. You, on the other hand, have physical evidence of your hardness sprouting from your face. “Big night?” “Grrr, what does it look like?”

10. NODDING AT COPPERS – A moment's eye contact is all it takes for you to share the unspoken bond. “We've not seen eye to eye in the past,” it says, “but someone’s got to keep the little scrotes in line”.

11. USING POWER TOOLS – Slightly more powerful than you need or can safely handle. Pneumatic drilling? Superb.

12. KICKING A FOOTY AGAINST A GARAGE DOOR – Clang-g-g-g-g-g! Stick that Becks. I kick so hard I set off car alarms.

13. ARRIVING IN A PUB LATE – And everyone cheers you. It doesn’t mean you’re popular, it just means your mates are pissed. However, the rest of the pub doesn’t know that.

14. NOT WATCHING YOUR WEIGHT – Fat is a feminist issue, apparently. Brilliant. Pass the pork scratchings.

15. CARVING THE ROAST – And saying “Are you a leg or breast man?” to the blokes and “Do you want stuffing?” to the women. Congratulations, you are now your dad.

16. WINKING – Turns women to putty. Doesn't it?

17. TEST-SWINGING HAMMERS – Ideally, B&Q would have little changing rooms with mirrors so you could see how rugged you look with any DIY item. Until then, we'll make do with the aisles.

18. TAKING OUT £500 FROM THE ATM – Okay, so it's for paying the plumber later but with that much cash you feel like Tony Soprano. The only thing better is peeling notes off the roll later.

19. PHONE CALLS THAT LAST LESS THAN A MINUTE – Unlike burdz, we get straight to the point. “Alright? Yep. Drink? Red Lion? George, it is then. Seven? See ya.”

20. PARALLEL PARKING – Bosh, straight in. First time. Can Schumacher do that? No, because his cars got no reverse gear which, technically, makes you the world's best driver.

21. HAVING EARNED THAT PINT – Since the dawn of time, men have toiled in the fields in blistering heat. Why? So when it's over we can stand there in silence, surveying our work with one hand resting on the beer gut while the other nurses a foaming jug of ale. Aaaah.

22. HAVING SOMETHING PROPERLY WRONG WITH YOU – Especially if you didn’t make a fuss. “Why was I off? Nothing much… small brain haemorrhage”.

23. KNOWING WHICH SCREWDRIVER IS WHICH – “A Phillips? For that? Are you mad, bint?”

24. TAKING A NEWSPAPER INTO THE LOO - A visual code that says “That's right. I’m going in there for a huge, long, man-sized poo.”

Something For The Weekend 2

Continuing our regular quest to get my pal Dave some right good learnin’, we’re turning our cultural spotlight this week on to the world of movies. On Tuesday morning, my friend and neighbour Bruce sent me a text message which read something like…

“Wot u doin 2nite? Linda having burdz round so have need for 2 escape.”

After correcting his spelling and grammar, I suggested that perhaps we could go to the cinema. Bruce got quite excited at this prospect, not least because the last time we ventured to the movies we saw “A History Of Violence” and the gratuitous full frontal shot of Maria Bello sent his popcorn flying 10 rows forward. (In case you’re wondering, Maria has currently pushed herself into my top 5 and is wrestling tooth and nail in a big bath of mud with Gillian Anderson for the No.1 spot. I KNOW! I couldn’t believe it either!)

That may well be the last time Bruce actually went to the cinema because wife Linda has been pregnant now for some 33 months and I think he gets a bit embarrassed trying to squeeze her into the seats. Not to mention her fondness for thunderous farting without warning. (Actually, I should watch what I’m saying here because since I was Best Man at their wedding, I’m obviously first in line to be Godfather to their strapping young 3 year-old when he eventually arrives and I don’t want to jeopardise the chance of doing my Marlon Brando impression with marshmallows in my cheeks. “Fluffy bunnies…”)

Anyway, we decided we would go and see Mel Gibson’s latest, “Lethal Weapon IX Mullets Unleashed” but it was sold out so chose instead to see his most recent directorial effort, “Apocalypto”. While Bruce rushed off to stock up on popcorn and nachos with extra jalapenos, I started queuing for the tickets and was slightly distressed to note that the film was 2 hours, 20 minutes long. For a split second, it crossed my mind to just buy tickets for “The Last King Of Scotland” (starring GILLIAN ANDERSON!) because I knew Bruce would never know the difference. But I relented when I noticed how little clothing the actresses seemed to be wearing in the “Apocalypto” posters and was hopeful of seeing Bruce do his trick with the popcorn again.

