Firstly, and with no spoilers for the folks who have not seen it yet, some brief thoughts on the penultimate episode of this season of "Doctor Who".

"The Stolen Earth" was not the best episode I have ever seen. It seems to have been designed to shoehorn as many old assistants and allies as possible into a single story. That would have been fine if the running time had been longer, but in a 50 minute show the net effect was that the cast were falling over one another, with none of them having enough screen time. However, I can forgive that. "The Stolen Earth" did have the greatest "Doctor Who" cliffhanger since the current incarnation of the series started.

Are the BBC really intending to do what it looks like they are going to do? And they managed to keep it a secret? I bet there is a cop out somewhere along the way. However, if I am wrong, good on the BBC for keeping it a secret. I love being surprised.

Roll on next Saturday.

It has been a funny old weekend. There has been far too much drinking by myself. Why else was I so tired on Friday night that I could not string a coherent sentence together on the last post? That post will stand. If this blog was ever intended to be a reflection of me, where I am and what I think, the ugliness has to exist alongside the beauty.

So, lots of drinking, a bit of work, and lots of watching of films on TV and taped off the TV onto the V+ box, while Jennifer was away, because she tends to grab the TV for herself at the weekends.

Films like...

"Fracture". Pure potboiler, and not un-entertaining, but why did Anthony Hopkins' accent keep changing from Welsh to Scottish to mid American twang, often during a single scene? Ah, that would be because he was sleepwalking through the part.

"Evan Almighty". Utter shit. As funny as finding a lump on your bollocks or a turd in your soup. I am surprised that Steve Carell has managed to continue his career after this clunker.

"Savage Messiah". Everybody has heard of the Ken Russell classics "Women In Love", "The Devils" and "Tommy", and although "Savage Messiah" is definitely as good as those, it has been practically forgotten. "Savage Messiah" is a brilliant movie. Full of life, energy and madness, and you also get to see the 27 year old Helen Mirren stark naked, for quite a long time.

"8 1/2 Women". Another impenetrable, obscure and raving mad Peter Greenaway film. Beautiful art design and copious nudity. Unfortunately quite a bit of the nudity was in the shape of the 65 year old John Standing. Nearly enough to put me off my sausages, but luckily Toni Collette and Polly Walker were on hand to even the balance.

"The Shape Of Things". The movie adaptation of the first of Neil LaBute's 'Beauty' trilogy of plays. (The second was the play "Fat Pig", that we recently saw at the Trafalgar studios in London.) It is about love and relationships and wanting to change for somebody that you love. But it is also about art and manipulation. I think that Paul Rudd and Rachel Wesiz are simply astonishing in this film, especially Ms. Weisz in the final 20 minutes.

At the cinema I saw "The Edge Of Love". More about that when I have had a chance to think about it.

Jennifer returns tomorrow. I could try spending the evening with her, but I doubt that will happen. My fear is that she will be more concerned about catching up with work and doing her statistics. We will see how it goes.

Short reviews, I am afraid. I am really tired. Anyway, I am really rubbish at writing about music.

Neil Diamond at the O2 Arena in London.



The only Neil Diamond album I own is a Best Of compilation. Others will need to tell me if I am missing out, and I may even take note, but suffice to say that it was the only music I needed to be familiar with to be able to enjoy the gig.

Last Saturday, at the O2 Arena, Neil Diamond was truly fantastic. Absolutely brilliant. You might say predictably brilliant. Total class. I have seen a video of him live. I have seen the way that he can hold an audience and the way that deep mature voice can crack with emotion. At 67 he can still do it.

Jennifer thought that he sounded a little hoarse on some songs, but we will differ on that point. I thought that he was in great voice and the band were red hot. The new songs from the recent Rick Rubin produced albums sounded good ("Pretty Amazing Grace" and "Home Before Dark" are really nice songs), but everybody came for the old songs. Lots of songs like "Song Song Blue", "Love On The Rocks", "You Don't Bring Me Flowers", "September Morn", "Cracklin' Rosie" and, of course, the communal singalong that was "Sweet Caroline".

But for me the true highlights were the performances of the two early singles "Solitary Man" (probably my favourite Neil Diamond song of all time) and "Cherry Cherry", and his taking back of two songs that he churned out as a jobbing songwriter in the mid 60's, during his time toiling at the Brill Building. "I'm A Believer" and "Red Red Wine". Short, sweet, memorable tunes, lyrics you can remember. What else does a pop song need?

Class in a glass from start to end. Made up totally for the shit journey to the O2.

**

Goldfrapp at the Symphony Hall in Birmingham.



Can you sum up Goldfrapp? I don't think that you can. The first album was very Portishead like. Soundscapes and ambient trip hop. The second and third albums were big dance orientated glam rock albums. The new album is acoustic, pyschedic pop. Imagine, if you will, an electronic Fairport Convention.

So, which Goldfrapp played the Symphony Hall last Sunday? Er... That would kind of be all of them, and they were all very good.

They started off with the acoustic stuff, gradually getting faster and faster, and louder and louder, as the evening progressed, with Alison spinning like a dervish by the end and the light machine out of control. It was a very schizophrenic gig. I think they are playing Glastonbury this weekend. They will go down a storm.

