Sunday 13 November 2011

Almost A Year Of No Posts

Oh dear, I appear to have broken my promise to myself to update regularly. For that I can only apologise. I would like to say that my absence was due to being held as a prisoner of conscience/climbing Everest/inventing cold fusion. However it was not. It was more like this:

So there you have it. Someone more competent than me would have updated far sooner, and not chosen four days before an exam as the ideal time to write an entry. I'll be posting far more frequently now that I've started university and actually have a life, instead of just sitting at home and occasionally going to work. Although if I post too frequently, my entire life will be blogging...but then I'll have nothing to blog about -PARADOX! Erm, yes, I'll stop thinking about that now. It makes my head hurt and I have a shitload of stuff to do today. I shall bid you farewell, and I promise I'll update properly soon.










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Thursday 20 January 2011

And the BAFTA Goes To...

Whether it's a Hollywood waiter writing a screenplay in between serving your main course and dessert, or Alan Partridge pitching 'Monkey Tennis' to a despairing BBC executive, we all think we have an idea for a great TV show. I am no exception. I know that somewhere, deep down, there is a great visionary just waiting to be discovered and awarded an Oscar.

So it was with a dream and a pen that I sat down one day to create something award-worthy. I decided that like The Beatles and Amy Winehouse before me, I should probably be under the influence while writing, in order to increase my chances of creating my magnum opus. So I made a giant mug of black coffee and set about creating the television equivalent of 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

It turns out that my caffeine-induced mania was not conducive to sitting still and contemplating the nuances of my main character's psyche, or creating a story which was a subtle allegory for the Gulf War; therefore instead of creating an single masterpiece, I have come up with numerous half-baked ideas and one-dimensional characters. Enjoy.

Newsnight: The Musical
One of those film versions of a West End musical. A high-camp rock opera which follows Jeremy Paxman (played by Louie Spence) as he navigates the stressful world that is Newsnight. Featuring energetic, sensual dance sequences and graphic violence (as our hero does battle with evasive politicians), this is definitely one for after the watershed. Includes future classic showtunes like:
'I'll Ask You One Last Time-Just Answer The Question!'
'Breaking News, Breaking Hearts'
'(I Wanna Be) The Next Dimbleby'
'I'll Ask you One Last Time-Just Answer The Question!' (Reprisals 1 - 7)

Shakespeare, But All Modern and 'Cool'
The Royal Shakespeare Company presents a series of William Shakespeare's most famous plays, but set in modern day Britain because people are too stupid to watch something set in the past. Using all the original dialogue, just to make it that little bit more bizarre, the series is sure to make a whole new generation fall in love with the Bard's work. Just as long as his work takes place on a council estate in Hackney. The first episode sees A Midsummer Night's Dream re-imagined as the story of a group of teenagers experimenting with a mind-bending aphrodisiac drug. The series will be shown straight after The X-Factor, in the hope that the so-called 'Downton Abbey Effect' will boost ratings.

Teenz
A more true to life look at the lives of teenagers than what is portrayed in Skins, The OC, and 90210; this drama series is about a group of slightly awkward, average looking sixteen year-olds. Over the course of the series, the gang are seen failing to get into clubs using their older siblings' I.Ds, revising non-stop for exams, and not getting pregnant/murdered/arrested/hooked on crack.

Johnny Maverick
A high-octane cop show about Detective Johnny Maverick - a hard-drinking, unlucky in love, classic car aficionado. His unconventional methods and penchant for power sliding his 1962 Cadillac see him throw the rulebook out the window and shake up CID. His superiors don't understand his unorthodox approach to police work, and attempt to throw the book at him at every opportunity. Amidst all this book throwing is the beautiful Madelyn Wilding - Maverick's Sergeant, with whom he has a love/hate relationship. The sexual tension between them rises as they argue over interrogation techniques, question each others judgement, and get too close for comfort as a series of increasingly contrived events repeatedly forces them to go undercover as a couple.

So there you have it - my marvellous ideas, which will (hopefully) be coming to a TV screen near you soon.
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Monday 10 January 2011

Games To Play On Long Train Journeys.

End Of The Line

This game is most fun when played on cross-country journeys, but can still be fun on shorter trips.

The Rules:
When you stop at a station, wake up the nearest sleeping passenger and inform them that the train has arrived at the last stop. Either they will panic because they think they have missed their stop, or thank you for waking them, then get angry when they realise they have been deceived.