To cut to the chase then (if indeed you’re still reading this out there Dave?) “Apocalypto” was brilliant and Bruce and I couldn’t believe that so much time had passed when it ended. Without giving away much of the plot (Hammy!), the film is set in the dying days of the Mayan civilisation in pre-Colombian America (i.e. the time before Peter Falk) where the village of a young hunter, Jaguar Paw, is raided and destroyed by bad ass Zero Wolf from the big city. Jaguar Paw and his pals Curl Nose and Blunted are captured and transported to the big city where they’re to be sacrificed but JP escapes and races backs to try and save his heavily pregnant wife Seven and his son Turtles Run from their hiding place, with Zero Wolf in hot pursuit.

The film is relentless, jaw-dropping, edge-of-your-seat stuff and has all of the usual Mel Gibson touches; the slow motion action sequences, buckets of blood and gore and subtitles to help you out with the ancient language, although I thought the scene where Jaguar Paw unleashes a drunken, anti-Semitic tirade on a mild-mannered traffic cop was a little out of place. That aside, I was gripped throughout and even Bruce’s constant belching – “these jalapenos are a right b#stard, but at least I’ll give Linda a run for her money in the farting stakes tonight” – couldn’t distract me from the action.

So Dave, I heartily recommend you take your lady friend to see “Apocalypto” this weekend. She may balk at some of the gorier scenes but one day when you’re married and sitting around wondering how to make a baby, it may help you out. Bruce has been desperately searching for a name for his forthcoming child and was so impressed with the villagers’ rituals that he’s decided to adopt the same method of name-choosing. Let’s just hope that the first thing he sees after the baby’s born is not Two Dogs F#cking.

Snow Is Here!

So all that Al Gore scaremongering about so-called global warming was a load of b#llocks then. What a great day to be unemployed… I’m going sledging!

Even Better If She Turns Into A Pizza Afterwards

I’ve finally figured out why I’ve been unemployed for so long... I keep getting asked the same think-outside-the-box-moral-dilemma question at interviews and I’ve just realised that my innovative solution isn’t going down too well with the questioners. How would you answer the following conundrum I wonder?

You’re driving down the road in your car on a wild, stormy night, when you pass by a bus stop and see three people waiting for a bus:

1. An old lady who looks as if she’s about to die.
2. An old friend who once saved your life.
3. The perfect partner you’ve been dreaming about all your life.

You can only fit one passenger in your small car so which one would you offer a ride to?

You could pick up the old lady because she’s going to die thus saving her first. Or you could take the old friend because he once saved your life and this would be the perfect chance to pay him back. However, you may never be able to find your perfect mate again.

Having researched the correct answer on the internet I now appreciate that I would’ve gained more during the interviews by giving up my stubborn, outdated thought limitations and answering, “I would hand the car keys to my old friend and let him take the old lady to the hospital. I would then stay behind and wait for the bus with the partner of my dreams.”

Instead of which I’ve been banging on about running down the old lady to put her out of her misery, followed immediately by sex with the perfect partner on the bonnet of my car and then driving off with the old friend for a few beers. DOH!

There Are Children Here, I Can Smell Them

Two years ago today, my brother Stuart (the internet genius who is STILL available for all manner of freelance website work so he can afford passage for himself and his eldest son on a cargo ship to the New World to attend the wedding of our other brother in Texas at the end of March) created this blog for me and regular readers will be well aware that it hasn’t changed one bit since. That’s because I have no clue what he did to bring it all together and am scared sh#tless about messing with anything in case it all goes t#ts up.

For example, now that Bob Geldof and Bill Gates have solved all the world’s poverty problems, I’d quite like to remove that little banner in the top right hand corner which is just SOOO 2005. I’d also quite like to get that photograph at the top fixed since my original blueprint for the blog demanded that the PHOTO should age, whilst I remain forever 39. Whilst Stuart aims to correct matters by wrestling with the troublesome problems associated with folding time and space, I have another predicament about which I’d like some constructive advice.

Every time I go to the Blogger website to log on now, I’m confronted with a barrage of messages advising me to change to some new version of Blogger. The messages are filled with confusing doubletalk like ‘drag-and-drop template editing’, ‘privacy controls’ and ‘new post labels’, although the one offering ‘more feed options’ got my heart racing a little faster. They also state that if I go along with this undoubted scam, my account will be converted seamlessly into a Google Account.

Now I don’t know about you but all of this just makes me think that I’m being seduced by the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang – “Come along kiddie-winkies, I have lollypops” – so since I’m only two years old here, I need somebody to tell me what to do.

Has anyone undergone this ‘conversion’? Is it any good? Is it easy to do? Will the content and layout really not change? Will I have to wear a red piece of string round my wrist and go to church with Tom Cruise? Does Google really have lollypops? Are you able to talk freely about it or are did you end up getting chained to a rock in the damp caverns beneath the fairytale castle?