The highlights? Oh, for me that would have to be "Oooh La La", "Train", "Number 1" and the mighty "Strict Machine".

Jennifer, who knows nothing about Goldfrapp, dance music or any modern music come to that, pronounced them 'brilliant'. She's not wrong either.

**

Shit writing, eh? But I haven't the energy. I am tired.

Enjoy the weekend folks. After tomorrow's morning at work, I intend to recharge my batteries. Back on Sunday.

Promises? Deadlines?

What promises? What fucking deadlines?

The night before last I said that on Wednesday evening I would write about the Magical Mystery Tour, Neil Diamond and Goldfrapp. I didn't. Instead I decided that it would be nice to spend time with Jennifer, as she was heading South today to visit her cousin and spend other time with her folks.

I didn't spend time with Jennifer. In fact the evening was quite frustrating. Now I wish that I had just given up, come up here to the back room, turned on the computer, and got going with writing up the remainder of the weekend.

We ate our tea. I washed up. I went back to the front room. I asked Jennifer what she wanted to do. She said that we could watch a film, or start on the last of the "Alias" box sets, as soon as she had finished doing some work.

Oh.

OK.

I wait. 7pm. 8pm. A double bill of "Two And A Half Men" starts. Me: Shall I leave this on? Her (from the back room): Yes. I am listening to it.

OK.

9pm. "Scrubs" starts. (Dr. Cox is my hero.) Me: Shall I leave this on? Her (from the back room, with the keys of her laptop a clicking away): What do you want? Yes, I'm listening to it. I'm busy. Go away!

Okey dokey.

I laugh all of the way through "Scrubs" and at 10pm I get up, turn off the TV, walk to the door, fart loudly, say, 'It's nice doing things together, isn't it?' and take my leave.

Hopeless. Unacceptable. Total waste of time. I don't even think that she knows what she is doing to us.

Rant over.

Where was I?

London. Saturday. The Magical Mystery Tour. Nothing to do with the Beatles classic. The Magical Mystery Tour is the phrase I like to use for the fiasco that was getting to the O2 Arena.

Late on Thursday evening, the night before we set off for London, we had an email from Ticketmaster explaining that the Jubilee underground line would be out of action between Green Park and North Greenwich (where the O2 Arena can be found), due to maintenance work.

Bit of a shitter that. Some genius had decided that a single underground line would be enough to service the O2 Arena. Guess which one? You got it. Also, the hotel we had booked (the Washington Mayfair, which is a really nice, comfortable hotel with great staff and only a 10 minute walk from theatre land) was a short walk from Green Park tube station, and so really convenient for getting to the O2 Arena.

The email did offer alternatives. A replacement bus service would be put on, if we wanted to use that, or we could book a place on the Thames Clipper to arrive in style via water. (No thanks, to the latter. The last time we tried to use the Thames Clipper, the Stones last year, nobody could tell us where we had to be to actually board the fucker.)

Saturday morning we went to Green Park underground station, where we engaged a very nice underground worker in conversation who proceeded to tell us that he didn't know anything about a replacement bus service. OK... So what did he suggest? Would the other end of the Jubilee line be running: from Stratford to North Greenwich? We could get to that station, no problems. He didn't know. Suggestions? Get to the closest point (Canary Wharf) and talk to the staff at the station, who would be glad to show us a bus stop that would take us directly to the O2 Arena.

From memory then: We started in Leicester Square. Packed carriages the whole way. Piccadilly line to Holborn. Central line to Bank. DLR to Canary Wharf.

Canary Wharf was deserted. It was like something out of "I Am Legend", minus the zombies. We could see the O2 Arena in the distance across the water. We found a security guard. We point. Us: How do we get to there? Is there a bridge? Him: There is no bridge. Us: Can you direct us to a bus that will take us there? Him: There is no bus. (Thinks.) You could get the Jubilee line. That would take you straight there! Us: It's closed, you fucker! (OK. We didn't swear at him, but I think you get the drift at the tone the conversation was reaching by this point.) Him: Hmm. (Scratches his chin.) You would be best going to Greenwich and getting a bus from there.

Bored with this story, now. I will summarise the last bit.

We went to Greenwich on the DLR. At Greenwich the Staff were as few on the ground as virgins in a brothel. We tried to engage a punter in conversation and they ran away shrieking 'I don't know anything! I don't know anything!' We got talking to a likely set of Neil Diamond fans (middle aged couple, mid fifties) who turned out to be the same pickle as ourselves. We played the get out of jail card: We hailed a taxi. 15 minutes later we pulled up at the O2 Arena. It cost 12 quid between the four of us.

Then we found out that the Jubilee line from Statford to North Greenwich had been operational after all. We could have got the tube from Holborn to Statford and down to North Greenwich, all along.

Utter shit. What kind of organisation is that? Staff who know nothing. No clear signs anywhere. Rubbish. I blame Gordon Brown Ken Livingstone Sooty Boris Johnson.

It's a good job that Neil Diamond was brilliant, wasn't it?

