A few words on the subject
A few words on the subject
A few words on
July 2010
A few words on August
A few words on September
A few words on October
A few words on November
A few words on December
A few words on January
A few words on February
A few words on March
A few words on April
A few words on May
A few words on... disconcerting self images
Sat 3rd July
And here we are again.
Lovely to see you. How have you been? You look well. Have you been away? No? Oh, out in the sunshine? Pub garden was it? Well you look terrific. Have you lost weight too? Well you look grand. Grand.
A terribly nice July to you. It seems, now we've had six whole months of 2010 (I know, I know) it might be time to tyae a little "gander" at how my predictions for the year are panning out so far. How does that sound?
Note: Gander. It means, for the non Londoners amongst you - of which, as this website is very much the Rainbow Nation of websites, there are plenty. Welcome one, welcome all I say. Let me try some of your exotic foods - "to take a look." I don't know why. A gander, as you educated types will know, is an adult male goose. Funny, the words we have for out avian chums. Personally, I've always had a problem - for this very reason - with the story of "The Ugly Duckling". You will recall from this story that the ugly duckling grows into a handsome swan. Which of course, is a lovely story for kids, but patently bollocks. No ducklings turn into swans. Cygnets, on the other hand, turn into swans. So perhaps the Danny Kaye song should go:
"There once was an ordinary looking example of a cygnet, with feathers all stubby and brown. And the other birds said in so many words (quack) You should be all right looking when you grow up."
Just, as ever, a thought for you there.
So, back in January, like every tired coffee-breathed nicotene stained hack in the world, I came up with my predictions for 2010. Was I on the money?Was I way off? Well, it turns out the following I predficted have come - with Nostrodamus like predicatbility - somewhat to pass.
"Oh come on. Is it so terribly defeatist to say that I believe James Cameron, or whatever his name is, will be the new Prime Minister."
And lo, there we are. Depressing but true. Not perhaps a startling prediction. But one I did, unselfishly, attempt to scupper myself by voting LibDem. And a cock lot of good that did.
"That page in the Guardian magazine where they claim to have a style for all ages will continue to only look good on the 19 year old size 6 model and the two grannies will continue to look fucking ridiculous."
Yep. I can quote from today's edition, "Be a water goddess," the twits at The Guardian have got 5 beautiful women in their 20s to dress in bikinis. And taken the one older woman - I'm guessing 40? - have draped in a turquoise tent. Fucking idiots.
"No new men’s ideas will arrive. A they have failed to arrive since 1953. Ooh, jeans and t-shirts. Ties and suits. With this complete lack of thought, you are spoiling us."
Yep. Still nothing.
"The novelty of the recession will wear off. The idea of being poor and unemployed and in debt and pension-less in a value-less house will get thoroughly boring by February."
Well, perhaps not strictly true, economically. But I think everyone has bored of it. I have seen numerous t-shirts that have replaced "Keep Calm & Carry On" with "Keep Cool and Party On" and I think that's enough of a signal.
"Don’t hold you breath for any of the following as, yet again, we ain’t getting them: hover-boards; a colony on the moon; flying cars; jet-packs; meals in a small capsule; silvery all-in-one suits; hologram televisions; teleporting machines; memory implants of foreign holidays; robot butlers; printer errors that are easy to fix."
And - ding - another correct answer.
"The World Cup will take over every TV channel, ad break, product, radio station, pop song and torso and will be won by a country that isn’t this one and will bore intelligent people to tears."
Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen. For my next trick, Andy Murray will go crashing out of Wimbledon any day now.
"Somebody very famous but too young to die, will die due to “pain-killers.”
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...Gary Coleman.
"Every movie that breaks the $200m box-office mark will be a sequel."
Okay. Iron Man? Shrek? Toy Story? For heaven's sake...
Two other things I wanted to share with you lovely people.
