Bad grammar alert. Last post.

"By the way, thank you all for the kind comments on the 'death' post. Very liberating to write. I would recommend it to everybody."

What I meant to write at the end of that paragraph was, 'I would recommend that everybody have a go at writing their own 'death' post'.

Even I am not that arrogant to suggest that everybody read that entry. Unless you want to, of course... And don't forget to tell all your friends about the work of genius that it is!

Ha!

**

I am injured.

Jennifer and I had a lift from work this morning and I managed to trap one of the fingers of my right hand in the car door as it was being shut. Don't ask me how I did it, because I don't know. The finger is not broken. It just hurts like buggery and is busy turning a nice shade of puce. Pain in the arse. Or should that be pain in the finger?

While typing I have discovered the exquisite pain of the letters 'o' and 'l', the number '9' and the punctuation symbol '.'. Yes, I can touch type. It is the only useful thing I ever learnt at school. This is despite the fact that at 14 years old I was suddenly thrust into a typing class with 18 teenage girls and one sad looking boy (hah, Clive - I remember you), and the teacher Mrs. Ingram was about 23 years old, looked exactly like the GMTV weather girl Clare Nazir



(that's Clare Nazir on the right)

and used to lean in close when she was giving us personal tuition.

Let me tell you, it was hard. To concentrate, that is.

**

I am just killing a little time before the finale of "I'd Do Anything" and the next "Doctor Who".

Re. "I'd Do Anything", the bookies have Jodie as the favourite to win, followed by Jessie and then Samantha. I would generally agree with that.

I was shocked last week when Samantha came last in the public vote on the last four contestants, and only got into the final because of Lloyd-Webber's casting vote. I had assumed that Samantha was top of the public vote every week. She had the looks and the voice. Maybe she was too slick. I don't know now if Samantha can win it.

If Ireland mobilises behind her Jessie will win. If Ireland doesn't mobilise, Jodie will win. I think it is as simple as that.

Re. "Doctor Who", I think that this current series has been enjoyable enough, but I am still waiting for the killer episode(s) of this series. Maybe they are still to come? Steven Moffat has written the next two. He is taking over as producer in 2010 and I think is a very good choice. He has written some outstanding "Doctor Who" stories since the rebirth of the series ("The Empty Child", "The Doctor Dances", "The Girl In The Fireplace" and "Blink") and will probably be the man to cast the new Doctor if David Tennant departs in 2010 as expected. Or is he to depart somewhat sooner than that?

David Morrissey is in the Christmas story, you know...

I am off to see the Pigeon Detectives tomorrow night, so you may see me before then, or you may not.

Have a good what's remaining of the weekend, folks.

On this fine Friday evening, I would like to direct you to the blog of the gentleman and scholar that is Swiss Toni, who has been kind enough to let me be the guest editor on his world famous Friday Earworms slot. My earworm entry is here, but stick around and read some more of Swiss' blog. It is very good and I am not just saying that to be nice.

As for myself, I have been thinking about time and the future. Not very deep stuff, because I am not a very deep guy. Just the realisation that hit me this week that I am running out of time and that the future is limited if I carry on the way I have been carrying on. Can I make a mark on this world? Do I want to make a mark on this world? If I do, then I need to get on with it. Thinking about your own mortality will open up those kind of thoughts.

By the way, thank you all for the kind comments on the 'death' post. Very liberating to write. I would recommend it to everybody.

"Timber Falls".



If the quality of a film can be judged by the number of people attending a particular screening of that film then I can say without doubt that "Timber Falls" is the worst film of all time.

There was nobody except myself in the afternoon screening of "Timber Falls" at the Showcase Cinema in Birmingham on Monday afternoon. Nobody at all. Nada. Zero. Nil. It was an empty auditorium. It was a room bereft of life. Just me. Alone. Quite scared, actually. Jumping at shadows that were moving all by themselves. A considerably scarier experience than that of watching the film itself, if I'm being totally honest.

OK. Seriously. "Timber Falls" is not the worst film of all time, but it isn't a great film either. It is an unholy mash up of "Deliverance" and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" featuring every cliche in the book, run by the book. The thing that saved "Timber Falls" was the mile wide streak of black humour in the second half, when the villains of the piece are revealed and the motivation for their villainry becomes apparent.

"Timber Falls" is a bad film, that much is true, but the outraegeousness of the plot made it kind of worthwhile to see.

**

A couple of words about Sharon Stone and her considered opinions on the Chinese earthquake.

Silly cow.

I awoke this morning with a nuclear headache and a terrible sick feeling in my stomach. Jennifer had already gone to work (she catches the bus at 6am, mad cow) so I phoned her at 7am to say that I wasn't coming in. To say she was unimpressed would be an understatement. I was ill. I did feel like death. Tough. I blame the change in air pressure. Where the hell has the Summer gone?

I took tablets and went back to bed, eventually rising at 11:30am. After eggs and toast I felt much better.

I have done some things on the computer and fulfilled a commitment to a friend. I am now going to watch a film.

It is tough being ill.

I died in 2008. This is how it happened.

Jennifer and I went to see the latest James Bond film "Quantum Of Solace" at the Electric Cinema in Birmingham. We had booked a sofa seat. It was Keaton, front row to the left. The sofa seat that we normally have.

