A Fantastic thing.....

It's no secret I'm a lover of laughter. I've loved over some of the funniest people out there, but recently, I've emptied my happy sacks over Julia Davis for her creation of the BBC3 series Nighty Night.

Julia plays Jill Tyrell, an attractive 27 year old with a lust for life and a flexible spine. In reality, she's a devious, manipulative, evil passive-aggressive with one eye on the main chance and the other on Don Cole (Angus Deayton).... She's the kind of woman I have married in the past and had children with.

But for me, the most amazing part of this comedy series is that the BBC have decided to have the entire series available on line... Video On Demand (you'll need RealPlayer to watch it)

I know the BBC is not the first to do this kind of VOD, but it's free from adverts and wont cost a penny.

There's a cow bell in there somewhere......

I had an e-mail this morning, from my Brother from another Mother (Goober). It's a trip down memory lane, which can be found just south west of Amnesia Avenue if you need a point of reference

With his kind permission, I've published it below.

Minor Threat: January 1982 – September 1982

Vocals/Guitar - Alan Hunter
Lead Guitar – Stephen Forsyth
Bass – Goober
Drums – Dave Dawson

Minor Threat: Easington Collieries answer to Stiff Little Fingers, average age of the band was 14, four young lads from a mining town in the north east of England. Too young to play or rehearse in pubs and drinking places, they ended up going to the local vicar and asking to use the church hall, he couldn’t help them there so invited them to use his living room. After six weeks he lost patience with the noise, F words, broken furniture and hangers-on the band were attracting. He did however get them a back room of a rough pub called The Black Diamond; this was the nucleus for many future line ups.

Wasted Life / Stiff Little Fingers
So What / Anti Nowhere League
We Will Fuck You / The Exploited
I’m an Upstart / Angelic Upstarts
Tin Soldiers / Stiff Little Fingers
Streets of London / Anti Nowhere League
Woman / Anti Nowhere League

State Of Emergency: September 1982 – March 1983

Vocals – Alan Crawford
Guitar – Alan Hunter
Bass – Goober
Drums – John Crawford

State Of Emergency was created of two local punk bands Alan Hunter and Goober from Minor Threat and Alan and John Crawford from The Condemned, Alan and John were twins with the same tastes in punk rock. Alan and John were 18 while Alan and Goober were 15; this was there first band the pair had played gigs with and their first taste of actually writing and playing original material. I remember it was such a relief if we were trying to book a venue we would wait in the car while the older lads made the arrangements. My confidence grew in this band, I was always a shy young lad and suddenly I was looked upon as a one of the lads.

Men of Action
The Gig
I Can See Through You
Just Don’t Care
Do What They Say
State Of Emergency
D.I.Y

Executed Designs: April 1983 – December 1983

Vocals / Guitar – Stephen Forsyth
Vocals / Bass – Goober
Drums – Dave Dawson
Guest Guitar Richard Wharton (June – August)

After I left State Of Emergency in March I hooked up with the two lads (Dave and Steve) that had started the ball rolling in the first place. The only shock was these two kids had become really good and tight. I remember leaving the first rehearsal and thinking feck me if we do a gig with State Of Emergency we’ll wipe the floor with them. We went on to create some great songs that none of us will forget, and had a few good minutes of local fame. One friend called us The Young Toy Dolls; this was a great compliment for the band and began a whole new chapter in my life. I was finally playing the music I had dreamed about and was adding my own personality to it. No longer embarrassed about what others were thinking I knew we were good and started to enjoy the praise given by others.

Suicide Town
Action Man
You’re Life in My Hands
Without You
Victims of the Plague
Another World
Pollution
Black Sunday
Plastic Girl
Green as Grass

The Original State: January 1984 – May 1988

Vocals / Bass – Goober
Vocals / Guitar – Stephen Forsyth (1984 – 1986)
Guitar – Simon Wood (1986 – 1988)
Guitar – Alan Hunter (1984 – 1985)
Drums – Dave Dawson
Keys / Backing Vocals – Barry Hill (1987-1988)

The name says it all, the original line up for State Of Emergency, now mature and full of ideas and energy. Three song writers all fighting to take control, all working together as a unit my god it was no picnic. In 1985 Alan lost interest in the band because of its musical direction, you could see his heart just wasn’t in it any more.
The band narrowed to a three piece and became one of the best bands I have personally had pleasure playing with. In 1986 Steve left the band to play in a cover band called Picture Box; he was replaced by now friend of the band Simon Wood. Later that year they introduced keyboard player Barry Hill and finally had backing vocals once more. With this line up the band took on a U2 type sound and a more commercial value, Goober became full time songwriter and things went smooth for a while.

