Flabjous Bird

Cottage Cheese, Cottage Cheese,
Cottage Cheese guaranteed to please,
Not so much a cheese as a residue,
But a residue that's good for you.

Everyone with children finds them a stress at times. I myself have had occasion to stifle a cry as my son hands me another marmalade coated CD. Daddy quietly weeping as he pretends to enjoy his 'toast'. Did that all sound a bit 18th-century-gent? Sorry the wife is watching Bleak House and it must be affecting me. Be that as it may (sorry) this seems a little harsh.

Much more information can be found here. I bid you good day.

Friday night dweebery

Sorry folks no content, but you gotta love the style. Me has got me trying various OSX blogging software.

London Calling

Come in Moscow, this is London. Do you receive, over?

Please to excuse this flock based test post. Outlier service will resume soon.

Spin, spin, spin the wheel of justice

...see how fast the bastard turns!

I'm gonna take a stand here and admit that I like Dr. Who. Yeah, call me what you like I can handle it. Except 'Kevin', don't want to be called that - bad name, dirty name, in your bed!. It's not all the gadgets and Sci-Fi stories - which I will admit I do enjoy - but I have always enjoyed the character of 'The Doctor' himself. Apart from when it was Sylvester McCoy. Silly that. I was lucky. I grew up watching Tom Baker as 'The Doctor'. His flippant disregard for any authority has left a lasting impression on me, just ask my boss. I also have strange mental connection between amazing science and the Victorian era and there is something of the Victorian gentlemen in 'The Doctor', even if he does wear a leather coat now*.

This is not a gay thing. No, no, trust me. At 7 years old I found something strangely alluring about Sarah Jane. By the time I was 15, Peri (remember her? Australian girl with the bob and the big.. thingies) had my full and undivided attention. However, apparently the gay interest in Dr. Who is on increase thanks to the Captain Jack character getting a spin off series called 'Torchwood'. There is even a blog about it called TORCHWOOD.TV. Given that the lead actor and the producer are both gay the show has been given the nickname "Touch Wood".

Ok so I admit I've been reading the entertainment news on the BBC tonight. But come on, someone has to get to the bottom of what the fuck is going on in Eastenders? How desperate are they when they bring back 'Da Mitchel Brovas'? Why am I bothered? I'm just buying time until Half-Life 2 comes out on XBox next month. Then my blog is gonna dry up, so get it while you can.

Ok so what do we do when we see the wheel of justice? Yep, comb its' hair.


*which reminds me. Hey Glencross! never mind the future we thought we would get, what about the one the Gerry Anderson displayed to us in all its supermarionative glory?!

Nobody asked me but...

...yes, I reckon the two fat blokes from Wigan who won Bullseye did always sell the speedboat.

What the fuck was going on there? I mean, who on Earth thought that the two "super, grand, smashing" pie lads from "Granadaland" would really want a half share in a speedboat? And why the fuck was it never a speedboat when they lost?

"Oohhh, bad luck there lads!" , says Jim Bowen (is he dead?). "Come and take a look at what you could have won" (the bastard). The stage rotates to reveal a gleaming, top of the range Ford Granada. "Don't fucking touch it, lard boy" (well I never remember him actually saying that, but it was definitely the subtext, you could see it in his eyes). "At least the money was safe" says Jim as he counts out the 80 quid. "And don't forget all the other prizes you won, like the fridge freezer and cordless telephone".

Community chest

I remember the night of the first national lottery draw. I confess I got whipped up in the frenzy of media excitement; planned what I would spend the money on; what charities I would support; what substances I was going to become addicted to; plane or helicopter (not easy). I listened to all the number picking advice - go for numbers greater than 31 so as to avoid birthdays. Yeah, 'cause like sharing 8 million quid with 3 people would be a real bummer! Anyway I bought a ticket. Surprisingly the first 3 numbers out of the machine were also on my ticket. The next number was only 1 different (i.e. 42 and I had 41) and the remaining two were no more than 3 out. A quick comparison between my ticket and the winning numbers would get your pulse racing - couldn't resist that one on my mother, thought she was gonna explode, bless her. I hadn't won the jackpot but I had one a tenner.

Now despite the fact that I know more than I ever want to about statistics and thus was fully aware that each weeks draw is independent of any other, I couldn't help thinking that I was never come that close again. In truth, I probably wasn't. Not because I had already had come close and the Ether, some how knowing this, wouldn't configure itself to my favor again (like it does with QPR. Damn you Universe!!). But simply because it is an event unlikely ever to happen. To be honest I was a little disappointed in myself for not remaining the emotionally detached scientist so I made up a rule. I could only buy a lottery ticket if I choose the previous weeks winning numbers. It acts as a kind of mental reminder that 'It probably won't be me'. It also ensures I never buy more than one ticket - owning two with the same numbers means that, at best, you just end up sharing the winnings with yourself. Something which is guaranteed to put a strain on any relationship. I also rarely know last weeks winning numbers so I rarely bother.