A big guy and his mate took the sofa seat next to us on the right. Laurel. The big guy fiddled with his mobile phone all of the way through the trailers. The big guy was still playing with it when "Quantum Of Solace" started. I politely asked the big guy to turn his phone off. The big guy gave me some abuse, but he did turn his phone off.

When "Quantum Of Solace" had finished, I turned to Jennifer to ask what she thought of the film, and I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my lower back. I turned and saw that the big guy was on his feet, moving quite speedily up the aisle with his mate. He briefly looked back at me and then he was gone.

I thought nothing of it. I got up, put my coat over my arm, turned to Jennifer, asked if she was OK, and we left the auditorium.

In the foyer I asked Jennifer to hold my coat, as I wanted to use the toilet. I turned away from her and then she said, "What's that on your shirt?"

I felt around and my hand came away wet. My fingers were sticky and red.

It took 45 minutes for an ambulance crew to arrive. By the time they did, it was too late. It was understandable. A Saturday night in Birmingham. Lot's of 999 phone calls. As I said, the delay was understandable, but Jennifer would later be very vocal about the inadequacies of the ambulance service in the UK, when interviewed by our local paper.

As I lay on the floor of the Electric Cinema foyer, I remember thinking that "Quantum Of Solace" was a really good movie and that I hoped Daniel Craig would sign up for at least one more Bond film. I was going to put "Quantum Of Solace" into my list of films of the year.

I died on 1st November 2008. I was 45 years old.

**

I died in 2009. This is how it happened.

It was a very windy, blowy day. I was walking to the bus stop to catch the bus for work. As I crossed to the bus stop, a road sign, hanging precariously from it's pole, came loose and the sharp corner embedded itself in my skull. I was killed instantly and fell into the road, where I narrowly avoided being hit by a motorcyclist.

A single thought flashed through my brain during the microsecond of time between the impact of the road sign and oblivion. I thought that Julian Rhind-Tutt was going to be a really great Doctor Who.

I died on 17th November 2009. I was 46 years old.

**

I died in 2011. This is how it happened.

Jennifer and I were in London for a long weekend. We had booked tickets online to see Kevin Spacey and Robert Downey Jnr. in the revival of Neil Simon's "The Odd Couple" at the Old Vic, but planned to see at least a couple of other shows, depending on what else was available. It was the same weekend as the demonstration to protest the U.S. invasion of Iran, planned to coincide with President Obama's visit to these shores for meetings with Prime Minister Cameron.

We got up early and went to see the crowds gathering in Trafalgar Square. We were there at exactly the moment the four suicide bombers detonated their explosives. 147 people were killed outright, including myself. 74 people died later in hospital from injuries received. Hundreds of other people were hurt, including Jennifer who had been shielded from one of the blasts by yours truly. Jennifer made a full recovery. A previously unknown Al-Qaeda group claimed responsibility.

The papers dubbed it the "Trafalgar Square Massacre". President Obama called it "An atrocity that will live forever in the annals of cowardly infamy". Prime Minister Cameron called it "A disgraceful attack on liberty, justice and free speech". If I had been able to give my opinion I would have said how pissed off I was that I was going to miss out on seeing Robert Downey Jnr. onstage.

I died on 13th August 2011. I was 47 years old.

**

I died in 2012. This is how it happened.

After years of tension, Jennifer finally left me. I went into a deep depression and couldn't work. By the time the split happened, Jennifer had left the Company and I had a new Boss. My new Boss was a Motherfucker go-getter in a shiny suit and gave me much less leeway than Jennifer ever did. Eventually the Company let me go, citing some obscure clause in my contract to prevent me from suing them.

I went into a deeper depression. I was in denial for a long time, but Sister 1 was a rock. She came through for me. Sister 1 forced me to seek treatment and actually went with me to all of my hospital appointments. I was prescribed a new anti-depression drug called Ucologicistima. It helped. I got better, but was warned that I had to keep taking the tablets.

I was at home watching a favourite film on the Sci-Fi Channel. M. Night Shyamalan's "The Happening" from 2008. A real classic film, if ever I saw one. I had drunk a Red Bull. About an hour into the film I started to develop a headache. I took some Nurofen. Later that evening I had a fatal seizure. The autopsy diagnosed the reason as a previously unknown side effect of combining Taurine (from the Red Bull), Pseudoephedrine (from the Nurofen) and the Ucologicistima tablets.

I was never a sociable person, not even with my family. I was not discovered for 2 weeks. Boxing Day to be exact. Sister 1 became worried when I didn't turn up for Christmas Day lunch and she couldn't get me on the phone.

I died on 12th December 2012. I was 49 years old.

**

I died in 2018. This is how it happened.

I had a friend who was a photographer and an artist. I had known her and her husband for years. Had met them through an old blog, in fact. I had been careful to stay in touch with them throughout all of our changes in location and fortune. Real friends.

My friend had exploded onto the art scene a couple of years before, all of the hard work and effort finally paying off. She was having a 10 year retrospective of her work at the Saatchi Gallery in Chelsea and my wife and I had been invited to attend the opening. Lindsay couldn't attend as she was away filming, but I was glad to accept the invitation.