I am going to write up the reviews now and post them tomorrow.

I am not exactly sure what happened last night. It just appeared to be so hopeless, whatever It might be. So, I did the quick post, cleaned my teeth and went to bed with my MP3 player, choosing sixties pop music for two hours. You would be amazed at the rejuvenating effects of a blast of "Sugar Sugar" by the Archies, or maybe you wouldn't.

Right. Let's try this again.

From Friday till Sunday lunchtime we were in London. Ostensibly this was to see the Neil Diamond gig on Saturday night, but we always tend to catch a few West End shows when we find ourselves in the smoke, and that is what we did.

On Friday evening we went to see "The Deep Blue Sea" at the Vaudeville Theatre, starring Greta Scacchi and Simon Williams.



"The Deep Blue Sea" was written by Terence Rattigan and first produced in 1952. It is about Hester Collyer, a nice upper-middle class lady who leaves her husband for a much younger man, only to be nearly destroyed by her passion.

Going to see "The Deep Blue Sea" was Jennifer's choice through and through. At first glance the play was certainly nothing I would have chosen to see by myself. Difficult to say why exactly, because I try to take pride in the fact that I will go to see anything and everything and reserve an opinion until after the show/play/gig/movie. But I suppose we can all be stick-in-the-muds when we want to be. Sometimes just not fancying seeing something is enough.

As in so many things Jennifer makes me see, I enjoyed "The Deep Blue Sea" a damn sight more than I thought I would. It is certainly old, a little creeky and early on flirts perilously close to 'posh' self parody, perhaps to be expected in a play written and produced at a time when serious theatre was the prerogative of the 'posh people'. It is good to say that the uniformly very fine performances by the actors it lift to a different level.

Before seeing her in "The Deep Blue Sea", I never rated Greta Scacchi as much of an actress. She was just an Eighties movie star, like Amanda Donohue around the same time, who was best known for getting her kit off in the movies. There are a few interesting titbits in her Wikipedia entry. Did you know that she turned down the Sharon Stone part in "Basic Instinct", or that a magazine once identified her as the Australian actress who had appeared naked on film more than any other Australian actress? Oh, you did? Oh.

In "The Deep Blue Sea" Greta Scacchi is really very good indeed. Spiralling gracefully, and not so gracefully, from downbeat to despair to hysteria to buttoned up politeness and then acceptance. I thought it was a great performance, with not a nipple in sight. Then again, the whole cast were good, especially Simon Williams as the husband, Dugald Bruce Lockhart as the lover and Tim McMullan as the mysterious neighbour, Mr. Miller. In fact Tim McMullan, one of those actors who you will recognise instantly and have no idea of anything he has appeared in, is the closet thing to a comic relief that the play has. Very droll and very funny.

Excellent production. Good choice Jennifer, but my choice was better. (Of course, he adds modestly.)

On Saturday afternoon we went to see "Fat Pig" at the Trafalgar Studios, starring Ella Smith, Joanna Page, Kris Marshall and Robert Webb.



"Fat Pig" is about Tom and what happens when, one day, Tom meets and falls in love with Helen. Helen is a nice girl. Smart, funny and self effacing. But, whereas Tom is thin, Helen is fat. Tom's friends and work colleagues are also thin. What will they think of Helen? If he is happy with Helen, should Tom care what they think?

No, of course he shouldn't, but this is the world of Neil Labute, and in that world there are almost no happy endings.

With the major exception of his reworking of "The Wicker Man" (which is dreadful, appalling and A Major Piece Of Shit), I have loved every movie I have seen that Neil Labute has put his name to. "In The Company Of Men", "Your Friends And Neighbours", "Possession" and "The Shape Of Things". His work is funny, bitter, cruel and sly, skirting misogynism and offensiveness, and holding up a big, wide mirror to modern society and it's obsessions.

I think Neil Labute is a genius. I think he is just great. Maybe we should get a room?

I really enjoyed "Fat Pig", although maybe 'enjoy' is not the right word. A sharp script. Really funny and sometimes outrageous (some of the dialogue spouted by Kris Marshall's crass, true horses ass, caused sharp intakes of breath from the audience on more than one occasion), but cutting, wounding and heartbreaking, especially in the final moments. Supremely brilliant cast. All of them were great, but Robert Webb, of the comedy duo Mitchell and Webb and "Peep Show" fame, gave a simply astounding performance. I didn't expect him to be so good. A total surprise.

Highly recommended. If you have any interest in theatre you really should go to see it. It is on until September.

"Fat Pig" has stayed in my mind for days. There are reasons. Jennifer has had 'fat' issues for years. She has used the word 'disgusting' to describe herself, and the word 'pig' and the word 'vile'. Some of you have met her. Do you think she is 'disgusting' or a 'pig' or 'vile'? No, of course not. (And if you do, well fuck you and the horse you rode in on.)

Jennifer still has issues and those issues are constant. I think that one of the major elements of the reason why we no longer share a bed, or any kind sexual intimacy, is that Jennifer no longer feels attractive. There is very little I can do to break that mindset. I want to talk about it. She doesn't. I want her to feel better and, yes, I want to be back in her bed. I love her.