Points:
Passenger briefly believes you (quickly checks sign at station, hears announcement etc.) - 5 points.
Passenger gets up, gets bag - 10 points.
Passenger reaches door before realising you were lying - 15 points.
Passenger gets off train, realises error, gets back on - 20 points.
Passengers gets off train, walks off without realising, train leaves without passenger - 50 points.

Mysterious Phone Call

Make sure your phone is on silent during this game, in case an incoming call or text ruins the fun.

The Rules:
Pretend to be having a strange and alarming conversation with someone. The aim is to freak out your fellow passengers by convincing them that you are a spy/murderer/bank robber/crazed fetishist.

Points:
Passenger takes an interest in conversation - 5 points.
Passenger appears to be visibly uncomfortable - 10 points.
Passenger is exchanging looks with other passengers/alerting them to presence of potential criminal - 15 points.
Passenger appears to be seriously debating whether or not to inform counter intelligence service/police/psychiatrist - 20 points.
You are met off the train by authorities - 50 points and possible prison sentence/counselling.

Mornington Crescent

This game works much better if your victims fellow commuters are not familiar with the concept of Mornington Crescent, but can still be enjoyed even if they do know of the game.

The Rules:
The aim of the game is simply to get as many people as possible involved in a game of Mornington Crescent. More daring or experienced players can introduce one or more of the many 'variations' that can be played e.g. Tudor Court Rules.

Points:
Passenger is familiar with game, but plays along - 5 points.
Passenger declines offer on basis that they do not know rules, asks for explanation of rules - 10 points.
Passenger attempts to play along, stops quickly due to confusion - 15 points.
Passenger shouts out Tube stations on seemingly arbitrary basis for extended period of time - 20 points.
Passenger begins to think they actually understand rules, appears to have developed primitive logic to govern gameplay - 50 points.

Strangers on a Train

Another game which could potentially lead you to being arrested or becoming a victim of vigilante justice, Strangers on a Train is not for the faint-hearted.

The Rules:
Offer to murder the enemy of a passenger, if they promise to murder someone for you. String out conversation for as long as possible, planning murders in minute detail.

Points:
Passenger politely declines offer, but does not alert authorities - 5 points.
Passenger threatens to call police - 10 points.
Passenger goes along with plan for a while, eventually backs out - 15 points.
Passenger presses you for details, appears to be recording conversation in order to help build criminal case against you - 20 points.
Passenger serious about plan, you hide in toilet and call police, become national hero for averting murder - 50 points.

Disclaimer
I am not to be held accountable for any arrest, injury, fine etc. that arises during the playing of any of these games. So consider yourself forewarned.
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Monday 3 January 2011

In My Version of Master and Commander, Russell Crowe Becomes a Ninja and Paul Bettany Discovers Unicorns on the Galapagos Islands

I realise that this blog has started to become solely about snow, and for that I can only apologise. Luckily for all of us, the snow has now melted, allowing life to return to normal and for blogging/train services to resume.


The snow finally vanished a few days before Christmas, but not before it turned the already unpleasant experience of last-minute Christmas shopping into an ordeal akin to being tortured with knives and the music of Justin Bieber. This post is split into two parts, because I didn't really want to devote another two posts to snow.

Part One: December 23rd 2010

The 23rd of December was the day that we hiked (almost) en famille into town, after realising that there were just two days until Christmas and we had yet to buy any food. It was also the day that I decided that snow was an evil and malevolent force, that should just go away and annoy other people, (ie people who are sensible enough to realise that you can't make anything out of bread, two carrots, and a packet of crisps, and practical enough to realise that they should probably do something about it.) These two events are probably linked. Things got off to an inauspicious start when my dad informed us that he would be staying at home, ostensibly so he could attempt to stop our pipes freezing up. In hindsight, I realise that he probably knew what a terrible idea it was to brave the snow and pre-Christmas crowds, but he let his family channel the spirit of Captain Oates anyway because we really needed to buy food.

The next problem arose when it was time for us to put our hiking boots on. Despite the fact that there were seven pairs of boots dripping icy water all over the hall, none of them appeared to actually fit anybody. It transpired that the boots that I am wearing in all the photos in previous entries actually belong to my mum. My own boots had seemingly vanished into the the ether. My brother's genius solution was to hand me a pair of size seven boots and tell me they were mine. I knew I was a size five, and so did not fall for his deception. He persisted with his attempts to make me wear the boots however, as he firmly believes that if you say something enough times, it will become true. Our conversation went a little like this:


His unshakable belief that I was nineteen left me seriously questioning my own date of birth, but I decided to file that problem away for a later date, because I still had to find a pair of shoes that wouldn't make me look like I had clown feet.