Four hours into the flight from L.A. to London I suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. There was nothing that could be done. I remember thinking that it was a shame I wouldn't get to see England again. I missed the rain.

My friend's retrospective was a big success.

I died on 16th May 2018. I was 54 years old.

**

I died in 2022. This is how it happened.

It was a time of personal and professional success.

Some years before, my first novel "Support Centre Blues" had been optioned by Hollywood, and had been made into a successful comedy starring Daniel Radcliffe as the younger, thinner, funnier and more handsome version of me. The movie was a big success, it changed my life and, of course, success breeds success.

I adapted my second novel, the thriller "Kill With Me", for the big screen. That was Leo Di Caprio's last big hit. I did an uncredited polish on the script for Steven Soderburgh's adaptation of the TV series "The Man From U.N.C.L.E". Sadly, not as big a hit as we had hoped. I wrote the screenplays for the movies "Fred Jones", "Cordless", "It Takes A Thief" and my favourite, "Replay". I had nearly finished my third novel "Corporation Street" (which was a memoir of my childhood in Birmingham in the 1970's, and nothing much like my Hollywood work), much to my publishers relief.

I was living in the Hollywood hills with my wife Lindsay Lohan. Yes, there was a fair age difference (Lindsay was 23 years younger than me), but it didn't matter. Finding a soul mate has got nothing to do with age. Some people said that I was good for Lindsay. Frankly that was bollocks. Lindsay was still referred to by lazy feature writers as 'Ex-Wild Child Lindsay', but Lindsay was so not that person, long before I met her. Lindsay had matured into a very fine character actress. If anything the opposite was true, Lindsay was good for me. She taught me that I didn't always have to be so serious.

We had been to Tom Cruise's 60th birthday party at his estate in Malibu. Lindsay was a good friend of Katie's and I had met Tom socially a couple of times. True, there was business talk, par for the course, but it was a very nice, happy party. I had met George Clooney for the first time and, frankly, behaved like a sad fan boy. We left sometime after midnight.

Lindsay and I headed west on the Pacific Coast Highway. I had been drinking, so Lindsay was driving, probably a little bit too fast. Suddenly, the car had a front right tire blowout. Lindsay lost control of the car, we hit a barrier and the car flipped over. Lindsay broke her arm in two places. I broke my neck.

Ewan McGregor and Zach Braff said nice things about me at the memorial service. Even with her arm in plaster, Lindsay made a beautiful widow.

At the Oscar ceremony the following year I was included in the list of Hollywood luminaries who had 'passed on'. Completely undeserved. Later that same evening, Lindsay presented the 2023 Best Original Screenplay Oscar. It was her first official public appearance since my death. Lindsay looked gorgeous. I hoped she would find somebody to love her.

I died on 3rd July 2022. I was 58 years old.

**

I died in 2026. This is how it happened.

My Brother and I were watching as my Nephew captained John Terry's England football team to victory against the old foe Germany in the Australian World Cup final. England won 2-1 in normal time. My Nephew didn't score, but he was the midfield dynamo who made a number of crucial passes. All of the expert analysis said so.

As my Nephew was lifting the cup, I felt a hammer blow to my chest. A heart attack. My last thought was that I was 20 years older than my Dad was when he died and that it was still not enough time.

I died on 28th June 2026. I was 62 years old.

**

I died in 2033. This is how it happened.

I had found a lump on my testicles, but had ignored it because I was embarrassed. Stupid, stupid, stupid. By the time the pain was with me in earnest, it was too late and the anti-cancer drugs that could have helped if I had sought treatment earlier, didn't help. I died in hospital hooked up to various machines, surrounded by my family. I was that drugged up and stoned I didn't know where I was or who these people were who were crying.

I died on 1st September 2033. I was 70 years old.

**

I died in 2040. This is how it happened.

I had contracted the virus commonly known as AIDS II. Not a sexually transmitted disease, but a virus transmitted to and from users of the Interweb Full Absorbtion Datasphere. In my old age I had rediscovered my youth in a virtual world where I hung out with young people, went to gigs, saw movies, had (nearly) sex with beautiful girls and, as my Dad would have said, had the craic.

AIDS II was a kind of brain cancer. As it took hold, I drifted away. It wasn't painful. It was kind of dreamy.

I died on 17th July 2040. I was 76 years old.

**

I died in 2063. This is how it happened.

I was kind of knackered, so I gave up. I was glad to go. Anything to avoid a holo-message from the King of England. Fuck that.

I died on 30th August 2063. I was 99 years old. One day short of my 100th birthday. Phew! Close, man.

**

Er... Hello? Still here?

OK. That was an interesting exercise, but I don't think I will die just yet. Too much to do.

Credit where credit is due.

Back in the 1970's the writer Harlan Ellison wrote an article called "The Day I Died" in which he did what I did above, only better. He speculated on his future and the many myriad ways in which he might die. I think that it was one of the best things he ever wrote. He is still one of my favourite writers.

I woke up on Saturday morning with the story in my head and decided to use the same idea. If you have to steal, steal from the very best, but always quote your sources. It would be rude not to.

You might die tomorrow. Think about it. I did.