It is easy to believe that statistics is straight forward, when in fact it is a very tricky tool to wield correctly. For an example of how an apparently simple gameshow can confuse even the best statisticians check out the Monty Hall problem (aka Montys Goat). I once got very agitated with a mates wife as she kept insisting that the numbers 1,2,3,4,5 & 6 where far less likely to be drawn in the national lottery than any other particular set of numbers, despite accepting that all numbers where equally likely. So when you get the option to dance with chance, say no thanks and take a community chest instead. You never know, it might be your birthday or better still your bank might pay you a dividend! (Jesus, what a tenuous link to the title!)

In great company

It's official, blogging is the new rock-and-roll. And they don't come more rock-and-roll than this Rock God. Have I ever bored you with the story about Keith Moon's mum being my godmother? No? Great! Well it all began in Chaplin Road, Wembley....

Framley my dear, I don't give a damn

Yeah, yeah The Onion is funny, but if you really wanna laugh until a little bit of wee comes out then it's got to be The Framley Examiner*. For the sake of your soul read the classifieds. Genius.



(Did you see what I did with the title there, eh? I used a very famous quote but changed the word "Frankly" to "Framley". Clever or what? You don't get writing like that on every blog).

*thanks to bloggers blog for reminding me.

Money and Sense? No way!

I'm not one to boast, but what was I just saying about men over bidding on eBay? Now, you can easily spend a lot on a little but this guy must take the biscuit. He just spent $1825 on a single cartridge game for the old Atari 2600 console. Ok the game is rare - only 125 were made - but come on! I mean, just take a look at what he is getting...



I'm sure there must be an emulator he could play this on. Apparently the original game was never sold, just given to Coca Cola employees. I just love the fact that the first guy bid $12 - boy was he out of his league!

eBay, shopping for men

As any woman will tell you, men are rarely enthusiastic about the idea of a Saturday afternoon spent wondering around the shops. True, this is partly because it clashes head on with the football. More fundamentally though, it denies man the use of half his hunter-gatherer skills. Psychologically it's more than 50%; let's face it no man makes much of a fuss about his gathering skills does he? So how do you get a man interested in shopping? eBay, that's how.

eBay has a distinct difference to virtually every other form of shopping, including other internet shopping sites. Something which is fundamentally designed to appeal to the male psyche. It's a competition. It brings back the hunt to resource collection. You can't just waltz into an eBay shop, slap down your cash, pick up your Liberty X t-shirt and walk out. No, no. On eBay you have to find it, stalk it, hunt it, snipe it and win it. So powerful is the competitive aspect, that I reckon there are blokes out there who have paid over 100 quid for series 2 of The Office on DVD just to know that they denied some other bastard it. They won. He lost. And for a man, you can't put a price on that feeling.

Don't assume that this psychological trick will remain solely with eBay. Your local Tescos could soon become a Savannah where wild Kingsmill loaves graze nervously and packs of organic peach yogurts stand like Meercats listening out for any signs of the return of man, the hunter*!

*with his list, basket and loyality card.

Nobody asked me but...

...yes, the moderately mad do always appear to be walking off as they talk/rant/dribble at you. I realised this just this morning as I drove passed a bus stop where a young couple were clearly being subjected to the philosophical ramblings of a particularly energetic community care client. In the 7 seconds it took us to passby he gave the appearance of leaving on no less than 4 occassions. Each time dashing their hopes by returning to continue his undoubtedly incomprehensible monologue on 'what the fecking bastards are trying to do to me now'. Why do all such "local characters" style themselves on the mannerisms of Detective Columbo?

It is a fact of modern living in the UK that most bus routes come equipped with a nutter. Typically male, in his mid to late 30's but with the appearance of someone much older. Although not a complete lunatic, this individual lives on the border of sanity. Whilst some of his time is spent inhabiting a mental state that is the psychological equivalent of sheltered housing close to normalsville, you can be sure that whenever you encounter him he is midway through an extended vacation on the Costa-del-Bonkers. Dressed casually in a dusty old pair of trousers and a jumper (no shirt) embossed with a pattern that would even have looked a bit overboard in the 80's. A combination often given a personal touch with a neckless photo ID with a picture of the loon that could literally have been taken 30 seconds earlier, further supporting the hypothesis that he does, indeed live in those clothes. His hair is heavily tussled in exactly the way Mr Darcys wasn't and is either greying or flecked with his own dried semen. In another dimension he would cut quite a dash, turning heads. In these 4 it's more likely to be stomachs.