I kind of got off the subject of what we did London a little bit, didn't I? Couldn't be helped.

I will write about the Magical Mystery Tour, Neil Diamond and Goldfrapp tomorrow evening.

You know, sometimes you try to write and all you come up with is shit. It looks like this is one of those evenings.

I do not intentionally post shit. So, if you will excuse me, I will now depart to do some chores instead. I will try to write tomorrow.

Thank you.

We are back.

I am just checking my email and seeing what everybody else has been up to.

There has been attendance at two plays, two gigs and a magical mystery tour since my last appearance here. Sadly there is no time at this moment to go into any of it in any detail. Work beckons. Boo.

So, later.

Last night we went to see David Essex.



Sadly, the less said about the gig the better. I thought David Essex was rubbish and that the gig was a massive disappointment, both to me and to Lorraine.We have seen David Essex in concert twice before and both times he was really good, which made it even worse.

The first time we saw David Essex was a few years back at the NEC, when he was appearing as part of a 70's package tour featuring Les McKeown (the ex lead singer of the Bay City Rollers), the Osmonds and David Cassidy. David Cassidy was headlining, but David Essex blew him off the stage with a mixture of a great voice, great songs (he played 6 or 7 of his biggest hits) and a genuine rapport with the audience. Surprisingly, maybe, the Osmonds were also really good that night.

The second time was a couple of years ago at the Symphony Hall. Obviously this time it was a full length concert. David Essex looked good, sounded good, bounced around the stage with the energy of a teenager and played all of his hits bar my favourite "Stardust". Bastard! Generally a good night was had by all and especially by the hundreds of ladies in their late 40's.

Last night David Essex's voice was shot to hell, he looked fragile and there was definitely a whiff of going-through-the-motions about the whole endeavour. He mentioned a couple of times that it had been a long tour. I checked and Birmingham was the 45th date. Maybe that had a lot to do with the whole lack of energy. You cannot expect a man of 61 to have the same energy as one of 25, but that is hardly any comfort to your average punter shelling out for an evening of entertainment. Not that it appeared the rest of the audience noticed or cared. There was a lot of screaming, a gaggle of middle aged women down the front, and the nice middle class lady who sat next to me (not Jennifer) swooned throughout.

I suppose I was a bit bored by the show. Jennifer agreed. She said that if she heard David Essex was touring again, she wouldn't bother to go to see him for a third time. I think that speaks volumes.

Hopefully our next two gigs will be better. Neil Diamond at the O2 Arena in London, on Saturday, and Goldfrapp at the Symphony Hall, on Sunday.

**

Sleep is hard going at the moment, and I am probably tireder than I thought I was. I realised this this afternoon when I cried all of the way through watching the 21st episode of series 3 of "Lost". You know the episode that I mean. "Greatest Hits", which has Charlie writing down the five greatest moments of his life, which we saw in flashback.

So sad. So heartfelt. So melancholic, considering what happens in episodes 22 and 23. I even teared up when describing what happened to Jennifer, who does not watch "Lost" at all. She shook her head sadly.

Am I an utter wuss, or what? I think I am.

**

This will probably be the last post until Monday. We have to catch an early coach tomorrow and then there will be limited opportunity to avail myself on the facilities of an Internet cafe.

So, have a good weekend folks, and if the opportunity arises for any of you to 'ave it', I strongly advise that you do so.

In all the excitement of writing about "The Happening", I completely forgot to write about the Russell Watson gig. Maybe that speaks volumes as to how memorable it was.


Actually, that is pretty unfair and I apologize. I only went to the gig to keep Jennifer company. It was not really my cup of tea and the fascinating thing about the night was watching the audience and their reaction.

There are people in this world who really love Russell Watson and quite a few of them were at the gig on Sunday night. Before he had sang a solitary word, the man got a standing ovation. Perhaps the audience were glad he was still alive? (Russell Watson has recently recovered from a very serious operation to remove a brain tumour.) Flocks of (mostly) female fans delivered flowers to his feet, throughout the concert. An old lady sitting in front of me was in tears throughout the gig (recital?), being so overcome by the song "Wind Beneath My Wings", that her equally aged daughter had to comfort her.

Russell Watson does have a good voice, but I thought that his renditions of opera classics were better than his renditions of various pop/soul/jazz classics. I have no idea if he is a good opera singer or just an adequate one. I have not heard enough opera to be able to judge this. I know that Russell Watson has experienced the same kind of elitist snobbery as Charlotte Church in that because they were popular, commercial and sold millions of records, they were considered somehow less kosher than somebody who makes a crust by singing in front of a few thousand exclusive people in Milan.

What do I know? I know nothing.

Not much of a review. Sorry. I did kind if enjoy the gig, because it was something different. If Jennifer wanted me to go with her to see Russell Watson again, I would not object too much, but it was really not my kind of thing.

We are out tomorrow night seeing David Essex at the Symphony Hall, so I will be back on Thursday.

Be cool, kids.

"The Happening".

There might be the odd spoiler. Don't say that you haven't been warned.