Now, as you will know, my pop outfit - Clarksville - has recently launched to an uncaring, ambivolous and non caring world. I know you'd all rather tap your toes to Leona Lewis and The Bay City Rollers. I have produced a CD of 8 Clarksville tracks for you, my loving public, and given you a song a week to "enjoy."
Well, there are 2 more songs to go. This week I offer you a fast, dancey, jive-around-your-kitchen upbeat number intitled "Gone In 60 Seconds" - an anthem to being in love with someone who slowly goes off you and doesn't wnt to mention it. Hence awkwardness and stilted conversation and heartache. An ideal wedding entrance number.
But it also occured to me that sitting infront of a computer staring at a webpage is hardly a fun way to enjoy a new pop experience, no matter how many puns and bongo solos it has.
So for those among you who suffer from ACHD, were brought up on MTV and can't possibly enjoy a pop tune with accompanying visuals...yes, I have made a pop video.
Low production values, one fixed webcam shot, some lighting tints and a whole lotta embarrasing clowning around in my front room, I present - a first for Clarksville - the video for everyone's favourite Reservoir Dogs themed pop numbers: "Walking Like Michael Madsen." CLICK HERE
And on a similar "tip" and nobody says anymore, you may remember back in 2009, I released my new comedy thriller - CONMAN - to an unsuspecting world. I was lucky enough to do a short bookshop tour with the book, presenting an hour's confidence trick based stand-up comedy show.
Highlights of this entertaining, engaging and revealing performance are now available to view. And, frankly, make a fine lunchtime distraction. Why not enjoy 4 minutes in the company of your host, learn y'self a swindle and prepare yourself for the world of the confidence trickster. CLICK HERE
Enjoy.
Love to all
Rx
A few words on June
Good morning everybody
Welcome back to everybody’s favourite website with drivel on it.
A few words on a few things today.
Firstly I have been spectacularly busy so haven’t got much to say. The last few weekday nights have found me clearing furniture, tacking up bed sheets and horsing about in front of webcams with assorted guitars. Then three nights hunched with aching back and fiddly fingers over the dining table moving lego men and paper speech bubbles about while snapping away with a Sony Cybershot.
So approximately 24 man hours later, I can now present the second, yes, the second pop video for everyone’s favourite acoustic witpop solo combo with me in, Clarksville: Lego Heart. A 4 minute ode to being in a relationship and having to change one’s habits and hobbies to such an extent to make the relationship work, that you’re no longer the person who was attractive to your partner in the first place.
Note: It is vitally important to understand that this is not, in any way, shape or form, an autobiographical ditty. I have been horribly lucky in life (or spectacularly stubborn, pig headed and selfish - either one) to have continued my self-obsessed projects and schemes while my wife has supported, understood and been generally marvellous about them. Anyone who lives in a tiny over-priced flat and is happy to give over half the floor space to a rudimentary home-recording studio is hardly the person to have such a meanie bitter song written about them.
It was actually written about a couple I used to know about 15 years ago.
They know who they are.
Or rather, he does. I’m certain she hasn’t got a clue.
Anyway, should you wish to be entertained for 4 minutes, you can get down with da kidz, and click onto You Tube here.
Which pretty much is everything I’ve done this week.
My beloved boss at work has moved on to other things which means a vacancy for “Learning Manager” has opened up. This puts me in that position that office-job type people in their late thirties oft’ find themselves:
I’m good at something. I enjoy it. I’ve got about as far as I can get on the ladder of doing it. Do I take the next step which is a role training and developing other people to do the same thing, passing on knowledge and experience, which will mean I don’t actually get to do the thing I’m good at and enjoy as much any more?
I know Yoda found himself in the same position when he was offered the role of Jedi Training Manager on Dagobah.
And y’know, I’m not sure it made him happy.
The alternative of course is to stay in the same fun, lower role - avoid the world of budget plans and 1-2-1s and development opportunities - and become, essentially, the oldest trainer in town.