Picture in a Magazine
Blue Tears
Sunset at Dawn
Falling Angel
By The Way
Love at Third Sight
Another World
Once In a Lifetime Chance
If Only it was Love
One Day
Fools Gold
Without You
Stating the Truth
Memories of the Night Before
Black Sunday
A Day Away
Going Nowhere

Just Us: June 1989 – March 1991

Acoustic Guitar / Vocals – Dom Richardson
Vocals – Peter Hammond (1989 – 1990)
Bass / Backing Vocals – Goober
Lead Guitar – Ian Coburn (1990 – 1991)
Drums – Dave Dawson (1989 – 1990)
Drums – Paul Cairns (1990 – 1991)

A new beginning and a new chapter Just Us, after a year of not being in a band Dave and I joined up with two local musicians, both songwriters and both defined in their own right. I have never lived in anyone’s pockets as much as I did with this band; with countless rehearsals and jam sessions we never seamed to be ready or together for that matter. Not happy with the Delamitri sound I moved on in 1991 and the band split shortly after.

Living In a Mining Town
Emily
In The Poppy Fields
Candy
She’s Number One
Paranoid Alarms
Country Boy
Nursery Rhymes
Older Woman’s Experience
Love at Third Sight
No Time No Place

Combinat: June1991 – November 1992

Vocals – Ian O’Brien
Lead Guitar – John Mowbray
Rhythm Guitar – Arthur Harriman
Bass – Goober
Drums – Tom Branigan

My Final attempt at being a bass player in a band, this band (Combinat) had not only backing from a record label; it even had an independent song writer Trevor Whittaker.
Spotted as I played in Just Us, Trevor asked me to come along to a rehearsal; we soon became friends and enjoyed each others company. Being in Combinat was like being a member of The Damned, it was real fun, every one in the band worked together, laughed together and when you were having an off day people were there to lift you. Playing live was a dream come true and sometimes the journey to and from gigs was as thrilling as playing.

I Don’t Need You
Temple Town
The Calling
Part of the People
Love Vision
Don’t Be a Stranger

Goober: January 1999 – December 2001

Acoustic Guitar / Vocals – Goober
Acoustic Guitar / Vocals – Keith Small (May 1999 – December 2001)

During my seven years away from the music scene I never really gave up the song writing, I would only write a song every couple of months, but family life and work had made the music side of me take a back seat. That was until the summer of 1998 when drummer and best friend Dave Dawson invited me to a Miles Hunt gig at Ronnie Scott’s in Birmingham. I watched with open mouth as Miles and Malc strutted their stuff and made two acoustic guitars sound like a full band, the next morning over breakfast I knew what Dave was about to say. Sure enough he asked if I had any new material and when I gave him the answer he set the wheels in motion. A recording Studio in Epsom was booked for the January and I had plenty of time to iron out the creases, an attempt to get our long time friend Simon Wood was tried but to no avail.
Eventually I did it solo, the result an eight track cd called “never loved bingo” a while after its release a work friend became very interested in my songs (Keith Small) after a few jam sessions we decided to work as a duo. Keith would appear at one gig and then I’d be solo the next, I enjoyed my time working with Keith, we had some great fun and ideas together. In late 2001 Keith decided to pursue a career in cad cam engineering, I eventually lost my faith in the music business. It seams it’s you look like, not what you sound like, these days and I have no chance if that’s the rules. I now work for a vehicle movement company, and live a happy family life. I can still remember the good and bad times as my songs always expressed, so thanks for the memories Goober.

The Truth
Painted Smile
Footsteps
Time, Space, Interface
Pain on the Inside
Celebrate Tonight
You Are Wonderful
Ten Years and Me
Hindsight
Déjà vu
The Brother You Never Had
Lying In Need
Memories With Affection
What’s Your Name Today?
Begin Again
Believe me
Self
Also Ran
Chances Are
Rant and Rhyme
Seeing Stars
Need To Know
Hand On Heart
Vicious Circle
29th Of Never
Someone To Hold
Writing On The Wall
Catch 42
When I Call Your Name
The Haunting Of Another man
Been Here Before

5k rig at my funeral...please.

Funerals are so depressing, awkward and sometimes bloody inconvenient..... but unfortunately, inevitable... even for those non-smokers who seem to think they are immortal.

I've been to a few funerals... and knowing the person who has passed away they never seem to get the kind of music they would of wanted... And what makes it worse is the appalling quality of the sound system being used. No one is to blame of course, not the family, not their friends, not the Church or the Crematorium, it's just the way it is.

So no flowers for me, put it towards the rental of a 5k rig to be installed at the Crematorium..



...and the music? well, as long as Mr Blue Sky by ELO is played at least once I can safely let Goober pick the rest.... he knows like no one else.

