Crackerwax

I’ve always enjoyed the Black Adder series, to the point that I could overlook Ben Elton’s involvement in it and that’s saying something. On the flip side though I’ve always despised Mr Bean.

You win some you lose some I guess.

However what has impressed me more than anything is a little quote I read recently – attributed to Mr Atkinson – in relation to the then proposed Racial and Religious Hatred Act 2006.

To criticize a person for their race is manifestly irrational and ridiculous, but to criticize their religion, that is a right. That is a freedom. The freedom to criticize ideas, any ideas – even if they are sincerely held beliefs – is one of the fundamental freedoms of society. A law which attempts to say you can criticize and ridicule ideas as long as they are not religious ideas is a very peculiar law indeed.

Well said that man.

So, we hate our children then? Well, that’s what Sir Al Aynsley Green says anyway. In an interview with The Independent, he said.

One of the greatest challenges we have had is public attitudes to children.

This country is one of the most child unfriendly countries in the world. Just in terms of how we value children one of the most powerful examples is the Mosquito device – an ultrasonic weapon designed to stop kids gathering.

When I have been to Norway, Canada and Australia people say to me “What’s wrong with your country why do you hate children so much? You are employing an ultrasonic weapon against them. And why has your government been so spineless in not trying to stop it.

This is a very powerful symbol of what I see as a deep malaise in our society and our views towards children and especially young people. We care about kids in our own families but do we care about the kids of other people – especially those who might be disadvantaged or who might be causing trouble?

Well spotted that man, give him a prize, give him two prizes! Why do we hate other’s children but not our own though, what are the reasons for that?

The one major reason I can think of is fear.

We are afraid of being branded a paedophile if we take an interest in a child’s welfare. Not only that but we are afraid of the children themselves. What will they say? Will they hurt us? It’s not malaise that stops us caring, it’s fear.

At what point did this happen, when did we become afraid of the youth? (more…)

I love Amy Winehouse.

I know she’s got issues and that she a bit too keen on the drugs but hey, she’s got a fantastic musical ability and she’s as hot as you like.

Well, she was. (more…)

Dylan Thomas. What a guy.

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan’t crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

I love that. Then again who couldn’t.

Lily Allen’s really dropped a bit of a bollock recently with her half formed outpourings of anguish at the prospect of losing money to the evil of illegal downloads.

Not that I want to start rambling on about the lack of any concrete statistics to support the recording industry’s notion that downloads are killing music but I would like to point out that a download does not equate to a lost sale.

There are at least three ways that this can be the case. (more…)

Is mine! The story behind it goes a bit like this.

Restless Cheese and I went to see Pearl Jam in Manchester last night, in true fashion this was just a bit of an excuse for some hard drinking, although whether or not I’d call white russians hard I’m not certain.

So as far as it goes we arrived in Manchester around half five – after a completely dry train journey – checked into our hotel and then headed off out for a bit of dinner and a couple of cheeky cocktails. Queue the Revolution!

I’m quite a fan of Revolutions – the bars, not the uprisings – they’re generally pretty cool during the day and, if you time it right, not too bad at night either.

So we mosey on in and after a brief tussle with the menu and the outrageous offers we settled on a bargaintastic two for one burger deal (or mushroom-in-a-bap for Restless Cheese), along with some top notch two for one cocktails. Nice! Revolution had clearly lined itself up for a later visit.

It was at this, post Pearl Jam, visit that the coolest thing in the world happened.

Once we arrived back in Revolution the lure of shots was irresistible, the most amazing of which is or was the porridge shot. The porridge shot is a heady mix of vodka sugar and oats, and its taste is beyond amazing. Although some people, who shall remain nameless and who are clearly big mincers, think it’s foul.

Anyway this ambrosia no longer features on Revolution’s shot menu, undeterred by this I asked the lovely Duncan (best barman in the world by the way) if he had access to a secret stash of said alcohol. After a brief furtle in the cellar he returned with a bottle containing – what can only be described as – oaty dregs.

I of course jumped at the chance to consume this most delicious drink and immediately ordered two.

After retiring to a table Restless Cheese and I drank our white russians, interspersing their consumption with a shot or two from our ‘stick’. It was on about shot three that the magic happened.

Duncan approached our table and produced an entire bottle of porridge vodka from behind his back! How much was he asking for this delicious treat? Just £10. Ten stirlings for the most delicious drink in the world?

Did I want it? Yes I did!

Did I get it? Yes I did!

What I do have to say though is that I owe a great deal of thanks to Restless Cheese, for it was on his dollar that this bottle was purchased. Thank you, you are a great friend and I can’t wait to open it to celebrate the birth of your son and heir! I don’t care if that was a drunken promise either, you’re sticking to it!

