At Christmas time, there's no need to be afraid.

I'm drunk. It's the day before the day before Christmas Eve and I've not wrote this blog as much as I thought I would have. I often think about writing it but there seem to be exterior forces stopping me (work, the Stern Show, COD 4 and a porno where Juile Night sticks two dildos up her own ass).

I've never become part of the blogsphere ( is thats what it's called?), I've never left messages on other peoples blogs. I'm a zit on that impossible to reach part of your back, I exist but you can't see me and you can't quite put a finger on me.

Maybe this will change in the New Year and I'll become a zit you can squeeze.

I'm looking forward to a happy Christmas, I have a couple of days off work and I've got my son a nintendo Wii, so we'll both be playing Super Mario World on Xmas night.



Merry Christmas and don't get blown to bits by terrorist.

Peace Out

'Well tonight thank God it's them-instead of you.'

Gunpowder, treason and plot...

It's Bonfire night tonight, an unusual UK tradition.

We remember Guido Fawkes, the Mohamed Atta of his generation (his generation being 1605AD) and the plot to blow up Kind James I and the Houses of Parliament.

As I write this I can hear the dull thud of rockets and air bombs as the explode outside then echo off the buildings nearby. It's still early, 10 o'clock , this is gonna go on all night.

Bonfire night is shit, when I was young a rocket went off in my hand as I was tyring to throw it into a neighbours back garden. It burnt my thumb and index finger of my right hand, I couldn't tell my mum so I fell asleep with my charred finger and thumb in a glass of water.

I had to walk home from work tonight, it's about a 3 mile walk and fireworks were already getting set off in peoples back gardens.

As I walked along, waiting for a stray rocket to take one of my eyes out, the memory of two Bonfire nights that we're complete shit, came into my head.

The first one was when I was a young boy, just old enough to be trusted by my parents to stay out late with my school friends, I must have been around ten.
I remember chestnuts and potatoes wrapped in foil cooking in the embers of a massive bonfire at the top of Castle Street, behind the shops. And my old primary school friends who I haven't thought of in years. I keep thinking of someone trying to hop the fire and getting there trainers burnt and every one laughing.

The second Bonfire Night that wasn't complete shit was when I was a bit older, old enough to get served in a pub, I spent all night in the Red Admiral and didn't see a single firework all night...

No blog for a month...

I've had PC issues.

And my xbox 360 developed an internal fault.

Any I put my ipod shuffle in the washing machine

However my techno-troubles seem to be over, the insurance company have replaced my laptop, should get it in a couple of days, my xbox 360 has been returned, I might get to play Halo 3 before the end of the year!

ipod is still goosed though.

Peace

'Bioshock ending - shit' shock!

I've just finished Bioshock.

The ending to the best video game experience ever was always going to feel a bit flat.

For the first time since...well the last time a truly great game came out (Resident Evil 4 maybe), the boundaries between video games, cinema and killin' shit all got a bit blurred. The auteurs at Take 2 have produced an amazing interactive experience, a triumph of the senses, an Xbox 360 wankathon.

No real spoilers here but I need to let you know I got the evil ending.

And when the ending did come, I was expecting some reward or a grade for how well I'd done. I'd have settled for a movie clip that tied up some of the story threads. Instead I got a 60 second set up for Bioshock II and then threw back to the title screen.

I wish I'd killed more of those little bitches now...

Luca Brasi sleeps with the phishes

I'm back, and back on a gangster tip.

I've just bought the Godfather Trilogy on DVD, it's the red box collection. It looks like shit, the discs are in those ultra slim cases, one with a sepia close up of Don Corleone, the other two have a young Micheal and an older Micheal from part III, on them.

I've seen these movies many times. I remember seeing Part I and Part II as a child, even though I wasn't old enough to really recognise them as movie greats, some scenes stuck in my head for years.

Micheal closing the door on Kay at the end of Part I. The young Don wrapping a towel around a pistol and it catching fire as he shoots Don Fanucci in the cheek and the fishing trip with Fredo, with that shot ringing out across the lake.

Later in my teens I would fall in love with movies, with these films and that robot movie Jean Claude Van Damme was in.

Part I is just starting so I will leave you with one of my favorite quotes.

'She was beautiful, she was young; she was innocent. She was the greatest piece of ass I've ever had, and I've had 'em all over the world.'

Not a poem

I'm not sure what I think about poems in this blog.

In fact I am sure my writing isn't meant to be in a poemy form.

There is a piece of music called Glasgow Love Song, by Craig Armstrong. I think it's off the movie This Years Love, don't know for sure as I've avoided it. I've just realised that I purposely don't watch romance/love story type movies. I guess it's much the same for those people have who have extreme reactions to horror movies or anything with Steven Segal in it.

Just the title fires up emotions in my head. Now I'm thinking if This is This Years Love, what happened last year? And what the fuck is gonna happen next year?