Did Fred Wedlock regret becoming the “Oldest Swinger In Town?” back when he charted with this hit in the 1970s? Had he planned his career better, could he not have become instead a appropriately mature and experienced “Swinger Manager and Development Liaison” and left the hard work of 9-5 “swingin’” to the next generation?
One can only imagine.
Well, it’s the World Cup Final this evening. I may or may not tune in to watch. It should, in theory be the most exciting, innovative, spectacular and impressive high-scoring game of the last 4 years, given the nature of the competition. I do confidently expect, however a 1-1 result to be decided on penalties. If you watch, I hope you enjoy.
No doubt, despite my carefully constructed image of outdoor-loathing, sport-reviling, bookish twit munch, I will find myself on the edge of my sofa because there’s not much else on tonight.
The last - boooo - of Clarksville’s 8 tracks is now officially up on the web for you to enjoy.
Entitled, with no pun licence granted - Tar Very Much, it is an anthem to the pros and cons of smoking cigarettes. Has a fuckin’ catchy chorus too. And a jazz-flute part. I spoil you, I know. Click here for that. Your ears, and lungs, will thank you for it.
Finally, was reading about Mel Gibson in the Saturday papers this weekend. Apparently his off-screen persona leaves quite a gargantuan bit to be desired. Which reminded me of the only 2 things I know about Melanie Gibson (as he is actually called).
1. What is it about that look? You know what I mean, that Mad Max, dusty, leather boots, studs, long hair tattoed grunge metal thing. Every movie I have ever seen that takes place after the nuclear apocolypse, the only survivors appear to be those who shop in Blue Banana, frequent Camden High Street on a Saturday and listen to Slipnot. Is there something about radiation that means it can't permeate goths? I'm tellin' ya, if the 4 min warning goes off, I'm jumping in a cab and shouting "To a "Bullet For My Valentine gig, and step on it."
2. Melbert Gibson got the career defining part in “Mad Max” after accompanying his friend to an audition and deciding there and then to “have a go at this acting lark” just out of boredom.
An event which I like to think prompted this exchange:
Mel - Bonza! You ain;t gonna believe it Bruce.
Bruce - Whassat mate?
Mel - The bastards have only gone an offered ME the part of Max.
Bruce - Y-You? When..? But..? How did they..?
Mel - I know, mate! I mean, I know I only came down here to keep you company an’ that. But strewth, I was sat out in the corridor watchin’ all these fellahs troopin’ in an’ out, and I figured - why not?
Bruce - You bastard. I wanted that role.
Mel - Bummer. Whaddya gonna do?! Hey, stardom here we come.
Bruce - But Mel? Mel…you…I mean, you can’t take the part. This is showbiz. Entertainment. Hollywood. Someone like you ain’t gonna fit in.
Mel - Awww, c’mon. No-one’s gonna find out about that.
Bruce - No-one -? You hate jews, Mel. In Hollywood? You won’t last 5 minutes!
Mel - Course I do. As every right thinking white man should.
Bruce - It’s a jewish business! They’ll find out!
Mel - And how are they gonna find out? Y’think I’m stupid? What do you think? I’ll be driving down Mulholland Drive, coked off my titties, and some LA cop is gonna pull me over and I’m gonna blurt out some anti-Semitic remark for no reason?
Something like that, anyway.
That’s it.
Enjoy the sunshine munchkins…
Rx
A few words on building blocks, filter tips, Yoda and Melanie Gibson...
Sun 11th July
A few words on sitcom, Flanders, Shrek, Nolan and evolution...
Mon 19th July
Well howdy-ho neighbourinos
Which I believe is a portmanteau line made of the yellow faced moustachioed bible thumping do-gooder Ned Flanders from The Simpsons and Mr Hanky the, ahem, Christmas poo, from South Park.
Which has caused me to think of this.