I am buzzing with writing ideas (blog entries and a couple of alternate histories that I am going to write as blogs), so today I am going to give the cinema a miss so as to knuckle down and give the writing a fair crack of the whip. There are a shitload of films I have not seen, and Jennifer says that later I will get depressed and annoyed at not seeing them in a cinema, but so be it. I did see a film yesterday ( "Timber Falls"), which I will get to writing about later in the week.

Before I disappear, some brief thoughts on the Eurovision Song Contest.

The UK came joint last. I expected nothing more. Or should that be nothing less? Not that it was a bad song. It wasn't. I thought that on Saturday night Andy Abraham was pretty good.

Since the breakup of the Soviet Union, Political voting is now rife. Baltic states vote for Baltic states, Nordic states vote for Nordic states and Balkan states vote for Balkan sites. Somewhere in the middle the Western European countries get a couple of votes.

Terry Wogan, erstwhile host of the British end, has been very vocal in recent days about his disappointment with Eurovision and the UK's recent run of failure. He has gone as far as suggesting that 2008 may well be his last Eurovision as he no longer wished to oversee the annual debacle.

See ya Terry! Miss ya Terry!

Bring on Russell Brand and cronies! Or how about Jonathan Ross and his crew? Or maybe Graham Norton? I think that any and all of them could give the British end of the coverage some ooomph.

You see, to me, Wogan's comments smack very much of 'If you don't let us win, we're taking our ball home'. The world has changed. Europe has changed. The European public can vote for who the fuck they want. It is called democracy. You could stop the countries who failed to qualify for the final from voting, but the same block voting would still be used from the countries who did qualify. You could stop the European public from voting full stop and go back to the old committee from each country only voting, but you would have the same problem with those committees voting en-masse.

I know, how about having a Western Eurovision song contest and an Eastern Eurovision song contest? No, I didn't think so. Kind of defeats the point, doesn't it?

There is no solution. I'm afraid we will have to live with it. Maybe the UK will pull out of being one of the main financiers, so losing our buy-in to the final? Would the UK even make the final? Probably not. The BBC would probably be forced to stick Eurovision on the minority channel BBC3 as the contest would lose droves of viewers without a UK song in the final.

Not that it matters, but I thought the Ukraine should have won. Here it is.



But if Jennifer had let me vote, I would have gone for one of these 3 classics clunkers.

Latvia.



Spain.



Bosnia and Herzegovina.

I am on the clock. I need to be in the kitchen pretty soon. The diva fest that is "I'd Do Anything" starts at 7pm, followed by the campfest that is the "Eurovision Song Contest" at 8pm. After that? Well who knows? I will probably go to bed. I was up at 6am.

So, a quick summary.

Last night: On TV "The Invisibles", "Midnight Man", "Lost" and then "Peep Show". (Amazingly enough, Tessa Wyatt popped up as Jeremy's Mom. Other than a few wrinkles she looked and sounded exactly the same as she did in the mid 70's. She is 60 this year. Horrifying confession to make, but (cough) I still would. Older ladies need love too, you know.)

Today: At work early this morning, then food shopping and then into town.

I have bought the first three James Bond novels ("Casino Royale", "Live And Let Die" and "Moonraker"). The whole original Bond canon has been republished in new, kind of beautiful pulp fiction style covers and I intend to get all of them. You know the kind of cover I am talking about? A square jawed hero being threatened by a deadly looking, dark eyed girl in a bikini, carrying a big gun. Sigh. I am a sucker for a deadly looking, dark eyed girl in a bikini carrying a big gun.

In fact a red mist of 'spend some money' descended on me suddenly, today. I will regret it when the credit card bill arrives. This evening I have purchased online "O Lucky Man", "Static" and series 3 of "The Sandbaggers", plus some books that Jennifer wanted ("Freedom's Choice", "Freedom's Challenge" and "Freedom's Ransom").

Gulp. Roll on the pay review.

I am off.

Is it just me, or does Andy Abraham's Eurovision song sound exactly like "Express Yourself" by Madonna?

Oh. It's just me. Oh, well..Doesn't matter.

Good luck Andy! (Even if you have no chance.)

A guy from the New Zealand office has been a visiting. He was presented to me today with instructions that I teach him how to use our Helpdesk system. Frankly I could have done without it as I had fucking work to do!, but it wasn't his fault and I didn't hold it against him.

The training actually went very well. I showed him some things he could run that would slow the system to a crawl and also showed him how to crash the whole thing. Very satisfying. A good day's work.

Nice guy. We had a laugh and he had the kudos of possessing expert knowledge of bad horror films. He also claimed to have worked as an extra on the forthcoming, New Zealand shot "Underworld: Rise Of The Lycans", playing the part of a 'Werewolf slave'. "Underworld" was such a piece of shit that I never bothered to watch the sequel, and I will not be seeing the latest instalment, but actually being an extra in a movie, even a bad one, obviously meant that he got BIG respect from me. He also shared the news that the nickname for Rhona Mitra on the set of "Underworld: Rise Of The Lycans" was Moaner Mitra. Not a pleasant woman, apparently.