Any and all helpful advice gratefully received.

Something For The Weekend 1

Last Friday in the pub, my pal Dave approached me, swaying slightly from the powerful after effects of having quaffed TWO WHOLE BOTTLES of Miller Genuine Draft (“Easy there Tiger!”) and said something along the lines of, “Hey Edge! What the f#ck are you doing with all that spare time? There’s been nothin' on that blog for two f#ckin' weeks now and it’s doin’ ma head in. Geddout yer pit and review somethin' for me cos I’m f#ckin' wallowin’ in a black sea of cultural nothinness here and I need you to be tellin’ me what to think. Music, gigs, pizza, whatever… just get me summa that good learnin’.”

At this point I should say that Dave is a very polite young man and rarely peppers his sparkling conversation with such profane cussin’; I just added it here to make him sound (and feel) like one of the guys and also because I promised not to mention his tendency to execute an excitable little gay handclap during moments of high stress. Judging by the email I received from him yesterday morning, things seem to be heading along the right track.

From: poochieman@bestemployerinScotlandforgays.co.uk
To: neil@neilwritestheworld.com
Subject: Meme....
Date: Thu, 11 Jan 2007 09:02:18

I have spent the morning reading your blog. I am proud of this fact. I prefer ones like this which actually make me think and have some big words within them as I look like I'm concentrating real hard and doing some impressive work – “contrivance PSP”....what??

I am defo more Han than Luke as I'm always stroking my Wookie. Tremendous. (Can you hear the distinctive handclap in the background?)

Anyway, 2 blog updates in quick succession. You must be spent. Take it easy over the next few days and I'll see you soon Captain Edge.

Cheers, Pooch

All of this got me to thinking that perhaps I should utilise my time in between Starbucks and napping to broaden at least one young man’s cultural horizons. Henceforth, I shall be dedicating each and every Friday to getting Dave the good learnin’ he desires with music recommendations, movie reviews, literary appraisals, perhaps a recipe or two and more frequent use of big words such as ‘henceforth’.

In Dave’s honour then, we’re going to start today with something short, sweet and simple; some extra curricula reading to be exact by way of a blog recommendation.

http://kenlevine.blogspot.com/ "The world as seen by a TV comedy writer."

I first discovered Ken’s blog last year through Gordon’s site and it’s kept me thoroughly entertained ever since, always very funny with regular laugh-out-loud-whilst-spraying-screen-with-hot-tea-gushing-from-nose moments. In a career that’s spanned over 30 years Ken has worked on shows such as THE SIMPSONS, CHEERS, FRASIER, MASH, EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND, BECKER, DHARMA & GREG and WINGS and his behind-the-scenes recollections of these shows, together with his observations about contemporary television, are fascinating.

Dave – Hopefully you can access this at work but if not, it’s worth tracking down when you get home from your leisure time in the office. I know you were just a wee baby dressed up in a bright pink frock because your parents really wanted a girl when some of these shows first aired, but I hope you enjoy reading about them (and others) as much as I do and that it inspires you to spend more time watching Paramount Comedy rather than playing with that filthy PSP contrivance.

And finally, if you’re new here and wondering why Dave calls me ‘Edge’, you can find an explanation by clicking on these nice green words that are underlined.

One Time Only

Okay, hands up if you know what ‘tagging’ is? Or a ‘Meme’? Anyone? And no, I’m not talking to you blog people sitting down the front with your arms thrust impatiently in the air. I mean you people at the back… yes YOU boy, pretending to work but having a scratch with one hand and sipping your coffee with the other. Any ideas? No, I thought not. Honestly, if you spent as much time paying attention as you do playing with that filthy PSP-DS contrivance you’d have a chance of amounting to something more than a hill of beans in this crazy world. Now sit up straight and see me after class. And wear your gym gear.

So, a ‘Meme’ (pronounced – depending on who you talk to – either like ‘dream’ or ‘mem’ from ‘mem-ory’; although whenever I see it on a blog it sounds to me like ‘MEEEEEE MEEEEEE’) seems to be a kind of questionnaire of sorts designed to elicit the subject’s personal preferences and opinions on all manner of fun topics and in so doing will reveal previously unseen layers of their personality hidden away deep in the deepest depths of their unique and distinctive individuality. You know, stuff like…

What colour are you most like?
How do you like your eggs?
What’s your favourite breed of cat?
What songs do you like to crap/give birth to?
What 80s movie are you?
Chocolate or Vanilla?
Costa or Starbucks?
Han or Luke?
Lennon or McCartney?
Kylie or Danni?
Shampoo AND Conditioner?
When selecting a Post Editor Upgrade for your weekly blog redesign, do you advocate the Plug In-based models or is the old school Meta Beta Movable HTML Textile RSS Pingback Type more up your street?