Oh, before I tell you that: hello. How are ya? It’s Monday night here in the house o’ Asplin. I’ve washed up, put some laundry on (the grimy collared whites, on at 40 degrees because I trust my Ariel liquid to put the effort in), I’ve had tea (mmm, lamb patties and Turkish salad) and had a glass of Blossom Hill. My lovely lady missus is back from Pilates and is watchin’ a Friends rerun on the couch. It’s the one with the…oh, I don’t know. Monica has made some cookies. And funny things are happening with the others. Should get an early night but I won’t because I’m an idiot.
Anyhoo, where was I -?
Yes, Ned Flanders.
It occurred to me (or rather, it actually occurred to my young staff at work a while ago) that - out of all the Simpson characters, it is Ned Flanders who I most closely resemble. The bouffanty quiff, sideburns, glasses. I went to the trouble of making a paper half-circle moustache (figuring, if you can’t beat ’em…make yourself look like an idiot). And lo, I was transformed.
S’funny, that realisation of one’s resemblance as you get older. There are folk who I have been told I resemble, and none of them are what you’d call matinee idols. Which I guess is fine. I’ve known about my physionomical shortfalls since school, and hence have cultivated a personality instead. I had some publicity photographs taken for my publisher this week and can confirm I am more of a Proclaimer than a James Dean, more of an Egon Spengler than a Brad Pitt, and big hair and sideys makes me more Greg Proops than it does Danny Zuko. And no amount of nerdy specs will make Johnny Depp look a little bit like Richard Asplin. But hell, that’s all right by me.
Was at the movies this weekend, so I’ll give you a l’il run down/recommendation of what I saw to save y’self a few quid.
SHREK FOREVER AFTER in 3D
Yeah, okay. A box ticker, I think it’s fair to say. I’ve seen the t’other three and this one pretty much does the same job. All the key “Shrekky” moments are present: Donkey singing in an overly enthusiastic manner; Shrek being grumpy; Puss In Boots doing that cute big-eyes purring thing (pretty much worth the price of admission); some magic potion making everyone break-dance for about 2 minutes longer than is funny and so on. The plot itself is actually pretty clever, in an “It’s A Wonderful Life” sort of way and we get to revisit the characters in their original form, pre-quadrilogy (there’s a word nobody ever uses apart from the makers of the Die Hard boxed set). But all in all, there ain’t much you haven’t seen already. So give it a whirl if it’s a favourite for there is more of the same. But if you’ve had all of Mike Myers irrational Scottish accent for one lifetime, you can give this a miss.
Ooooh, but I did a see a trailer for something called “Despicable Me” which is out this summer and looks about as much fun as an animated family comedy is allowed to be. Look out for it.
INCEPTION
Well. Well well well. Bless my soul. Have you seen it yet? I’m guessing not, it’s only been out a couple of days. It was sold out at the Brixton Ritzy on Sunday night - thank the lord for online membership booking - and if reviews are anything to go by, is likely to be a massive hit.
Here are my thoughts, for what they’re worth. And bear in mind, this is likely to be the only even vaguely negative review this apparently bulletproof movie is likely to get.
I didn’t like it. Okay, simple as that. There’s a number of reasons for this.
1. I missed the point a bit at the beginning. We were discussing it afterwards, my lovely wife and I, and I told her I just didn’t buy the motivation of why everyone was going to so much trouble to achieve what they were meant to achieve. She kindly explained why, which made me go, “ohhhhh, oh riiiiihgt, I see. Sorry, I missed that.” So that’s my fault.
2. Leonardo Di Caprio. I don’t like him. I don’t know why. I don’t. He does nothing for me at all. Leo in peril doesn’t bother me in the slightest and I have no interest in seeing him struggle to master his peril. So that’s not going to help.
3. Distance. It’s a multi-layered movie with many events going on simultaneously, cutting from epic show-stopping set piece to another, and back again, like it was three different movies. So we have James Bond, cutting to the Matrix via Die-Hard, via Blade Runner via Eternal Sunshine. And every time it cut back to another scene, I felt a layer of distance fall between me and the screen. So by the time we got to the end, it was like watching a movie from the wrong end of some binoculars. Utterly unengaged, separate and cold. Oh so cold. Spectacular, yes (in 2 key scenes only, both in the trailer) but that’s it. I was, however, the only person in the cinema not to be utterly gripped, so what the hell do I know.