We discussed our personal backgrounds and it turned out that he was actually from the UK and that he had emigrated to New Zealand only 3 years ago. To me this was kind of astonishing. He definitely spoke in a strong Antipodean twang. I know that exposure to new people and cultures can change the words, slang and phrases that you use. We have a relatively new guy at work who uses the word 'legend' quite a lot, as in phrases like 'Will Smith - he's an absolute legend!" or 'If Rangers win the cup, it will be totally legend!', and I find that now I am doing the same. But how long does it take to totally lose your original accent completely? I suppose it depends on whether you work at losing it. My Dad left the Republic of Ireland for the UK when he was 21, never went back and he always spoke in a thick Irish accent until the day he died. Nobody except the family could understand a word he said.

Post grinds to a halt as Jerry forgets the point of what he was trying to say...

Bad luck Chelsea. You should have won. (Chelsea are Jennifer's team, but I was allowed to be an honorary supporter this evening as they were playing the great Satan, Manchester United.)

I read today that they (movie producers, that is - not Chelsea football club) are planning to remake "Highlander". I suppose it is a sign of getting old when movies you saw in your twenties are getting remade for an audience that have no interest in the original.

I wonder who will play the Scottish Egyptian?

I watch "I'd Do Anything" compulsively every Saturday, and the results show every Sunday. This has perturbed Jennifer a great deal. Where is the stud that she started going out with in 1996 and who is this girly wuss who has taken his place?

The quarter final sing off was yesterday. It featured Rachel and Niamh. Rachel won. Niamh is gone.

I think that this is the best song that Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber ever wrote. It always brings a tear to my eye.



Sigh. Girly wuss.

Jodie to win! Or will it be Sam? I don't know. I will toss a coin. (Tosses a coin.) Jodie! (Or Sam.)

As you were.

"Doctor Doolittle".



Tommy Steele was Britain's first Rock 'n' Roll star. (Sorry Cliff, but he was. You had your first hit record in 1958. Tommy had his in 1956.) Tommy wasn't a very good Rock 'n' Roll star. Most of Tommy's early records were kind of awful. Weak tea Rock 'n' Roll for British teenagers starved of exposure to the real thing. Tommy was much better suited to family entertainment, and really came into his own with the musical comedies he progressed to in the 1960's. "Half A Sixpence", "The Happiest Millionaire" and "Finian's Rainbow". In the 1970's he shifted again, this time into family stage musicals. Generally this is where he has remained.

In 1974/1975 my good lady, Jennifer, went with her Mom to see saw Tommy Steele in "Hans Christian Anderson" at the London Palladium. She remembered that show with fondness. (Maybe it is something to do with being a kid living in Britain during a certain stage of the 1970's. I remember all of the stars of the panto's I saw when I was a little kid. Arthur Askey, Dickie Henderson, Les Dawson, Richard O'Sullivan, Tessa Wyatt, Danny La Rue. Anybody remember any of that bunch?) Jennifer said that Tommy was a cyclone of energy. Singing, dancing and laughing. A wonderful performance. When I mentioned that he was appearing in "Doctor Doolittle" at the Birmingham Hippodrome, it became a must-see ticket for her. I was cajoled into attending with her. I expected nothing.

I got a bit more than nothing. In fact, I thought "Doctor Doolittle" was really good. It suprised me. Really it did. Family musicals are hardly my thing at all.

I must have seen the Rex Harrison movie, but I certainly don't remember seeing it. But I knew the songs. I knew the story and I knew the animals. The cast were enthusiastic. The show was colourful, exuberant and energetic. God forgive me for the words I am about to use, but it was a real treat for kids of all ages. I even bought a programme.

Tommy Steele is 71 years old. The makeup he was wearing was thick, and he seemed at points to be a little frail, but the voice was intact, and he danced nearly as well as anybody else on that stage. Good for him. What are old troupers supposed to do? Give up and die? No. Go like Tommy Cooper. That's what I say.

I doubt I will convince anybody to go and see "Doctor Doolittle". You either like this kind of thing or you don't. But if you are wavering, give it a go and remember to take a little kid with you. The pleasure will be maximised. I looked over at Jennifer during the show, and she was in raptures.

I was glad to make her happy for a change.

"Outpost".



A scientist, bankrolled by a mysterious organisation, hires a motley group of mercenaries to get him safely into a long forgotten bunker in Eastern Europe, abandoned at the end of World War II. There he find evidence of a secret experiment and something that should have died long ago...

(Makes spooky noises.)

Sounds good. Yes? OK, maybe not, but I have always thought that the success of a generic 'group of people facing unbelievable horror in a remote location' movie is mainly dependant on the execution of the premise rather than the originality of the premise. Neil Marshall's "Dog Soldiers" is an example of a brilliant soldiers vs. the supernatural movie. Such a shame that "Outpost" didn't try to rip off "Dog Soldiers" for enthusiasm, humour and, doggone it!, profane Britishness.

Because, sadly, "Outpost" is just a little bit dreary, dull, depressing and unexciting. It makes me really unhappy to write that, because I have read all about Arabella Page Croft's and Kieran Parker's struggle to get "Outpost" made. How they were rejected by Hollywood and had to finally remortgage their house to raise the funds to make "Outpost". I wanted "Outpost" to be a brilliant slice of low budget, energetic and inventive gore. It wasn't.

Oh, well. Maybe the next film will be better? I hope so. I am glad that this film got a theatrical realease and that my 3 quid and 25 pence went towards a British production. Please don't waste that investment next time, guys!

Lazy Saturday morning at home.