I've just listened to this track twenty times on the run. It's only 2 minutes long but very moving, and I feel a loss inside of me. I can imagine this music fading in, in the movie, just at the very moment the hero/heroines heart gets threw into a mincer and made into dog food. I keep thinking of words to go with this piece of music . It's 1.19am now, and now... it's twenty-one times. I'll be up all night if I don't do this.

Waited more than you could know

Wanted less than you let go

Just hold on and you’ll be here

Just hope now that you are near

I don’t want to be too happy

I’ll settle for being ordinary

It's 1.48am now. It's not much of a poem but I think I can go to bed soon.

I just need to listen to Spider-pig off the Simpsons soundtrack, then have a wank.

Heathly eating.

It's still early. I've just been to the garage/shop around the corner, wasn't sure if it would be open.

I came back with these goodies.

















The cornerstone of any balanced diet.

I feel marginally less depressed than I did an hour ago.
I've just chomped my second bacon butty, the kettles just boiled.

'Ere love, get us a brew?'
'Ten sugars or twelve?'

Bad. Dream.

It's 6.00 am.

I over analyze.

And pick my memory to bits.

I can't write whats on my mind.

As every time I look at this, I'll start over again...






Shit, now I've gone and done it.

Frost/Nixon, will it suck?

Frost/Nixon recounts the 1977 television interviews, where David Frost bamboozled Richard Nixon into admitting wrong doing in the Watergate affair.

Based on the award winning West End and Broadway play, written by Peter Morgan and set to star the brilliant British actor Michael Sheen and Skeletor from Masters of the Universe.

Due to be released in October 2008, slap bang in the middle of the US presidential election.

If movies based around political interviews are your bag, then this will be da fucking bomb!

Shakepear's Atoms

I'm an antsiest and don't believe in reincarnation, so I'm pretty much fucked when I pop my clogs.

I read somewhere that we all share about fifty thousand of the atoms that also made up William Shakespeare. I wonder what bit of him I got?

[Fuck.]

I think that Faith, my definition of the word Faith, could be switched with the definition of the word Hope.

Insert your dictionary definition of the word Hope - here - now [there's 57 Heinz varieties to choose from]

When my son was born he had to have an operation on his stomach, I really did take a moment, in the children's ward of Liverpool Womens Hospital and prayed to god, 'Please let him wake up after the anesthetic.'

The last time I prayed, before that, was the night that my Granddad Jones passed away, I was 16 and cried myself to sleep.

I'm thinking of what to type next. I'm staring at the wallpaper on my living room wall. I know that it's spinning around the sun at 10,000 bpm ( or whatever) , just as I am.

I know that our sun is in an obscure corner of the universe.

I know that the planet Earth, that we're cutting down all the tree's on, has only been able to sustain life for that last million or so years (before that it looked like Runcorn).

I know that Homosapien man left the African plains thirty thousand years ago, after he'd fucked all the Neanderthal women and eaten all the Neanderthal men.

I know that man invented god, god didn't invent man.

I know that the Romans crucified a man called Jesus Christ.

I know that 500 years ago, burning witches was a national sport.

I know a car bomb can kill someone I went to school with.

[Fuck.]

I know that the last time I prayed to god it went something think this -

'please let him wake up after the anesthetic,
please let him wake up after the anesthetic,
please let him wake up after the anesthetic.'


'Goodnight, thank you, and may your god go with you.'
Dave Allen (July 6, 1936- March 10, 2005)

The Sopranos is the new history of America.

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Sony made me fat.

I've just come back from the gym. I don't want to get fit, I just want to get not fat.

I'm slowly starting to see some improvements. If I tense my muscles, do that thing with my love handles, suck my gut in then squint my eyes, I can almost see the shape I might might be heading for. Fuck, was that thought going through Buffalo Bills head, as he tucked his cock between his legs?

I can almost see the shape I might be heading for.

I used to train a lot, but Sony fucked me up when they brought out the Playstation.

I write this nonsense with my ipod on. At this exact second, Michael Gambon is saying, in a gravely tone - 'You're born, you take shit, you get out in the world, you take more shit, you climb a little higher, you take less shit. Till one day you're up in the rarefied atmosphere and you've forgotten what shit even looks like.'

It's the classical track called Aria from the movie Layer Cake, with the Facts of Life speech as the intro.



'Welcome to the layer cake, son'

It's a moving piece, to listen to anything else would spoil the moment.

Our work here is done for tonight, lets all go home and jerk off.

Peace.

Terry Tibbs - Talk to me

This is a work of genius. I may put my TV back on, for this.

The world is yours...

...don't fuck it up today.

Will Rambo IV suck?

When I was 14 and weighed in at 9 1/2 stone I became a Stallone fan. I saw Rocky II, lying on the living room floor in front of the 21" TV that my parents had. Nobody in the room saw the tears streaming down my face when Adrian came out that coma.

The training montage and the run up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art became a piece of cinematic history.



From that moment on, mine and Sly's destinies would become intertwined, financially at least.