There’s another episode of Friends on in the lounge. The one with the holiday Armadillo. Jesus, I must have seen that 1000 times. And won’t watch it again. Or rather wouldn’t, if it weren’t for the bit where Ross says “the Maccabees!” in his boomy voice.
Read an excellent book the other week. It’s called “Being Wrong: Adventures In The Margin Of Error” by a very smart lady called Kathryn Schulz. It’s all - frankly unsurprisingly - about what happens when we make mistakes. To our brain, to our conscience, to our understanding. Full of stories and insights and a general marvel. She makes a good point about humour and the funniness of errors. How, with enough distance from it, mistakes and tragedy and error is the basis of most comedy. Essentially like the Alan Alda line “comedy is tragedy plus time” from Crimes & Misdemeanours. But, y’know, with footnotes and a proper bibliography.
The line about the human experience on this theme I liked was “to the gods, the human experience must be like one long sitcom.”
I wondered then what sort of conversations the gods must have about it at the heavenly watercooler on a Monday morning.
God#1: Awright?
God#2: Morning morning.
God#1: See the human race last night?
God#2: Huh? Nahh, gone off it.
God#1: I thought you liked it.
God#2: Used to. The early ones.
God#1: Yeahh, I know what you mean. Not as good as it used to be.
God#2: It has got a bit…y’know…
God#1: Yeah. It was more…I dunno, knockabout to start with.
God#2: Like The Young Ones.
God#1: Yeahhh. With the caves and the stones.
God#2: The one where they discover fire…
God#1: Classic.
God#2: Classic. Y’remember that bit…
God#1: “Ow, that’s hot!”
God#2: Brilliant.
God#1: It’s just…
God#2: I know, it’s gone on a bit long.
God#1: When they started going abroad…
God#2: Always a bad sign. They ran out of ideas in the Africa set and went on holiday.
God#1: Yeah, “colonising” and what was that spin off -?
God#2: Oh that evolution thing.
God#1: A good idea, but they stretched it out.
God#2: They’ve had some good cameos though…
God#1: Yeah. Whassisname. Henry the Eighth, he was brilliant.
God#2: And thingy. Pol Pot.
God#1: (chuckle)
God#2: Hitler was just…
God#1: Well it went too far didn’t it.
God#2: Dark
God#1: Yeah, they always try and go dark. Take the laugh track off. Seems more…
God#2: Modern.
God#1: Modern, yeah. That awkward silence. Like The Office.
God#2: Yeah.
God#1: Christmas Specials are always a but samey.
God#2: Right. They always bring whassisname back don’t they.
God#1: Jesus?
God#2: Every fuckin’ year.
God#1: I know the guy who plays him actually.
God#2: Really?
God#1: His dad works here.
God#2: Shit, no kidding.
God#1: Keeps going on about it.
God#2: Really? He’s in one sitcom as a seasonal cameo?
God#1: With that comedy beard…
God#2: Reckons he’s Ronnie fuckin’ Barker.
God#1: Now he was funny.
Just a thought.
Anyway, that went on too long didn’t it.
I’ll leave you lovely people with this.
I have put together another - yes, ANOTHER - video for Clarksville which you can enjoy with a click here, or if you prefer (is it can take a while to load) you can go straight to “The Tube” and watch it there. “Darwin Stardust” is the song and the video is a joyful fast cut compilation montage of all things evolutionary. And some cute chimps.
Enjoy that.
Stay tuned for the next instalment. It’ll be more focused. And, hell, I might have some exciting news...
On that, enjoy your week lovelies.
Rx
A few words on... some bloody news, some exciting news and some bloody exciting news.
And lo, it came to pass, that it was Sunday.
The day of rest, the Sabbath (or is that Saturday? Wotever), the day of our Lord.