OK. Maybe not so lazy. I was up at 6am. Watched some TV. On the bus at 8am. At Sainsbury's at 8:10am. Back on the bus home at 9:10am. Having breakfast with Jennifer at 10am.

I think I need to have a nap. We are out this afternoon watching the legend that is Tommy Steele in "Doctor Doolittle". Jennifer's choice. I am sure that it will be great, but I must avoid the urge to fall asleep during the show.

Never retreat. Never surrender. Let's try this again, while I am less tired.

"Iron Man".



A few years ago, after the debacle that was the "Batman And Robin" movie, there was a lot of discussion about who should be the next actor to portray Batman. It was considered by many that George Clooney came up short in many ways and fatally contributed to the negative feeling about that movie. (Not an opinion shared by me, by the way, but my feelings on "Batman And Robin" has changed a lot in the years since it's release. A discussion for another time.)

Who should it be? Clint Eastwood in an adaptation of "The Dark Knight Returns"? Keanu Reeves in a movie directed by the Wachowski Brothers? Kurt Russell? Brad Pitt? All of those names were mentioned.

I remember commenting to my Brother that they should go with somebody like Robert Downey Jnr. Laugh? I thought he would never stop.

Robert Downey Jnr??? A man who had been arrested several times for drug related offences. A man who had snorted his talent up his nose. A man dropped from a prime slot in a Woody Allen movie, because the insurance company refused to insure him. A man whose career was effectively over, barring cameos in television series' and the odd movie gig.

Yes, I said. Robert Downey Jnr. A really good actor, when his mojo is on. A man who had lived duality. A man who could portray the irresponsible playboy Bruce Wayne, but also the darkness required for a serious Batman?

Of course history shows that it did not happen, but I was not too unhappy. "Batman Begins" was a killer movie, Christian Bale was great and I don't think that Robert Downey Jnr. playing Batman would have made it any better or any worse.

This brings me to "Iron Man". Robert Downey Jnr. playing an irresponsible playboy and a vengeful, costumed superhero. (I still have my crystal ball, and am available for readings, if anybody is interested.)

Robert Downey Jnr. makes "Iron Man". He really does. "Iron Man" would not have been half good without him. He is funny, sarcastic, sexy and charismatic, and just about dominates every scene that he is in, whether in costume or not. I read one comment that said "Iron Man" would have been just as good if it had been called "Tony Stark" and Iron Man had never made an appearance at all. I don't think that I would disagree with a word of that. If I had to make a small criticism I would say that Robert Downey Jnr. is so good, he diminishes everybody else on screen at the same time as him, and these people are certainly not chopped liver. (Jeff Bridges, Gwyneth Paltrow, Terence Howard.)

I thought that "Iron Man" was a great film. Action packed and fast moving. A big, bright powerhouse of a movie. Everything a hardware obsessed superhero movie should be. Relentless firepower for boys and girls of all ages. I liked the pointed subtext about science being corrupted by the military. Technology can be used for good or bad, a theme faced by Albert Einstein in real life and Tony Stark in "Iron Man".

Bring on "Iron Man 2". I can hardly wait.

I have written and written and written, but it is all shit, so I have abandoned it.

"Iron Man" another time.

(I'm an artist. Excuse me a minute while I cut off my ear.)

The gaps get longer. The content gets lesser. The interest wanes. The enthusiasm dips. Welcome to middle age.

At the moment I feel that all I want to do is watch television. Maybe it is that time of my life.

Anyway, I intend to finish the next bit, even if it kills me.

As I was saying. At the weekend I took my Nephew to see "Speed Racer".



Midway through the film I leaned over to him and whispered, "What do you think?" and this is what he said to me.

"It's rubbish, man!"

My Nephew was right as well. "Speed Racer" is very pants.

I will admit that "Speed Racer" looks absolutely fabulous. It shows us a big, bright, day glow universe. A multi-coloured extrapolation of how somebody living in the 1950's would think that a car racing obsessed future would look like. Breathtaking production design.

However... Other than the great visuals "Speed Racer" is possibly the emptiest, shallowest, dullest movie experience I have had in a cinema, since my misfortune in shelling out a couple of quid to see "The Matrix" sequels. Very long and very boring. (Sorry guys, but a 2 hours and 15 minutes running time for a film aimed ostensibly at small children is way too much). "Speed Racer" is all glittering surface without a decent script underpinning it.

Sigh... I know it's dull, but let's repeat the mantra once again, shall we?

Special effects alone do not a good movie make.

Personally I felt sorry for the cast in getting involved in such a clunker. Emile Hirsch had good notices in "Into The Wild" (I missed that one), and I thought he was funny in "The Girl Next Door", but here he is a personality vacuum and wears one expression of mild bemusement throughout the entire movie. Fine performers like Christina Ricci, John Goodman and Susan Sarandon are totally wasted. Lastly, the less said about Paulie Litt as Speed's irritiating younger brother the better, and let's not mention the comedy chimp at all. Life is too short. (Whoops! Just did.)

A bad misfire, then, but in recent times I have learnt to expect nothing much from the Wachowski's. "The Matrix" had it's moments (the first DVD I ever had, fact fans), but the best movie they were ever involved in was the lesbian film noir "Bound" and that was released way back in 1996. I would love the Wachowski's to do something as good again, but I doubt that they will. They have discovered the paintbox of digital special effects and, as long as those films continue to make money, I doubt they will ever want to close the lid on the paintbox.