Out of the films that M. Night Shyamalan's has made that I have seen, "The Happening" is definitely the worst.

The dialogue is terrible. The acting is variable. (The worst culprit is sexy Zooey Deschanel, who is wide eyed and, actually, kind of dreadful. Also, no matter how good he has been in other movies, Mark Wahlberg is just not a high school science teacher. Think how good somebody like Tim Robbins or Jeff Goldblum might have been in the same role.) The plot meanders about, going nowhere in particular, and at no particular speed. It is true: "The Happening" is a disappointment. For M. Night Shyamalan the halcyon days of "The Sixth Sense" and "Unbreakable" seem a long, long time ago. (Can I admit at this point that I have liked all of his films, including "Lady In The Water"? Credibility blown, methinks!)

However...

M. Night Shyamalan is still a genius. (Yes he is, and I will get my Brother to fight anybody who disagrees with me.) Even a minor entry in his oeuvre is a little bit special and something to be savoured. There is not a Director today (OK, maybe David Lynch) who can match him for generating a mood of dread, disquiet and other worldliness. There are moments in "The Happening" where you literally hold your breath as you wonder what is going to happen next: The start and end sequences, the final moments of Betty Buckley and John Leguizamo's characters, the conversation with the railway staff, the wind moving through the trees...

"The Happening" has a good central idea and is an unashamed environmentally aware movie, made at a time where every Tom, Dick, Harry and automobile corporation is jumping on the Green bandwagon. It imagines a logical conclusion of the Gaia Hypothesis: If the Earth is a single organism, and is being threatened, what would happen if the Earth tried to defend itself against the aggressor?

It is a good idea, but sadly, "The Happening" has not allied it to a strong story. Such a shame, but M. Night Shyamalan will be back. Do not doubt it. He is a true original and we need more true originals.

This morning I went to see "The Happening". I am torn as to what to write. I cannot make up my mind. I will have a think first and a short review will follow later.

The rest of the day I have been bumping into things, missing buses, catching buses, getting off at wrong bus stops, breaking eggs and banging my (very sore) hand. Probably something to do with limited sleep last night, an early start this morning and no food until early evening.

Jennifer tells me that I need to look after myself better. She is probably right.

I think I upset my Brother a great deal this evening when I said that I would probably not be joining him for his Birthday pissup tomorrow night. (His Birthday is actually on the 18th.) No spare money, basically, and a trip to London next weekend to somehow get through without any money.

It is totally unacceptable to me to even consider allowing him to sub me for the evening, even though he offered.

So this is for him, even though he will never, ever see this blog.

I love my Brother. I really do.

I was going to be very naughty. I was going to wait for Mr. Planet to post his review of the Sex Pistols show at the Carling Academy in Birmingham, advise you all to link to that for a taste of what the gig was like (because he is a much better music writer than me) and then add a few observations of my own.

All scuppered. Mr. Planet has not posted yet. I am sure that he will, in due course.

Just me then. I will be brief, because I am incredibly tired. I had about 5 hours sleep last night, if that.

This is what the Sex Pistols looked like in 2002.



Add 6 years. Glen Matlock and Paul Cook haven't aged a day, but dye Lydon's hair red, get Steve Jones to eat a few more pies and you would get a pretty good idea of what they look like now.

They started with "Pretty Vacant" and finished with "Anarchy In The UK". In between they played everything from the "Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols" album, plus "(I'm Not Your) Stepping Stone", "Did You No Wrong", "No Fun" and "Belsen Was A Gas" (which, for the night, was renamed "Baghdad Was A Blast").

John Lydon, a particularly prickly individual at the best of times, was in a great mood, really enjoying the audience reaction. Urging the crowd on, encouraging singalongs, slagging off the Rolling Stones.

Moaning about his age. "I'm 52 years old and it is too hot up here!"

Explaining his dislike of certain people. "I only moan about people who deserve it, and there is nobody in this room tonight like that!"

Expressing his concern about wasting alcohol. Upon spying a full glass of beer flying over the heads of the audience, "Beer is for drinking, not throwing, you moron!"

Explaining the need to keep fully hydrated. "It's too fucking hot and two bottles of mineral water just don't cut it!"

He was truly great. People forget what a brilliant front man John Lydon is. Great band, as well. Very tight and just as good as at Finsbury Park. Muddy sound mix to start off with, but that was fixed after the first couple of songs. (My Brother and I were in a prime position to note this. We were just to the left of the mixing desk.)

I loved it. Great gig. Bags of energy. The best reaction from a crowd I have seen since the Flaming Lips at the Carling Academy, back in 2003. It didn't matter that we didn't go down the front. The pogoing extended right back to where my Brother and I were standing. We linked shoulders with a couple of other guys and jumped up and down like everybody else. Every stitch of my clothes had to be thrown into the wash when I got home. I was literally dripping with sweat.

Gig of the year. No question.

You lucky people going to the Isle Of Wight festival. I think you are in for a treat. I really do.

Short of time. The Pistols await. I am due on the bus at... 17:44!

Better get a move on then.

The checklist.

Nap. Check.