And he looked and he saw that it was good. Especially because of pictures of Connie Huq in The Observer and Antiques Roadshow on later. Amen.
What ho lovelies. As will be apparent to any of you who waded through the last 52 words, it is indeed a sunny Sunday as I bash this out for you. A peek through the nets actually reveals it’s not overly sunny, and a wee l’il teeny bit overcast, with the threat of p’raps rain later.
It’s ten past three as I do this, tea to my side and wife on the couch flicking through TV channels and leafing listlessly through the papers, as is traditional for a Sunday afternoon.
So, first - I have some news. I have some big news. I have some large, and good news. Larger than Eddie large, and gooder than a good episode of The Good Life.
I am thrilled, pleased, proud and in no small part a bit damn cocky about the announcement made at the Harrogate Crime Festival on Friday. The esteemed Crime Writers Association have announced the shortlists for their world famous annual awards and - well bless my soul and call me Poirot - if my last novel CONMAN hasn’t been short listed for the prestigious CWA Gold Dagger Award for Best Crime Novel of 2010.
Now those in the book trade will be aware of the significance of this and, like me, I expect be dizzied now with a mixture of wonder, aghastment and blimey-o’reilly-ness at this announcement. For those of you not in the book trade, I’ll quickly explain what this means. Or rather I‘ll cut n paste what Tom Harper, the CWA chairman, has to say about them which‘ll sort of give you the idea…
“The CWA Dagger Awards have always enjoyed huge prestige among crime fiction fans and authors. The shortlists this year are incredibly strong, from exciting new talents to established masters, all working at the top of their game. They are the longest established literary awards in the UK and are internationally recognised as a mark of excellence and achievement. The Gold Dagger is the year’s top award, for the best crime novel, originally written in English, by an author of any nationality.”
Blimey. I know.
Previous winners include John Le Carre, Dick Francis, Ruth Rendell, Patricia Cornwell, Ian Rankin and Minette Walters.
Right. So no pressure there then.
This year I’m up against the following bunch of blood-stained powerhouses:
Belinda Bauer, S J Bolton, James Lee Burke, Karen Campbell, Patricia Duncker, Denise Mina and George Pelecanos. Lawks.
So what happens now, you are clearly asking yourselves. (As well as asking no doubt “how the hell did this happen?”) The CWA and my publisher attempt to get as much mileage out of this list as possible. Books are reprinted, stickered and given a fresh lease of life across the country. I’ll be hopefully resuming the CONMAN show across this fair nation to spread the word.
In 2 weeks time, on Monday 9th August, the fine panel of incredibly astute judges will decide on the list of finalists. So the list will go from 8 to, I think, 4. Meaning, sadly, 4 of us will be let go and left to watch the excitement from the sidelines, say philosophical things about it being a privilege just to have been nominated, and the best man winning, and good luck to everyone and dammit-that-should-be-me-up-there-those-bastards and so on.
The list of finalists is when things ramp up, publicity wise and you’ll start seeing names in newspapers and suchamalike. Big date for those jammy-gits (sorry, I mean lucky fellows) who make it into the finals is Friday 8th as the daggers are being merged with the ITV3 Crime Thriller Awards in a huge televised showy black-tie speech glitzy bash, live from London. If you watch it, look out for me. I’ll be the guy not at the event, sat at home with a beer and a Pot Noodle, in my underpants, yelling “should’a been meeeee! That guy‘s book didn’t even MENTION Superman!”
So that’s my news. Cross your fingers for me if you will. If you’re of a religious bent, send a good luck prayer to the Deity of your choice. If you’re a pagan or some kind of fanatical robe-wearing nut job, then…I dunno, sacrifice a virgin goat or something. Whatever you usually do on a Sunday after Eastenders and before Songs Of Praise.
I also went to the theatre and did some karaoke this week, but as this news sort of poos that into a cocked trilby, I’ll tell you about that another time.
Anyway, I’ll let you know how I get on…
Love to all of you,
Rx