I love Joanna Lumley, she’s foxy, dignified and not altogether unlikeable. She is also sadly cringingly naive. After having heard her talking on Radio 4 this morning I became less and less inclined to be bothered about the whole Gurkha thing.

Don’t leave here under the wrong impression, I really believe all the Gurkhas that fight in wars on behalf of the United Kingdom should be allowed citizenship and a decent pension, it’s just that both sides are being a bit on the wank side with their arguments.

The Government is giving the impression that it doesn’t care and is pathetically inefficient (which it may well be) and the Lumley contingent are tub thumping without concern for due process or any concern at all about setting legal precedent.

You see that’s the bit that worries me, if we change the rules for one group of individuals it opens the floodgates for legal challenges from every other fucker.

All the rhetoric about our letting in asylum seekers/Polish builders/Belgian paedophiles and not our noble, brave Gurkha chums is horseshit. At the end of it all I’m fairly certain if citizenship was a game of musical chairs and it came down to a fight between Joanna Lumley and a Gurkha for the last chair, I’m certain Lumley would be up for a fight for it.

I’m also fairly certain the Gurkha would win. Ayo Gorkhali!

Another week and another ridiculous overblown hoo-hah in the press about some poor sod or other.

This week it’s the turn of Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross to be on the receiving end of the tabloid press’ moral indignation. How journalists can consider themselves moral is beyond me, still that’s a rant for another day.

As you are no doubt aware by now, given that it’s the top story on every news channel at the moment (wonder if Al Jazeera have covered it?), Russell Brand had Jonathan Ross on his Radio 2 show and they left Andrew Sachs a series of rather misjudged and ill advised answer phone messages.

The gist of it is that Andrew Sachs was due to give an interview on Brand’s show but for one reason or another when he was called they got his answer phone, Brand being Brand and Ross being Ross this lead to an ideal opportunity for a spot of tomfoolery. Let’s be honest though it’s kind of what you expect from a stand up comic who hosts a radio show, we’re not talking about Jimmy Young here are we?

Unfortunately the message got out of hand very quickly and three things happened.

1. Ross said ‘fucked’.
2. It was made clear that Brand had slept with Sach’s granddaughter.
3. An impromptu and bawdy song was sung about the liaison into Sach’s answer phone.

I happened to hear it live and whilst I didn’t think it was the funniest thing I’d ever heard, I didn’t think it was anything that anyone should have lost their job over.

Of course the media being the media were falling over themselves to expose Brand for the filthmongering, sex obsessed, junkie scum bag he so clearly is. I half expect to wake up and read calls for Ross to have his tongue cut out and for Brand to be castrated!

So far the result of all this has been:

• Russell Brand has resigned.
• Lesley Douglas has resigned as controller of Radio 2.
• Jonathan Ross has been suspended for 12 weeks.
• Gordon Brown has made a statement about it.
• Amazingly, despite the answer phone message, the world still continues to spin on its axis.

That the show only garnered two complaints at the time of its broadcast, yet has since received over 37,000, stands as testament to the media circus that has developed. Of course most of that can be attributed to the Mail On Sunday’s front page article about it. I think the very fact that only 0.00003% of complaints were received from actual listeners speaks volumes.

Meanwhile Georgina Baillie, the outraged granddaughter in question (you’ll probably know her best as Voluptua from the Satanic Sluts), is rubbing her hands in anticipation of the deals she’ll receive as a result of the publicity.

Judging by the number of videos of her on the news sites already (every one of them with her droning on about how outraged she is, whilst at the same time maintaining her doe eyed, smoky makeup, big-titted temptress look), she’s milking it for every last drop.

All the publicity seems like quite a good return on her initial investment of letting Brand fuck her because he was famous. Of course her new line is that,

I will be speaking to him [Sachs] to ask whether we should complain to the police and we’ll be making the decision as a family.

Oh come on! Let’s put this in perspective, no one died nothing in that call was malicious, stupid yes, malicious no. Is this the best use of police time? Do you think the CPS should even entertain this?

What’s more all of Baillie’s comments around the event are so hollow it’s unbelievable. That they’re being given any form of credence at all astonishes me! The best I’ve come across so far is this belter on the news that Brand and Ross had been suspended.

I’m really happy with the investigation. Me and my grandad are both really happy because it could have damaged our reputation permanently.

Sorry love? Your reputation? What reputation would this be? Your reputation as a woman who flashes her flange for money? Is that the reputation you concerned about damaging?

Please.