After some frantic searching, I found a pair of boots and we finally headed out. My mum insisted that the easiest way to get to the supermarket was not to walk along the partially clear pavements, but to to walk across the park. Unsurprisingly this turned out to be a bad idea, as the snow reached almost to our knees, making walking a very slow and tiring process.

We finally reached the supermarket, having made a brief diversion to the pond after we saw what we thought was a dead duck. It turned out to be a duck shaped stick. I'm not really sure what we were planning to do had it been a dead duck, but it concerned us all enough to make us stand and look at it until we were 100% certain it wasn't a duck corpse. The first stop on our trip was Marks and Spencer, for cakes and custard. The queue stretched halfway round the shop, so I decided the only way that I could justify joining it was to buy as much food as possible. It was this logic that lead to us arriving at my uncle's house on Christmas Day armed with five different desserts, several bottles of wine, and at least fifty cows worth of cheese. After finally paying for our purchases, we headed to Tesco.

Tesco, being a far larger shop, was much easier to navigate and didn't require us to karate chop old ladies just to get a loaf of bread. We were in and out in record time, though we had to persuade Mum that buying more dessert was unnecessary since we already had enough to feed the whole street. We made it home to discover that my dad had constructed a Friends-style Giant Poking Device and destroyed all the icicles hanging off our roof. This was incredibly upsetting, since I had been trying for days to get a photo of the icicles that looked vaguely artistic. All I'd managed was several black and white shots which were slightly off-centre, or contained visible bird droppings.

Part Two: Christmas Eve
Christmas Eve was memorable for two reasons: a blackout and a story about gay porn. The gay porn tale was regaled to us by my mum over dinner. Christmas Eve dinner at our house is traditionally a buffet-type meal; however it's all served on our kitchen table, so you end up accidentally dipping your elbows in hummus and eating with one hand while holding a lump of brie in the other, because there's no room to put it down. I always feel that 'special meals' like this should include sophisticated conversation about politics and literature, but the closest we get is usually a discussion on whether David Milliband would beat Ed Milliband in a fight to the death, and a tirade from my brother about why Shakespeare was an 'artsy-fartsy idiot with stupid hair'. It was no surprise therefore, when my mum decided to tell us about the time her and her friend wandered around the gay porn section of a San Francisco Blockbuster. She then listed several of the titles on offer, before my dad changed the subject. This was quite a strange experience for me, as I generally avoid using words like 'wank' in front of my parents for fear of being told off. If I'd known that my mum used this kind of language during anecdotes at teatime, I'd have started swearing like a longshoreman years ago. 

After a delightful meal, during which we learned rather more about my mum's past than we would have liked to, we settled down to watch Master and Commander. My dad had been attempting to watch this film for several years, and had had his viewing interrupted every time. This time was to be no different. We had just got to the part where Paul Bettany and Russell Crowe are arguing about something or other, when we were plunged into darkness. There had been a power cut, once again dashing my poor father's hopes of ever finding out whether the intrepid crew of the HMS Surprise find the Acheron.



I was quite excited by the power cut however, as it gave me an opportunity to use the many candles I had lying around my room. I'm not sure where all these candles came from, but I seem to have an abundant supply that have never been lit due to my slight fear of fire. I brought the candles down, and we all sat in the living room commenting on how pretty it looked in the candle light. We also opened a box of chocolates, which due to the fact that we couldn't really see what colour the wrappers were, turned into Chocolate Russian Roulette. I don't know if you've ever bitten into a caramel chocolate, only to discover that it is in fact mint, but it gives you quite a shock. You're all prepared for sweet caramel, then BAM! chocolatey toothpaste. When you have no electricity and your mum won't let you go upstairs in case you fall down in the dark, this game becomes incredibly enteraining. It was during this blackout that I let my mum play Bejeweled Blitz on my iPod. This may have been a mistake. You see, a few years ago, my mum had become addicted to a similar game on my brother's phone. She would ask to play it all the time, and the phone was always being charged up because she eventually became quite proficient at it and was able to reach level twenty, which took a lot of time and even more battery life to achieve. Unfortunately, technology is not my mum's strong point, and I spent the next five minutes showing her how to operate the iPod while cursing the fact that I kept getting nutty chocolates in Chocolate Russian Roulette.