My experience is that you will more often encounter the bus nutter at a bus stop, rather than on a bus. I'm sure the appropriate statistical analysis for this has already been published in a relevant journal, such as "The Royal Statistical Society Journal of Nutter Distribution". It has also been my experience that the presence of the nutter is often correlated with a long delays in the bus service. My paranoid self imagines a backlog of buses building up just around the corner as passengers and drivers crowd around a specially installed screen fed live from a secret camera hidden at the stop. Raucous laughter as they watch my increasingly desperate attempts to humor my volatile cabaret artist.

Do you think they all have a bus route specifically allocated? Do they have 'turf wars' over the best ranting patches? (in Manchester the 192 route is particularly over crowded). Perhaps if any of them have blogs I could ask. I suppose I could do a search for http://busnutter.blogspot.com. Although, thinking about it do I really need to look very far to find a rambling ranter? Hmmm, I wonder if I still have that electric blue Pringle jumper upstairs...

Stupid song title number 174

Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis.

I foresee nothing 'great' about having balls of fire. The idea of having that kind of heat around my genitalia doesn't appeal. I would have imagined it would also cost a pretty penny in underwear. Stupid title.

What if all the worlds Philosophers and great thinkers have overlooked the obvious and that the Hoki Coki is what is all about? Remember folkes knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom, however, is not putting one in a fruit salad.

Radio Ga-Ga

I reckon the late Freddie Mercury must have commuted around the Manchester area. Can't you just see him in his little Ford Granada with his big 'tash singing along to Kylie like a man possessed? - try the M60 on a Friday, your bound to see him. I imaging this because the song title 'Radio Ga-Ga' can only have been inspired by hours of suffering at the hand of Manchesters local radio stations. It takes me roughly 30 minutes to get to and from work and during that time I nearly always have the radio on. This is largely because my car only has a radio and that I haven't yet mustered enough arsenessed to replace it with something I can choose what gets played. Is 'arsenessed' a word?

arsenessed (noun): The state of being sufficiently bothered to get off ones backside and do something about that which arses you. - There, it is now.

Anyway during this hour, I have to put up with the most inane chatter possible. Given the current technical limitations I can basically select between 6 stations. These are Radio 1, Century FM, Key 103, Radio 4, Imagine FM and The Revolution. I can, as a backup and via a manual retune - something which involves a substational amount of swearing, readjustment of the ariel via an open sunroof and an inevitable straddling of lanes on the A34 - pick up Radio 2, Smooth FM, Classic FM, Radio 3 and the risible All FM. Now aside Radio 4 (I want to like Radio 4 in the morning, I really do. I wanna be a proper adult. However, there is something about the sound of John Humphreys voice that makes me feel like I did when my dad watched Nationwide at 6 every week night. The only program that went on for 19 hours. The show that made the testcard look the like fucking Cup Final). Aside Radio 4 there is nothing to distinguish the others. They all follow exactly the same formula. Scaled depending on budget. I reckon they get them out of a packet. Like a deep freezed radio program, complete with;

• One 'wacky' young male presenter. Possibly with spikey hair. History of being bullied at school.


• One female sidekick, blonde (yeah I know its radio but you can hear it). More intelligent than the main presenter. Exactly how much more intelligent is directly proportional to the gap between when she laughs at a joke and when he does.


• One male or female news/weather reporter. Typically funnier than the main presenter but slightly deaf, so that the presenter has to repeat each gag at least 3 times.


• Random 'traffic' reporter. Gender unknown. Prolonged history of deep stupidity.

Radio 1 can afford to expand on this theme. Chris Moyles has his male sidekick plus a bunch of other random people knocking about the studio - its the pauses with him that really do me in - plus the famous guests. Imagine FM on the otherhand just has the basic male with female sidekick and they do all the totally useless weather and traffic reports.

Now the setup is bad, but not as bad as the execution. The poor gags. The forced laughter. The shite competitions. But what really gets me is the fact they all work in synchronism. Each station apparently without connection to the others. They all chat along merrily whilst I sit there flicking between them looking for a song, anything! They all play the news and weather at the same time. When they do play a song it is limited to one from about 9 artists. At least 3 of which are 'Keane'. Even 'The Revolution' an otherwise good station with dejays including Clint Boon, Peter Hook and Mani, goes fucking idiotville in the morning.

Oh my god, I feel one of my heads coming on. I must retire forthwith.

Sorry for the delay.

I appeared to nod off there for a moment. Did I miss anything?