Food. (Eggs in egg cup and toast.) Check.

TV. ("Lost".) Check.

Shave, poo, shower. Check.

Tea. (No red bull in house.) Check.

Gaze at girl sunbathing in bikini in neighbours garden. Check.

Post on blog. Check.

My work here is done.

They all seem so young on this clip, but what a song this was.

Nothing much to write this evening. Anyway Jennifer is floating, I am on her laptop, and I really hate people trying to read over my shoulder.

I am off to see the Sex Pistols tomorrow evening with my Brother, this gentleman and this gentleman. I had hoped it would be an evening of consumption of alcohol beverages, dancing and general dicking about, but that was before the finger-in-the-car-door incident and the hospital appointment that I need to keep at 9:20 on Thursday morning. Moderation will have to be the key word tomorrow evening, unfortunately. I may not even make it into the mosh pit.

Really looking forward to the gig, though. Could be one of the greatest gigs of my life. No pressure for the band there, then.

Half day at work tomorrow. Home, nap, food, shower, red bull, bus, Anarchy!

I have finally finished reading Dan Simmons "The Fall Of Hyperion". Very good book. It has taken a long time to complete, but that is because I only read for half an hour in the mornings, after the shower and before I get dressed. It works for me.

Next up will be "Endymion" and "The Rise Of Endymion". The plan for this year seems to be to read 'series' of books in order, with the odd unconnected book in between. This way I hope to finally finish Philip Pullman's "His Dark Materials" series and Stephen King's "The Dark Tower" series before the end of the year. Such long books, though.

I have seen two movies this weekend: "Gone Baby Gone" and "Superhero Movie".

First up, "Gone Baby Gone".



May I start by saying that I quite like Ben Affleck. Sorry, but there was a real need to write that. I will explain.

Of late Ben Affleck has been on the promotion circuit in the UK. After many delays "Gone Baby Gone" has finally gotten itself a UK cinema release. It has been interesting to observe that in literally every single interview with the man, there has been a comment on the supposed antipathy of film critics towards Ben Affleck as an actor.

Well, I certainly wouldn't consider Ben Affleck to be the greatest actor of his generation. He is not even the greatest movie star of his generation, which, of course, has got nothing to do with acting ability. This, as I see it, puts Ben Affleck into the same category as 99% of the actors working today, and those people do not get the same level of criticism.

Who to blame? The tabloids? The fame game? The fact that for a period of time Ben was in love with J-Lo?

Oh, dear. Give the guy a break, will you, please?

So, then. Ben's directorial debut. Will the critics like him more as a debutant Director? Is "Gone Baby Gone" worth a look?

Oh, yes. You just might say that.

"Gone Baby Gone" is, perhaps, not as completely assured a Lehane adaptation as Clint Eastwood's "Mystic River" (the revelatory final 40 minutes maybe could have been paced a little better), but it is frequently a very good and sometimes great movie. Casey Affleck proves that his breakthrough in "The Assassination Of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford" was no flash in the pan. His baby faced, quiet and introspective private investigator, with a streak of street wise steel running through him, is just a brilliant piece of work. Definitely one of the performances of the year. Casey Affleck is the pivot around which "Gone Baby Gone" turns. He is rarely off screen and easily holds his own against great turns by Ed Harris, Morgan Freeman and the Oscar nominated Amy Ryan. Only Michelle Monaghan is a tad underused as Casey Affleck's sidekick/girlfriend, although she does have a great couple of scenes towards the end.

"Gone Baby Gone" is much more than just a private investigator/mystery/thriller. It is a throwback to one of those great Robert Altman and Arthur Penn movies of the 1970's. Downbeat, naturalistic, subdued, bleak, with an almost documentary feel. Real streets and real people, not film sets and actors playing it downtrodden and dirty. "Gone Baby Gone" swims deeply in some very murky and morally dubious waters. This is the question: How prepared are you to do the correct thing, when it is not necessarily the right thing?

What would you have done when faced with the question posed to Casey Affleck at the end of the film? Do you lose your soul or do you lose your conscience?

See it. "Gone Baby Gone" is one of the best films of the year. I cannot recommend it enough.

Next up, the remarkable "Superhero Movie".



Yes. I did say remarkable. Remarkable for all of the wrong reasons. I had assumed, for good reasons, that the worst movie I would see at the cinema this year would be "Meet The Spartans". How completely wrong that prediction has turned out to be.

"Superhero Movie" is truly a piece of poo. A terrible, awful, abomination of a movie. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to pluck out my eyes. I wanted to throw myself off a tall building. I wanted to fight the group of lads sitting a few rows in front of me, because they were laughing at this lamentable piece of rubbish. I wanted to give up going to the movies. I wanted to join a monastery and dedicate my life to basket weaving and caring for lepers.

I like stupid, but "Superhero Movie" is just not funny, guy. Basically it is a remake of "Spider-Man" with fart and poo jokes, and the odd nod to other Superhero universes. Cheap and nasty and... Er... poo like.

(Da da da daaaaaa!) Hang on! There is a good bit.