Eventually the power came back on, but by now the plot of Master and Commander had advanced to the point were we didn't really know what was going on. We spent the rest of the evening trying to find enough boxes to hold all the food we had bought that day, as we would be driving to my uncle's for Christmas dinner. As it happened, we had so much queue justifying food that we abandonned most of it at his house the next day, so it wasn't our responsibilty anymore. I feel that it was a fitting way to thank him for inviting us over and cooking for us.

So there you have it, the final chapter in the Snow Saga. It's like the Twilight Saga, only I think sunlight would probably reflect off snow and cause Edward Cullen to do whatever it is that Twilight vampires do when exposed to light. So people would know he's a vampire/he'd die/whatever. Anyway the book would be over quite quickly, which may be a good thing. Yeah, I'm going to shut up about Twilght now.





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Saturday 18 December 2010

Snow Pictures Continued Due To Computer Nervous Breakdown.

I have more snow pictures, which couldn't be put on the first post due to my computer and/or Blogger having a nervous breakdown or possibly succumbing to snow-blindness. So without further ado, here are some more exciting pictures. You even get to see my feet (lucky you) as I dare to venture out of the house.
A closer view of my garden.


The Buddha head my mum inexplicably bought gets a Marge Simpson makeover.
My mum's car.
My snowy footprints. Someone who was less of a failiure than me would have made that look artistic.
My feet looking all cold and snowy. I also kind of look like I'm hovering. Alas, I am not.
My feet and sexy sweat pants in a snowy trench.



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So Maybe The News Was Right...

I take back everything I said on my last post re: news channels over-reacting about the snow. Said snow is almost a foot deep now, and has dicked all over my plans for the week. On the one hand, I don't have to go into work for the foreseeable future, since no one wants to buy shoes in Arctic weather. On the other hand however, our Christmas night out has been cancelled, mine and Richard's plans to finally see Harry Potter have been scuppered, and Alice's birthday night out is off due to the birthday girl being stuck at her boyfriend's house in Wigan. I can't help but think that all this may be punishment from BBC News for my mocking of the snow coverage. I always suspected Fiona Bruce had supernatural powers.

Anyway, here are some fabulous photos I took of the snow:


This is the view from my living room window last night.

My dad and one of the neighbours clearing snow.
Nine inches!
Our bench looking like a snow-bed.

Usually it's pitch black by this time of night.

This morning.



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Monday 29 November 2010

It's Snowing!!...Oh Wait, It's Stopped/Bob Smith Has A Foul Mouth

I just love how every time it snows, the news channels freak out and act like the country is about to implode. News 24 has essentially been like this for the last few days:

Huw Edwards: And our top story tonight is OMFG SNOW!!!! It will kill us all, and disrupt our travel plans!
Now we go to Bob Smith, who's in Yorkshire.

Bob Smith: Yes Huw, IT'S FUCKING SNOWING!!! Look at the snow! Look at the cars-they're stuck. IN THE SNOW. Holy shit, here's a gritter. Now would be a good time to warn you of the possible grit shortage. Yes Huw, you heard me-a grit shortage. Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse.

Huw Edwards: Thanks Bob. Now over to Sarah Parker. Sarah's in Scotland, where the worst of the snow is.

Sarah Parker: Scotland. The big one. You think you've seen snow, think again. Scotland's snow dicks all over England's snow. Look how deep it is! This is scary stuff people, the people of Scotland are literally on fire. Why? Because that's what Scotland's death snow does damn it! IT MAKES YOU GO ON FIRE!!! Only the fire doesn't even melt the death snow BECAUSE IT'S MAGIC! Evil magic. Back to you Huw.

Huw Edwards: Bloody hell. Now that's what I call snow. Finally, we go to James Green in Alnwick. James, what's it like up there?

James Green: Arctic conditions up here Huw, Jesus it's cold. Oh and by the way, the snow here is totally death snow too. I'm thirty-two miles away from the border! That's practically Scotland-you tell that to Sarah. I hate it when she comes back, showing off about how she braved the Scottish death snow. THERE'S PEOPLE ON FIRE HERE TOO!! God, I hate her so much. Look at me! I'm braving the ice to walk around interviewing shop keepers. You don't see her doing that do you? Oh and another thing-

Huw Edwards: Err...that's all we have time for James. Thank you for that. Now we go to the weather with Tomasz. Why do you have that look on your face? Is there going to be more snow? ARE WE GOING TO DIE?! Just tell me! *bursts into tears*
By the way, I have this whole back story in my head as to why James hates Sarah so much. It involves her getting all the best on-location reports during the SARS/bird flu/swine flu/Legionnaires/*insert killer pandemic here* stories. Jealousy is a terrible thing.

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