Petrol ban for wearing a hat...

A recent report by MCN suggests that in future all motorcyclists will have to remove their helmets if they wish to purchase petrol…..The reason for this? Well, according to BOSS it’s so the cashiers can tell if they are over 16 or not..

Fat hairy knackers is what I say to that. There’s no way I’m gonna take the time to remove my helmet just so some illegal asylum seeker can see if I’m old enough to buy fireworks yet.

Power Ranger

If you came across me while I’m on my bike, dressed up in leathers like a Power Ranger , sitting on a 10k hyper sports bike would it seriously cross your mind if was old enough to legally shag your sister? No, you wouldn’t. I’ve a myriad of ways to confirm my age and identity: credit cards (you need to be 18 to own one), driving licence (17 years old to own one), blockbusters card and even a membership card to the local sex shop (and I havnt even begun to mention all the noises, grunts & groans I make while getting on and off the bike)…. But somehow this just isn’t enough to pay for a tank full of juice.

Quadrophenia

My solution is simple, if they allow me to fill the bike up (which they always do) and they start treating me like I’ve just been released into the community from a maximum security facility then I’ll simply tell them if they want paying for the petrol they can bill me at my home address as I slip my name & contact details under their re-enforced bullet proof window.

Today’s biker is generally middle class with more disposable cash than a Columbian drug runner, so why treat us like extras from Quadrophenia?

Bacon Slicer.....

And while I’m on the subject of human mutilation why are we still letting people get away with slicing into a boy child’s banjo in the name of religion?

What the hell is wrong with these people? As if having a child isn’t fraught with enough worries some people take it upon themselves to have some witch doctor butcher a perfectly healthy male child. They even have a party to mark the fact!

I am of course talking about Circumcision or as I like to call it Grievous Bodily Harm (GBH).

I will accept that there are legitimate reasons for being circumcised….. Phimosis for one (the roll neck of ya jumper is too tight and you cant get it over ya head), and possibly freak accidents involving domestic pets... but that’s about it really.

Of course there are some people who say it’s a covenant with the Lord, showing that you are one of his people……. You’re having a laugh arnt you? Who voted for that one when it appeared on the agenda? Can you imagine the scene?

“OK people, to show some commitment to our Lord I think we should take a rusty knife to the old fella….. can I have a show of hands?”
“Naff off ya weirdo! Whats wrong with a tattoo, or a hairstyle?... a funny handshake even!”

Or perhaps this one…

“Well, it’s a religious thing and we’ve been doing it for centuries…” Oh, ok then, can I start burning witches at the stake again? That was a religious thing and we did it for centuries too.

….and lets not forget this old chestnut

“Men who have been circumcised are cleaner…” Eh? Whatcha mean cleaner? It’s not like I’m stirring my coffee with it! Anyway, whats wrong with washing down there every now & again? I personally use the wife’s toothbrush, it’s quick, painless and very very amusing afterwards.

Parents! What a re you thinking of? Let him choose later in life if he wants part of his cock cut off just to placate your imaginary super-being friend. Besides, letting some bloke fiddle with ya kids tackle surmounts to child abuse in my books.

If you were wondering what the "impliment" is in the graphic, it's a Winkleman Circumcision Device... Nice eh?

Hip Hip Hurrah!

Things are getting tiresome.

Over the last four days my hip has been playing up.... lots of pain and now something new....swelling, which is making it hard to do the things I like...... for example sitting down. I like sitting down, its one of those unsung pleasures you seldom hear about in the society magazines.... forget Suduko and your giant kites, gimme a comfy chair anyday.

I'd just like to take this opportunity to have a right old pop at my doctor.... actually, I dont have a doctor, I have a choice of various Loco doctors because my "named" doctor (Dr J Mengele) is forever ill or on holiday or experimenting on twins to attend to his sick and dying patients.... I digress... sorry.

Yes, my quack is a total arse. I've been diagnosed with a completely fecked hip, it's a bone on bone fight to the death and the only survivor will be everlasting pain. I know there's a fancy name for it, I've been told a thousand times but somehow the thought of the next 40 or so years racked with pain tends to push my ability to recall some Latin gobbledygook way outta my mind.

The solution is to have a new hip joint hammered into my thigh bone. Sounds interesting, but it will stop the pain (after about 12 months of recuperation that is) and I'll be able to play the piano like never before..

In the mean time, I have to wait until one of three things happen....

• 1) My thigh bone pops outta my hip joint causing massive hematoma and an outcry in the tabloids
• 2) I become old enough to have the operation but too old to remember what legs are for.
• 3) Billy Graham expels the evil spirits that inhabit my body and cause my hip to turn against me, Hallelujah, praise be..... blah blah....sexual deviance..... my office..... 10 mins...... bring some vasiline..... dont tell your mom.