Pamela Anderson filled the outfit of the Fantastic Four's Invisible Girl a damn sight more spectacularly than Jessica Alba ever did. A shame then that Pammy is only in the movie for about 30 seconds. In fact, much respect to Pammy's costume designer. Pammy's costume was a miracle of industrial engineering. I shudder to think of the gravitational pressures that had to be overcome when that costume was being built. If they had miscalculated, all hell could have broken loose and somebody could have died.

"Superhero Movie" is a very bad film. See it and weep.

"Euro 2008" is in full swing, so let's talk football.

This might be a despicable admission, because a true football fan is supposed to care more about the class, skill and talent of the players who are there than those who are not there, but without the participation of any team from the British Isles, I really couldn't care less who wins "Euro 2008". Is that a bad admission? Is that really too much like being a 'Little Englander'?

OK, I will admit it. I do slightly care who wins "Euro 2008". At work the usual Bi-yearly Football sweep stake has been organised and I drew France, who are not a bad team. Jennifer drew Switzerland, who are shite, and, by the way, lost their opening game a couple of hours ago. The winner of the sweep stake gets 80 quid.

So, should I support France? No. It sticks in my craw. My Grandmother was Italian. I know! I will support Italy with my head and France with my wallet!

The BBC have been trying to raise some enthusiasm for their TV coverage around the phrase "Who Will You Support?", inviting their viewers to pick a foreign team to follow. ITV's adverts, involving a man who loses his girlfriend football in a terrible road accident, and then is saved by "Euro 2008", are also quite funny. I wonder if both channels will regret being contractually obliged to broadcast wall to wall coverage? Surely the ratings will not be that great? Do that many people in the UK, except the foreign nationals residing here with teams in the competition, really care who wins "Euro 2008".

I would have supported any team from the British Isles in "Euro 2008", in this order and for these reasons.

1. England - because I was born in England and my Mom is English.
2. Republic Of Ireland - because my Dad came from the Republic. A place called Galway.
3. Scotland - because the guy who married my Grandmother was Scottish, had red hair, smoked like a chimney, had yellow fingers, drank like a fish, had a red face and was a great step Granddad.
4. Wales - because I once went on a school trip to Wales and ate lamb.
5. Northern Ireland - because... Er... It's across the sea from England!

Ho, hum. Roll on the World Cup 2010 qualifiers.

There are gigs that you go to because you like the band or the artist. There are gigs that you go to because the band have a couple of songs that you like, the band are in town, and you think that you may as well give them a shot at having some more songs that you might like. And there are gigs that you go to because your brother invited you and it was a good opportunity to get pissed with him.

Ah... That just about brings us to the Pigeon Detectives gig at the Carling Academy in Birmingham.



The Pigeon Detectives are quite popular. They sold out two nights at the Carling Academy in Birmingham which, by the way, is no mean feat. They have had a number 3 and a number 5 album, five top 40 singles and a slot on the Radio 1 Big Day Out event (or whatever it was called). My Brother thinks they are great.

I had never heard of them. My Brother tried to educate me. He lent me the album. I copied it onto my MP3 player, where it still remains, unlistened to. (Nearly a lie. I had listened to the "Take Her Back" single, which was generic Indie Pop, but not bad for that. There will be a clip at the end of this section.)

So, the question is: How much enjoyment can you get from a gig where you hardly know the band and hardly know the songs?

Quite a lot, as it happens, although it does help to be slightly lubricated.

My Brother and I first had drinks in the Square Peg. Then we had drinks in two more (unknown) pubs. Then we ran into Billy The Tout. (My Brother shook him warmly by the hand and casually mentioned that if the Sex Pistols tickets turned out to be lemons he would be forced to hunt him down and kill him. Billy The Tout laughed a lot, but his eyes were not laughing.) Then my Brother and I were in the venue and we had some more drinks.

We checked out the crowd. 16-24 at most. We checked out the ladies. Lots of polka dot blouses. Is that the 'in thing' for the kids? We checked out the bar (again) and then we checked out the band.

Jeans, leather jackets and T-shirts. The lead singer had a curly perm and was very bouncy; running around the stage, hanging off the stage and jumping off the speakers. Very enthusiastic. The Pigeon Detectives played fast Indie pop mostly, although there was a ballad in there somewhere. Crunching guitars, melodic bass, cymbal driven drums. Big choruses. Actually it was a really good sound mix, not something you always get at the Carling Academy. I could hear understand every word of every song, or was that because my Brother sang along throughout? Might be.

I had a thoroughly good time and did not have a hangover the next day, which was also a result.

Hard to know if the Pigeon Detectives will endure. There are just so many similar bands around. Depends on if they progress musically, says muso Jerry.

I like "Take Her Back", so here it is.



"Forgetting Sarah Marshall".



I have thus far been nearly immune to the talents of Judd Apatow and his merry band of funmeisters. I have never seen "Knocked Up" or "Superbad" or "Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby". No doubt one day I will. I have seen "The 40 Year Old Virgin" and "Anchorman: The Legend Of Ron Burgundy" on TV and found them... well... OK, I suppose. Not really my cup of tea, but nothing awful enough to make me want to change the channel.