"Iron Man" tomorrow.

It has been an incredibly busy weekend. At the time, frankly too busy to taking time out to be blogging about it.

Saturday we spent mostly with my Nephew. My Nephew will be 12 on 26th May 2008. Due to a combination of many things, we will not be seeing him on that day or close to that day. So, we took him out and let him choose his own presents and treats.

Clothes from Debenhams (the boy likes his labels - Sister 3 blames me), burger and salad from the Handmade Burger Company (he had a Chicken, Cheese - yuck - and Bacon combination) and then a movie ("Speed Racer" - a piece of shit, but I will go into details at a another time). It was a really nice day for all concerned. Jennifer played Mom and she loved it.

Today Jennifer departed for Nottingham. She has a business meeting in the city tomorrow, and it gave her the chance to stay over at one of her oldest friends. I have filled my day with movies ("Iron Man" - very good, I thought), eating and TV ("I'd Do Anything" - sue me, I love it, and segments from "Lost" series 3 Virgin Media's TV on demand service). I could have/should have done chores. Our back garden is a disgrace.

Ha ha ha ha!

Great tits cope well with warming!

(What did you think it was about, you dirty minded bunch?)

In other news, on the bus going home this evening, I sat next to a dog. He didn't say a lot. He just looked at me with big, brown, sad eyes. I knew what he wanted.

I lowered my newspaper so that he could read it over my shoulder. Occasionally I could hear him sighing. Bad news everywhere.

The dog nodded his thanks to me as he left the bus.

True story.

It must be Summer. Jennifer ordered me to adjust the heating and to open the windows upstairs. The problem now is that from my lair in the back room I can hear people in their gardens enjoying themselves. I can even hear the fucking birds having a tweet.

Bastards.

Solitude, quiet, peace, no interruptions. These are the preferable conditions to allow my genius to slowly simmer and for the words of wisdom to flow.

Hmm...

OK. Maybe not.

I spoke too soon on Monday. Jennifer went down with the shits a bad stomach yesterday. She was much sicker than me and had to stay at home, no doubt enjoying the delights of "The Jeremy Kyle Show" and TV movies on tap. Funnily enough we had a really good day at work without her. Not that I am going to tell her that, mind.

I have purchased a track from 7 Digital. The artist is a British legend. Enjoy.

I will not be leaving the house today. Last night I made the fatal mistake of having a KFC and subsequently am experiencing the trots. Jennifer also had KFC. There is nothing wrong with the cow. This proves, unconditionally I think, that she is in fact an alien. I have suspected as much for a long time.

Jennifer has made me have two Loperamide Hydrochloride tablets which, on past experience, are effective enough to block up the Hoover Dam. She will be cooking scrambled eggs as soon as she has finished watching "High Society".

So, blogging it is for today. Some brief film reviews, methinks. Not something I do very often. :-)

I have seen two movies over the past two days. "P2" and "Son Of Rambow".

"P2".



I liked the premise of "P2". (Loony tunes parking attendant (Wes Bentley) pursues overworked business woman (Rachel Nichols) around a deserted multi-story car park on Christmas Eve.)

I liked Wes Bentley's psychopath, even if in the latter stages he is more funny than threatening.

I liked Rachel Nichols' girl in peril. She ticked all the pertinent boxes required for a spunky, resourceful heroine.

However...

My overall impression watching "P2" was to think 'Been there, done that'. "P2" is the kind of movie I thought had stopped getting a major cinema release circa 1985, once Jamie Leigh Curtis had retired from stalk-and-slash movies. The kind of movie now relegated to the local specialised horror or thriller television channels, broadcast by your favourite cable provider. "P2" is curiously old fashioned in it's intentions, but don't get me wrong. "P2" is not un-enjoyable, just predictable.

Sorry feminists, but there is still some residual enjoyment to be had by the eighties video shop/VHS generation in watching a bad man pursue a half naked girl, only to be thwarted by the object of his desires. Maybe one day somebody will make a movie about a well chiseled, attractive young man, dressed only in his underpants, being pursued by a bad girl with a big weapon. Until that happy day, the cliche of the fit looking girl in jeopardy will still rule.

"P2" is an reasonable enough thriller. It has some effective shocks, tension and excitement, and uses nicely the enclosed environment of the cold, dreary, impersonal multi-story car park. I did like the Christmas Eve setting, which leads me to ask why "P2" was released in the UK in May? Releasing "P2" in the UK just prior to Christmas would surely have given it an extra bit of frisson and would have been a nice alternative to the family films and blockbusters clogging up the cinemas at that time.

So, not bad, if you are prepared to see something you have seen many times before.

"Son Of Rambow".



"Son Of Rambow" is a nice little film about a pair of lonely little boys who, one summer in the early 80's, decide to make their own sequel to "Rambo: First Blood" to enter into the "Screen Test" young filmmakers competition. "Son Of Rambow" is about realising the importance of family, growing up, making friends and knowing that sometimes (puts on very sincere voice), friends, you just have to follow your dream.