Often, readers will stumble across a Meme on a blog and get very excited to the point where they just have to replicate it on their own blog and will leave a comment along the lines of, “I am so totally going to steal this.”

At this point, a word of warning: The use of the words ‘so’ and ‘totally’ is compulsory on the internet and their omission will lead to a violent and unannounced visit from the Blog Police. “There’s no place to run punk, so step away from the keyboard. Grab his mouse Frank. And frisk him for hidden Blackberrys while you’re at it.”

But not content with letting readers get excited all by themselves when they discover a Meme, some helpful Meme enthusiasts will force the issue by ‘tagging’ other blog people into following suit in the safe and secure knowledge that to shun such a privileged invitation will also ensure a friendly visit from the Blog Police.

The scurrilous use of tagging on the internet always makes me think of those chain emails which promise to make all your wishes come true PLUS a $15,000 gift from Microsoft – “Honest!” - as long as you forward the email to twenty friends within the next five minutes otherwise a plague of locusts will steal your first born in the middle of night and your crops will fail for the next seven years. Do these people think I’m stupid or what? I mean, who in their right mind has twenty friends?

Anyway, for the past two years I’ve successfully managed to avoid being tagged (probably because of my apathetic attitude towards using ‘so’ and ‘totally’) but last week Lesley decided to overlook my shortcomings and tagged me with the Meme…

are you ready for this?...

sure?...

Five Things About Me

Now I’m guessing here that what she actually meant was “Five Things About Me That You Don’t Already Know” (otherwise I’d just put ‘male’, ‘unemployed’, ‘piercing blue eyes’, ‘pizza’, & ‘CDs in alphabetical order’) to which my first reaction was, of course, “I am so totally not going to do that!” But then Lesley told me she had a whip and was not afraid to use it which, rather than holding the same ominous menace as the Blog Police, was actually a bit of a turn-on.

So, for one time and one time only, here are Ten Things About Me That You Don’t Already Know, only five of which are true.

1. I have never watched any episode of ‘The O.C.’, ‘CSI’, ‘Law & Order’, ‘Little Britain’, ‘Shameless’, ‘South Park’, ‘Nip Tuck’, ‘Spooks’, ‘Buffy The Vampire Slayer’ or ‘Doctor Who’ (with David Tennant).

2. Before last year’s phenomenal box office success in Greyfriars Bobby, I played the role of Robert the Bruce in ‘Braveheart’ under a pseudonym.

3. I think Paul McCartney is INFINITELY more talented than John Lennon.

4. When I got married in Vegas, I didn’t realise that what happens there is supposed to stay there so as far as I know, Stella’s still doing three shows a night there with her pole.

5. I have 20/20 vision. (Or should that be hindsight?)

6. I have a spare toe on my left foot. (I say ‘spare’ but that doesn’t mean it’s available for rent so maybe I should just describe it as ‘additional’.)

7. I once wrote a letter to ‘Jim’ll Fix It’ asking if my school basketball team could so totally play against the Harlem Globetrotters. He never wrote back. The b#stard.

8. When I finally signed for the Globetrotters, I asked Meadowlark Lemon if he’d ever received the letter but he just shrugged and walked away whistling some annoying tune. Rude b#stard.

9. I started jogging this week.

10. I quit smoking this week.

Happy New Year!

So… did you have a nice Christmas? Eat too much? Have a drink or ten? Watch ‘Cars’ on dvd 29 times? Get endless joy from watching your nephews and niece playing / eating / arguing together? Receive a Starbucks card from your Secret Santa? (Superb!) Or the new Take That cd? (Surprisingly good!) Or socks with your name on them? (Even better!) Avoid going outside on Hogmany? Spend a lot of time wearing your dressing gown? Watch Jenny Agutter in ‘The Railway Children’? (“Daddy, my daddy!” Sniff.) Have a surreal conversation with a close friend (remaining forever nameless) about the advantages of shaving your testicles? Have not the slightest notion to turn on your computer never mind actually write something? Get berated in the pub by your employed friends for not giving them something to read in the office when they log on in the morning whilst scratching their arses and sipping their coffee? Catch a nasty bug which meant you were puking and sh#tting for four days but patted yourself on the back that you somehow made it through a gig with your cousin without hurling over the front three rows only to endure a ‘projectiling incident’ outside in the car park moments later? Give eternal thanks that some close and valued family and friends – including at least 43 girls with whom you went to High School and who haven’t changed one bit in 24 years apart from some exciting developments in the… ahem… ‘upper body’ region – actually turned up to see your gig?

You DID? Wow, that’s spooky, me too. It was fun wasn’t it? Happy New Year!