I went to see "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" last Monday. So, why exactly did I bother to see it, when everything in the press has pointed out that it is exactly the same as every other Judd Apatow produced movie?

Frankly, nowt else on at the cinema that I could be arsed with. (Indy? "Sex And The City"? Thank you, but No.)

"Forgetting Sarah Marshall" again, is OK. Really it is. OK is good and better than not OK. Not a disaster, not a masterpiece, but OK and alright, and it does the job it sets out to do. Funny in parts, grossly rude in others. Some nice performances from Jason Segel, Kristen Bell and the UK's very own Russell Brand. Interesting to read that Russell Brand is generally considered to have stolen every scene in which he appears, when Brits will tell you that what he is doing is a watered down version of the standard shtick he has been using on British TV and radio since his UK breakthrough a couple of years back. Still, if it works, why not?

"Forgetting Sarah Marshall" has done the expected business in the UK and the States and is a competent piece of comedy. Could be a lot worse.

It seems a bit stupid to be writing about TV, gigs and films from several days ago, but who said I wasn't stupid?

Briefly then.

"I'd Do Anything".



Samantha went into the final show expecting to lose and she did. Her confidence had been shattered by the semi-final. She was very lacklustre. It was a big shame, because she had been consistently great throughout the competition.

Jessie went into the final show expecting to win and she didn't. She sang like a dream, but her 'acting' during the songs came across as kind of demented. Maybe she felt that big gestures were required and misjudged it completely?

Jodie won. I was very pleased by that. I had put a bet on her to win earlier in the day and won 11 quid. Clever me. Jodie was certainly not the best singer, looker or dancer, but personality goes a long way and she had bags of it. Jennifer reminded me that during the early audition stages of the competition I had predicted that Jodie would make the final 12, purely on a passable voice and the force of her enthusiasm, but that she would probably not win.

What do I know? I know nothing.

So, well done Jodie. Here she is singing "Send In The Clowns", which is a song I absolutely adore.



"Doctor Who".

Hah! "Silence In The Library" was more like it! Strange, weird, hinting at dark and dangerous secrets. The fractured existence of a time traveller. People you have met and the people you are still to meet. Classic Steven Moffat.

And who the hell is this Professor River Song, and how come she knows so much about the Doctor? I don't know. Do you?

I will continue tomorrow. I cannot afford another late night.

Illness is such fun.

At some point during the night a small purple mark appeared on the back of my right hand. The mark got larger and more purple as the day progressed. Eventually Jennifer became freaked out, and amidst dark mutterings from her about "Internal hemorrhaging", "Hairline fractures" and "Blood trauma", she arranged for somebody to give me a lift to Accident & Emergency department at Dudley Road. It was late enough for me to skive off for the rest of the day. Hurrah!

At the hospital I made the acquaintance of Nurse Beautiful. I immediately offered to take off all of my clothes, but Nurse Beautiful thought that this would probably be excessive as she was only going to diagnose a problem with an injured finger. Instead, Nurse Beautiful pushed and prodded and poked and sent me to get the finger X-rayed. The results of the X-ray were inconclusive. Possibly a chipped bone at the tip of the finger, possibly not. (I had two X-rays taken. One X-ray looked fine and clear. Nothing wrong. The other X-ray looked muddy.) Nurse Beautiful strapped up my finger anyway, told me to take painkillers if I felt the need and to keep my right hand held high as it would help the swelling to go down. I have an appointment to see a fracture specialist next week, if the problem persists. Nurse Beautiful said it was unlikely that I would need to visit again. She seemed sad. Her cheeky, and it has to be said, slightly sensual smile, was lost in an expression of never-to-be-fulfilled longing.

Sigh.

But what of the purple mark on the back of my hand.

It was a bruise.

When I got home I told Jennifer that there was a risk I might lose my hand, as Septicaemia had set in. I gave her my full monty sad look. Jennifer dismissed me and called me an "Ass!".

No sympathy in this house.

I am typing this with two fingers. It is an utter pain in the arse, but at least gives me a reason to give up for this evening. This is hard work, man! Not used to that.

Back tomorrow. Gig review. Film review. TV drivel talk.

Amazing things can happen, when you least expect them.

People really seemed to like the 'death' post. This pleased me a great deal. Really it did. Then it turned out that some people liked the 'death' post so much that they nominated it onto the shortlist for Post Of The Week. Great! And now the post is officially the Post Of The Week #71.

Er...

I am surprised, chuffed, greatly honoured and also a little puzzled, because when I re-read the post now I see how clumsy the whole thing is, compared to Harlan Ellison's original.

Anyway... Sincerely, what else can I say but, thank you all very much.

Bastards! Now I have writers block!

OK, not really, but it is too late to be getting into anything of detail, and anyway, the finger of torment is throbbing. Tomorrow...

1. Jodie's victory in the final of "I'd Do Anything".
2. "Doctor Who".
3. The Pigeon Detectives at the Carling Academy.
4. The ocean of alcohol ingested by my Brother and myself while watching the Pigeon Detectives at the Carling Academy.
5. "Forgetting Sarah Marshall".