I do have a great deal of sympathy for Andrew Sachs, it wasn’t a nice message, I wouldn’t have liked to receive it. At the end of it all though everyone has admitted it was stupid and apologised for it, on top of which Sachs has accepted the apologies. There is no reason for this to be getting the attention it is.

The call that’s causing the outrage is transcribed after the jump if you fancy reading it.
(more…)

As anyone who knows me will testify, my favourite activity, after having downed a few cherry beers, is to quote Captain Kirk’s immortal lines from Star Trek V: The Final Frontier.

It was this one scene that last night, lead to a drunken conversation where it was decided that the goal for 2009 is to meet William Shatner.

I will be ruminating about how to go about doing this but all suggestions will be greatly received. First on the list though is the setting up of a Google alert for ‘William Shatner’.

They love taking your photo on cruises almost as much as the freaky looking inhabitants of the floating holiday camp love having their photo taken.

At every turn there’s some hack with a digital camera snapping away at the unnaturally happy cruise folk as they stand there lapping it up, grinning like they’re Brad Pitt at Cannes

I swear that all these photos were on public display on board the ship, ready to be purchased by the unfortunates pictured. Unbelievable.

Anyway, look for yourself.

Oh and by the way, the couple in photo three were both wearing wedding bands. I don’t know what point I’m trying to make by saying that but, hey, each to their own.

Congratulations to Andy and Louisa on their most magnificent wedding.

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More pictures will be coming soon.

If you have any pictures of the wedding that you would like posted then please email them to me at photos@crackerwax.com

Ladies and gentlemen I present the photos from Andy’s stag do.

It was very good of Andy to let it go ahead.

Back in 2002 I went to Asda with Kate, Shaggy and Finola.

I’d just bought a Nokia 7650, the first ever camera phone, so was hyper keen to use it. All the time.

Here are the results.

My life was that interesting.

This is really rather good.

Mixing Eric Clapton and Amy Winehouse ought to lead to some kind of horrendous abomination, funnily enough though it doesn’t! It does however highlight Ms Winehouse’s, shall we say, jazz-tuned voice.

Interesting.

Well he could have let me know, jeez. I don’t know why I bother.

Anyway happy birthday Mr Blews, in honour of the event I present you with this tune.

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Every word is true. Happy birthday!

In his memoirs John Prescott, the former deputy prime minister, claims to have suffered from bulimia during his time in the cabinet.

For those not in the know bulimia nervosa comes in two flavours purging and non-purging, Prescott’s was seemingly the purging variety.

Generally speaking people suffering from bulimia binge eat then take measures to prevent the food from being digested, either by taking laxatives or inducing vomiting.

Clearly Prescott managed to get the hang of the binge part, though possibly not the purge bit, otherwise you’d think the fat fucker would have been thinner really wouldn’t you?

Aliza Shvarts is an art student. An art student who, the Huffington Post reports, has, as part of her senior arts project plumbed new depths. Read.

Beginning next Tuesday, Shvarts will be displaying her senior art project, a documentation of a nine-month process during which she artificially inseminated herself ‘as often as possible’ while periodically taking abortifacient drugs to induce miscarriages. Her exhibition will feature video recordings of these forced miscarriages as well as preserved collections of the blood from the process.

I know I’m probably meant to be shocked by this, and I am, but it’s not the art that’s doing the shocking, it’s her disregard for life and the very womanhood she probably thinks she’s defending that shocks me.

Where does a woman’s body stop and another life start? It’s a big question and one that I could never hope to answer. Abortion is an emotive subject and rightly so but inseminating yourself in order to purposefully induce miscarriage a few months later just for shits and giggles is morally reprehensible.

I hold true the fact that a woman, just like a man, has the right to do whatever they want to their body, that right carries with it responsibility though. With this act she has treated the entire process of conception like it were a body piercing, something to be used to make a statement. It is deeply saddening.

This is not art. Neither is it self expression. It is mental illness.

Simon Smith of The Apprentice fame has been the subject of the worst hatchet job in the history of the series, after just four weeks, the only candidate I would even consider holding a conversation with, has been fired.

It stinks. He’d better not go back to installing Sky TV, that’s all I can say.

The guy has clearly got the correct attitude, he’s a doer, perhaps a little too direct at times perhaps even bullish but for Christ’s sake the people he was working along side were fucking morons. Petty, juvenile fuckwads, Sir Alan knew it and his advisors knew it but yet he still got fired. Bloody shame.

Then again I guess that’s the problem with shows like this, they’re not really intended to allow Sir Alan Sugar to find a new apprentice, they’re designed to provide ghoulish entertainment.