I bought Rocky III on VHS (when video tapes cost as much as a small car), I saw Rocky IV at the cinema the day it came out. I bought the Rambo poster book and had John J in various poses of mass murder, blu-tacked to my bedroom wall. I had the Rambo computer game for my ZX Spectrum and for breakfast I drank raw eggs mixed with milk until I was ill.

I was with Sly for the good times, wearing a dress and a beard in Nighthawks, jumping out of river to gut an unsuspecting Vietnamese's conscript and knocking the fuck out of Dolph Lundgren. These are our memories.

We share some regrets to. Sly made Oscar and I went to watch it.

I think thats enough talk of regret...

Over The Top, Stop Or My Mum Will Shoot, Daylight, Judge Dread and that time I shit myself at the Boys Brigade, these are the moments that have molded us into the people and the places we are now.

I have a son, who I'm guiding in the ways of the world, he's seen all the Rocky films and has some of the new action figures. One day, when he's older I'll introduce him to a psychologically damaged Vietnam vet with low body fat.

The new John Rambo movie will be awful if the teaser trailer is anything to go by.



However, sometime, years from now, there's a rainy Sunday afternoon where myself and my son will sit down to enjoy an old movie, it's going to have no plot, clunky dialogue and a scene where some gook gets his throat ripped out, thats become a piece of cinematic history.

'When your pushed, killing's as easy as breathing'

'Describe your life in one word?'

I was away on a business trip recently and went for a meal with two work friends to a Greek restaurant . They're having an affair, does that word still get used? Okay, they're fucking.

I was unfortunate enough to also be staying in the hotel room next to them. Hotel walls aren't as thick as they should be. I put my ipod on and listened to the Stern Show (Sal the Stockbrokers wife has an emotional friend and Big Foot and Blue Iris played the What's in my ass game) but I could still hear fucking going on next door. The sound of fucking kept me awake till the early hours. Then after they'd finished, the sound of no fucking kept me awake till the morning.

Back to the Greek restaurant, my male friend, I'll call him Eric the Midget, to protect is identity, posed this question.

'Describe your life in one word?'

I can't remember there words, I can remember mine, and it wasn't very good.

I've thought of a better one now and I'm dying for the conversation to come up again, but because of the circumstances I don't think it will. Shame.

My word...

Shipwrecked.

Yie Ar Kung-Fu Xbox LIVE Arcade Review

Shit.

Pot Noodles & Jerry Maguire

I'm trying to lose weight.
I've been to the gym at work, for four nights on the run. I've been watching what I eat. This week I've been watching Pot Noodles and egg on toast.

I'm not overly over weight. I could do with losing a stone (14 pounds). I'm the classic ectomorph shape and I think I've just made that word up. I mean the body shape that comprises -

a) boney girl arms
b) a 36 inch waist
c) more than one chin

I've always had skinny wrists, I could never wear tight fitting jumpers as a teen, in case someone noticed justed how boney I was.
I think...know, the drive for me losing weight is to get laid. I know in my heart that there is a mercy fuck with my name on it just around the corner. If I can catch someones eye, if they can see I'm making an effort and I haven't got a tight fitting jumper on I can hit paydirt with K-dirt.

This is the play list on my ipod, I've been doing my training to for the last few days.

In your honer - Foo Fighters
Living for the weekend - Hard Fi
Guitar - Prince
The best of you - Foo Fighters
Secret Garden-Bruce Springsteen
An honest mistake - The Bravery
America - Razorlight
Set fire to the third bar - Snow Patrol
Speed of sound - Cold Play
Beetlejuice song - Staind

I'm on the chest press machine (one of those ones that you sit in) when the Springsteen song comes on. It's the one from Jerry Maguire , it's the version with the sound bites from the movie in it...

'You complete me....'

It reminded me of going on a date with an Australian girl, to see that movie. Her name was Meridith, she was from a town called Aubry-Watonga (?). Her sister went to the same school as Nick Cave. After the movie she gave me a blow job.

'You had me at hello...'

Peace

Writer's block...

So the idea that I've got writers block doesn't really hold water. I'm not a writer. I like the idea of being a writer. I like the idea of not having leave my flat to go to work. That I could stay home, listen to the Stern Show, look at porn and drink coffee. And at some point in the day write something and get paid for it.

I remember stuff.

And there's stuff I can never remember. I can't remember my own mobile number but I can remember being a toddler, waking up in the middle of the night screaming after a bad dream, rattling the bars of my cot as my mum ran upstairs to comfort me. I must have been about three years old.

That's my earliest memory. I remember the dark alcove that my cot was pushed into, in my parents bedroom. I can remember the unusual purple color wallpaper they had , it was that wood-chip stuff, that was popular in the 70's and 80's with people with no money.

I remember day dreaming about being a writer too. From the age of 16 I've wanted to 'be a writer'. I'm 30-something now and I'm still dreaming. So the purpose of this blog is for me to write, right. Just write, type, think and write.

My dreams are small, and sometimes they keep me awake.