I thought that "Son Of Rambow" was really funny, kind of touching and, according to my Brother who was a schoolboy circa 1983, really accurate as to what it was like to go to an English comprehensive school at that time. There are great performances by the two main leads: Will Poulter as the Artful Dodgeresque Lee Carter, a rascal, thief and blagger, ignored by his family, and Bill Milner as Will Proudfoot, a boy stifled by the rigid and antiseptic religious community he has been born into, whose life is changed forever by the power of the movies.

One thing that I most definitely did not like was the sloppy attention to period detail. "Son Of Rambow" is set no later than 1983. Brian Trueman is shown as the presenter of "Screen Test", and "Rambo: First Blood" was released worldwide circa 1982/83. So far so good.

So, how could "The Reflex" by Duran Duran be played at the school disco, when the version played in the film, remixed from the track on "Seven And The Ragged Tiger", was not released until 1984? Ditto "Peek-A-Boo" by Siouxsie & The Banshees, a single not released until 1988? Also, an audience is seen waiting to watch the film "Yentl". That film did not come out in the UK until 1984. I am sure there may well be other discrepancies.

That aside "Son Of Rambow" is a good film, but remember to take your hankies for the end.

As well as adding links to my last post, I have also made a little correction.

By the time I saw the Pistols at Finsbury Park, England had progressed to the semi-finals of Euro 96, not the quarter finals. We were on fire that year.

There. Sorted. All better.

I saw "P2" today. I came out of the film with mixed feelings. I think a careful ponder is required before I make any official comment.

Everyone OK? Everyone cool? The weather was nice today (in the UK), wasn't it?

I have in my hot little hands tickets for the Sex Pistols show at the Carling Academy in Birmingham, on 11th June. Apparently the gig sold out in 4 minutes. Obviously I am very pleased with myself. I managed to obtain the tickets from my friend Billy The Tout for about a third on top of the advertised price. Billy claims that he didn't make any money on this transaction, as he just paid his 'source' the same amount of money that he charged me. I don't believe him, but that's OK. I hope he made some money. You pay for what you want in this life and seeing the Pistols in a (relatively) small venue is worth the sixty quid per ticket I paid.

Better music writers than me can tell you all about the earthquake that the Pistols were to popular music in the mid 70's. The reverberations are still being felt today. The Pistols have always been a very personal band for me. They have been in and out of my life over the last 32 years, during good and bad times.

At some point between Saturday 27th November 1976 and Sunday 28th November 1976 my Dad had his second heart attack. The first I knew about it was on the Sunday morning. My Mom was nowhere to be seen, but my Aunt was sitting in the living room. My Aunt did not live with us. My Aunt told me that my Dad had been taken away during the night and that my Mom was at the hospital. Later that day my Mom turned up. She told us that my Dad had stabilised and that we could go to see him on the Monday, which we did. He looked grey and half dead, but he was OK.

My Dad was out of hospital before Christmas. He lived nearly two more years. My Dad died on 13th August 1978. He was 43. It was his third heart attack. One heart attack was not enough to kill my Dad. It took three. He was a tough motherfucker.

At the time that my Dad died he had been given only a few months to live, but we knew nothing about it. We later found out that the only person my Dad had told about his ill health was my Mom's Aunt. My Mom's Aunt was always at the house in the Summer of 1978. Basically she was waiting for my Dad to die. When he finally left us she wasn't just a rock, she was a monolith.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

On Thursday 2nd December 1976 I went to visit my Dad in hospital. Afterwards I walked to the terminus to catch a bus home. On the back seat of the bus there was a newspaper that somebody had discarded. This was the cover.



(I hope you can see the picture. It's the famous Daily Mirror cover "The Filth And The Fury", detailing the fallout from the Pistols appearance on the Today show.)

That was the first time I became aware of the Sex Pistols.

Memories.

November 1977. I bought the "Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols" album. It was the third album I ever had. (The first two were "A Hard Day's Night" by the Beatles and "The Best Of The Monkees".) I was never a great record buyer. I am still not. My Dad thought it was very loud and 'A bit different to the Beatles, son'. Er... Yeah!

July 1978. I bought the "No One Is Innocent/My Way" single. Not the Pistols finest moment, I must admit. Lydon had departed by that point. I played the single for my Dad. He pronounced it 'rubbish'. He was right too.

February 1979. I was deeply in lust with a girl called Gillian in the 5th form. I was 15. Gillian had white streaks in her hair, wore Siouxsie Sioux style eye makeup, skirts that were so short you could see what she had for breakfast, and she had great tits. When the news of Sid Vicious' death broke on 2nd February 1979, Gillian said that it was 'A shame'. Beautiful and sensitive, eh? What a woman. She was 15.

Bit of a gap here...

23rd June 1996. I had met Jennifer. I was in love. Britpop was in full flight. Oasis and Blur were in the charts. Swinging Britain all over again. I was in a job that I loved. England were through to the quarter finals of Euro 96. I went to see the Pistols at Finsbury Park in London. Everyone on the bill that day were awful, except for Iggy Pop and the Pistols. The Pistols were sensational. Stuart Pearce and Gareth Southgate introduced them onstage.

I am going to see the Pistols again. I am a happy boy, at least for today.

Have a good weekend, all. I intend to.

(I will add links next time. "Peep Show" beckons.)