You have to be thick but egotistical to win The Apprentice. It’s that simple.

Oh yes, it also helps if you’re a true mangler of metaphors. Let’s here it for such gems as ‘I’ve had to breast feed you all along’, ‘throw your dummy out of the pram’, ‘stand up to the plate’ and the best yet ‘a missile that’s about to go into outer space and spontaneously combust‘. Fucking idiots.

Have you heard of Deichmann shoes? No me neither.

Nevertheless that hasn’t stopped the ever changing trio of top totty that are the Sugababes from whoring themselves advertising for them.

Unless I’m really missing something and this Deichmann bunch are a phenomenon in the shoe world, which I very much doubt given their logo and their price point, I really can’t see why the Sugababes are promoting them. The link between the Aldi of the German shoe making world and a successful British pop group eludes me.

They’d have been better using the money they spent on securing the shoe designing ‘talents’ of the Sugbabes on a good graphic designer and get rid of their aforementioned horrendous logo. I mean look at this.

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What’s worse is their tag line ‘Gutes Geschäft’. Gutes Geschäft translates to something along the lines of ‘a good business’. How very literal and German that is. Makes ‘I’m Lovin’ It’ seem like poetry.

It’s weird.

Advertising is so low rent. Recently we’ve had Girls Aloud for Kit Kat which I can understand, given that they are a product in themselves but it just makes no sense to see the Sugababes selling this kind of tat.

The real question is though is what’s next? Duffy for Brantano? Rihanna for Shoe Zone?

Well I know for me that whenever I think of Woolworths the two things that immediately spring to mind are Pic ‘N’ Mix and Hong Kong action movies.

That’s why it was so nice to finally see an advert for Woolworths that features Hong Kong legend Jackie Chan. I’ve often thought that Woolworths ought to exploit its obvious links to the Hong Kong martial arts scene.

Actually if you think I’m jesting in some way, why not watch it!

How fucked up is that? What were they thinking?

Well that’s easy! He thinks he’s Vic Mackey let’s take a look at them shall we? On the left we have TV tough man Vic Mackey and on the right TV tough man Steve Wilkos. Oh, hang on, did I get that right?

Vic Mackey (left) and Steve Wilkos (right) yesterday.

Maybe I didn’t but you’d have to be fucking psychic to tell them apart, let’s look at some quotes from them shall we.

Excuse me while I get a Kleenex for the rest of this sob story.

And this beauty.

Shut up!

Well actually they’ve both probably said those things at some point but if I’m honest the first is Vic Mackey and the second is Steve Wilkos. Hell, does it even matter though?

The fact is Vic Mackey is a fictitious character played by an award winning actor, Steve Wilkos is a real person, an ex-marine, ex-cop but nonetheless a real human being who isn’t reading from a script.

After years spent mute as a security guard on the Jerry Springer Show, in 2007 young Steve managed to wangle himself a show of his own. On this show he lets loose with all the things he wanted to say during his years of enforced silence and good lord does he!

Admittedly he’s dealing with some pretty scummy people but come on, his take on it all is to shout and throw chairs! I can’t imagine that this is a modern way of dealing with wife beaters and paedophiles (his ‘guest’ of choice) surely there are better ways to do it? Perhaps get evidence and have them arrested?

Then again people quietly going to jail doesn’t make for explosive television. A massive hulk of a man throwing a chair across a stage while shouting down some inadequate in front of an audience does.

At least Vic Mackey has the grace to go after men that could quite easily have him killed.

So it would appear young Shannon Matthews wants to stay with her foster parents. Who can blame her?

Have you seen her family? Her mother, whilst claiming an age of 32, looks about 53, and has seven children by five fathers. Her step father looks like he’s staring at the world through a goldfish bowl of confusion, that is when he’s not allegedly staring at kiddie porn.

The girl had no chance.

At least now there’s some hope that she’ll be able to do something with her life.

After reading a bit about Arthur C Clarke on the rather cool Mental_Floss, I was reminded of his three laws.

They’re clearly a little bit tongue in cheek but you can see that they do make a lot of sense too.

1. When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.
2. The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.
3. Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

He was quite a guy I tell thee.

Of course I have my own three laws, come on, you knew I would.

1. Never wash red socks. Ever. It only leads to pink clothes.
2. Fixing electrical appliances whilst drunk is not a good idea.
3. Whenever someone says they don’t care they do. When they say they do care they might not.

That’ll do for now.

Arthur C Clarke has died today, aged 90.

Most famous for the wonderful 2001: A Space Odyssey, which he created with his friend Stanley Kubrick, Clarke was a science fiction writer without compare.

