March 2009

I only saw Faith No More once before they disbanded, having missed all of their record breaking 5 consecutive nights at Glasgow Barrowland in 1992. Five years later, it was clear during the Album of the Year tour, that they really did hate each other. No banter. No nonsense. Just an hour and a half of their unique fusions of metal / funk / rap / country / [insert other genres here] and then they buggered off. In the interim, beardy guitarist Jim Martin has gone on to find fame in other fields, growing as he did, the 235th largest pumpkin ever. No, really.

So it’s good to learn that they’ve either realised that it’s pointless to carry grudges or that their bank accounts could use a boost and they’ve rejoined to headline this year’s Download. I can only hope a UK tour will follow not too far behind and maybe they other members can coax Mr Martin away from his oversized vegetables.

During their lenghty hiatus, I’ve absorbed all things Patton. From experimental Mr. Bungle to comparatively poppy Peeping Tom to the largley inaccessible Fantômas. And then, on occasion, there are times when you just need, nay demand, two microphones and a gas mask, and for those times, there’s Tomahawk. Enjoy.

I’m thrilled that Jacqui Smith’s husband has knocked one out at the tax-payers expense. I hope he enjoyed it. Perhaps one day we’ll all get a chance to knock one out on him in return. For me, being a child of the 70s, the bigger shock is that he also sat through Ocean’s Thirteen … twice. A man of discerning taste, it would seem.

I would like a little clarity on the matter, though. Not too much, just a little. Are we getting the money back for all the films he watched, or just the pornos? Was the mistake having the nerve to claim back on the movies in general or was the mistake limited to Ms Smith giving her hubby the pin number for the parental lock?

Still, all’s well that ends well and we’re back to business as usual, which is important considering that in a non-nepotistic way, Mr Jacqui Smith is his wife’s parliamentary aide. It’s important for the confidence of the general public that the Home Secretary’s affairs are in safe, if somewhat hairy, hands.

I guess there’s something about most of the stories I write that means something to me. Usually, it’s a particularly nice bout of swearing. Sometimes, though, on occasions that should really be more frequent than they actually are, everything just falls into place, the cosmos aligns and the final full stop goes down on a story that just works. I know when it happens. I know when it doesn’t happen. Strangely, or not strangely at all, it tends to happen with stories that are written in a couple of hours in one sitting. It never happens on the pieces that take months to finish.

Anyway, one of those stories is called The Spirit of Shackleton and I’m tickled to a healthy rose hue to announce that it’ll appear in the May edition of Menda City Review, going live on the 9th (I think).

MCR is one of my very favourite online magazines. Check it out and tell them how great they are.

Expect reminders nearer the launch date.

Wednesday night viewing is pretty dismal, but even so, I didn’t expect to have spent the last hour and a half watching the iPhone OS 3.0 Keynote. It’s all very exciting — no, really — and I’m pleased to announce to Liam that Cut, Copy and Paste is coming to an iPhone near you this summer. It’s a popular addition … I don’t think I’ve ever heard Cut, Copy and Paste get a round of applause. And then there’s MMS! I’m excited about MMS … about something that I had on my old phone about six years ago, but that’s not the point. Exciting. Yes.

In case you didn’t see the new BBC Three sketch show featuring current flavours of the moment Horne & Corden, or any of the numerous repeats, let me fill you in what you missed.

The fat one takes his top off.

Roll end credits.

It must be a world record. Duffy’s been famous for about eighteen minutes and already she’s sold her manufactured soul to the Diet Coke devil.

“I’ve got to be me,” she warbles as she cycles through a supermarket, in search of the famed one calorie soft drink, while her accountant runs at the back of her, sucking up all the filthy lucre that falls out of her arse pocket.

Bit of a shorter trip tonight … a hop, skip and a jump to arch rivals, Stirling Albion in the first of a double-header that concludes at home on Saturday.img_0215

Three away wins on the bounce was a bit too much to ask for, and in a pretty even game with few clear cut chances, it is perhaps unsurprising to know that it finished 0-0.

One of the best parts of the night, though, was seeing our favourite linesman, who you can see in the picture. The guy runs like he was in a severe car crash and rather than being taken to hospital, they took him to Scrapheap Challenge. It’s like he’s got an iron bar for a spine and the headlights from a 1994 Fiesta as kneecaps. His waistband is round about where his tits should be. Jude and I have seen him trot along the line like a Palamino on a number of occassions but tonight was the first time the rest of the crowd seemed to spot it and he even got a brief chant of “THE LINESMAN!! THE LINESMAN!!”

Moan the Wasps!