He gave us so much more though, for starters the principles behind geo-stationery satellites were one of his works. In case you’re not familiar with the premise, it is essentially what allows things like Sky television to work. I suppose for some people, that might make him a bit of a villain!

His books are uniformly stunning, crammed full of amazing ideas and are written with a style that belies their geekiness.

He shall be missed.

What happens when you get Huey from The Fun Lovin’ Criminals to interview a slightly pissed, possibly stoned, Amy Winehouse?

I’ll tell you what happens. This is what happens…

What was supposed to be here was a video of Amy Winehouse being interviewed by Huey Morgan at the 2008 Brit Awards. She came across as charming and sweet, if a little bit the worse for wear. Someone in their wisdom, possibly the Pakistan government but more probably her record label, has made YouTube remove it. Shame.

Good grief she’s sweet, admittedly I imagine she’s a complete psycho when under the influence but she’s certainly got charisma. Yes, charisma that’s it, charisma. Oh, and cracking jugs. I imagine. Frequently.

Lesley North spent the night trapped in her car after trying to drive across a flooded road.

Now, I’d suggest you read the article I linked to, as in that she seems to be a relatively normal if slightly unlucky individual. Well I can conclusively confirm that she’s not. She’s just been on the local news and she’s putting her miraculous rescue down to God and boy does she have some convincing arguments that it was down to him.

It’s such an odd and dare I say it downright strange interview that I’ve had to transcribe it. Here’s the first bit.

I honestly thought that was it, I’m going to die and from the word go I started praying. Please rescue me, rescue the car, because I’m a student I’ve got no money. But you know I do believe God was there because he kept me calm.

What? Where does the student bit come into it? Why did she feel she had to mention that? Weird, anyway she continues.

I just did what I knew was right which was pray and ended up singing my favourite hymns, choruses, stuff that I hadn’t sung for years with words that mean a lot to me and I believe it was God that got me through and he certainly sent someone who doesn’t normally go that way to find me in the morning.

Why did he wait until the morning? Was he enjoying her hymns too much? Did he think she deserved a night in the car as punishment for being a student? Who knows, forget that though let’s get to the best bit when’s she was asked if her faith had been strengthened.

Absolutely convinced God’s there because the lady would never have gone that way and she did and out of all the other cars why didn’t any of them see me but she did? No, definitely God had a big hand in that he wants me alive , I don’t know what for but he wants me alive for something and in all this, it’s him definitely.

I’d like to get this straight, God in his infinite love and compassion decided to wash this women’s car away in a flood, then make her spend a night in the freezing cold, before finally sending another lady in a car to phone the police to get her out. What’s more he did this to prove to her that she had a purpose? What purpose? Really, I mean come on, what?

The only alternative is that Ms Lesley North is a 45 year old student that’s little bit on the wrong side.

Gram Parsons’ friends took his body into Joshua Tree National Park, filled his coffin with five gallons of petrol (or indeed gasoline, yeehaw) and struck a match to it. Suffice it to say this process did not leave them with a lovely little urn of ashes. No sir. It left them with smoldering bits of charred corpse hanging off yuccas.

Now, I love the idea of my friends carrying out my final wishes, as Gram’s were sort of, but please for the love of Christ get it right people. Plan it a bit.

I don’t want bits of my, undoubtedly good looking, corpse left in smoking lumps in some fuzzy tree desert. I want a fireball you can see from space. Well actually I don’t want that at all, I’d rather have my body chopped up and amusing things done with it.

Chop my fingers off and use them to scam Heinz, claiming that you found them in tins of pea and ham, leave my head in the freezers at Asda to freak out pensioners. Go on go wild, I won’t mind. Hell, I’ll be dead.

Whatever you do though, don’t mourn.

Actually no, I’ve changed my mind again I want the following.

• My main wake whilst I’m still alive. It’s my party too.
• To be cremated. The one time in my life I won’t complain about it being hot.
• Have this played when my coffin comes in.

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• Have this played as the coffin gets consumed by the flames (clichéd but good).

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• Have this played when everyone’s leaving.

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• A mini wake after where everyone dresses in black, watches The Sweeney and gets utterly hammered.

I suppose it might be a bit morbid but fuck it, it’s what I want so no arguments, OK?

Andy and Spib threw a fancy dress party to celebrate their 30th birthdays. We went along and took photos, this is the result.

Oh yes, I should add that the theme was 1977, which in fairness you’d probably get from most of the costumes.

You’ll notice I reference no one by their real name? This is because I can’t actually remember what half of the attendee’s names were.

You see, I was very, very drunk…