Oh, I nearly forgot, if I overdose on huge amounts of Ibuprofen and Paracetamol remember its not a cry for help, its an attempt to stop the pain.

Dr Mengele has stopped me using Tramadol as he says it can be addictive!!!! Of cause its fecking addictive, it takes the bloody pain away you sackless twat!



I'm off outside to shout at passing cars...

Could I have a word?

Hi MOM
Originally uploaded by neekol.

Man alive... Sometimes I sit and wonder what the hell is going on in some peoples heads.... This is usually a good thing, cos it gives me something to blog about, to rant and rave about.... and occasionally murder.

But its a different case when the person you want to verbally abuse actually reads this blog. Usually, this would not bother me and I'd let rip anyhow... but this time there would be consequences that would cause me more hassle than its worth. So, the next section is only applicable to the arse who will remain nameless

All I can say is that you are a complete fuckwit. No "if's" or "buts". You were put on this Earth as an example to us all not to be an arse like yourself. The quicker you bugger off completely the better.

I guess if I were a real caring "friend" I would pull you to one side and explain where you are going wrong, but feck that, I'm gonna sit back and watch your whole world collapse around your cloth ears... And to be perfectly honest, you bloody well deserve it......

Next time you make a decision which involves any kind of human involvement, try looking up the word empathy first....... you ignorant, selfish mong.

Close the Windows! Turn the lights out.... RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!

There are a few things in life I’m not very good with. Most I can avoid, some I can tolerate for a short period of time, and others I tend to either marry or decorate and furnish their homes with various electrical goods.

One thing I cannot avoid, or escape from is the common Crane Fly (or Daddy Long Legs)… Lets get one thing straight from the off, I’m shit scared of them…. There I said it…There’s no real reason, it’s irrational and I should be setting a better example to my daughter… but those spindly little gits really do gimme the heebie-jeebies.

So, the Crane Fly is no more than a flying spider (too many legs for such a small body… it’s just plain greedy…. and what’s with all those eyes?. It’s just not right), nothing on this planet could frighten me more than a Crane Fly (escaped Hamsters packing heat come close).

Even so, I do think nature dealt a duff hand to the bastard, all those legs and it cant run. Its got the navigational skills of Mark Thatcher and a defence mechanism that involves amputating your own appendages. It’s just bloody pointless.

They also have no idea on how to get from A to B, ten out of ten for fannying about tho’… well that’s not strictly true, for example, if I enter a room they just home in on me….. not like a dart or an arrow, they first give the impression they are coming for me, then change direction as if not interested, I turn my back and sweet-mother-of-Jesus the spindly little shite-hawk is entangled in my hair, I’m running around like a girl (…..and usually screaming), swatting the air and hitting myself on the head. It’s not a good look. People stare….. and sometimes point….and occasionally call security.

So, if you’re in a shop this September, and you see a burly bloke screaming and doing air-karate, then don’t take the piss ‘cos it’s probably me.

Arrreeeeeaba....

I'm sweating cobs here!

I've just spent the last 90 mins running around the flat trying to capture an escaped hamster..... Feck knows how she got out, but I did find a hair clip, some chewing gum and a welcome pack from the official MacGyver Fan Club.

Anyhow, some things I learnt about catching an escaped hamster....

1. Hamsters dont come when you call them.
2. They dont react to threats and bad language
3. Wearing a Pith Helmet and desert boots dont help
4. Hamsters growl and rear up when cornered
5. No matter how hard you try, you cant get the Benny Hill Theme outta your head

I eventually ended up with a siege situation, Big Vern (the hamster was briefly renamed for the duration) was holed up behind the telly blocked in by a very large storage cabinet and several copies of Motorcycle news..... One way in and only one way out..... It would be a battle of wills.

No doubt Big Vern was tooled up and would be ready for a fight, there was no way he was gonna do bird again and I had to act quickly. First , I needed protection.... Motorcycle helmet and gloves, perfect. Now I needed some kinda weapon. Tear gas wasn’t an option and that vial of Rohypol was useless without a three litre bottle of White Lightning, the off-licence would be shut by now anyway. In the end I opted for half a can of pressurised Air-Duster I had left after a recent PC fix and Toms' towel from the airing cupboard...... I was now set.

As I could not see Big Vern directly I thought about having a phone passed over the magazines to allow us to communicate, as least this way I could talk Vern into coming out and he could ask for a Big Mac and fries and a fast get-away car.

Tem minutes into the siege I heard shots being fired, a woman screamed and Carter ducked behind the Cortina. With the reflexes of a cat Regan lunged toward the open door..... It was then my attention reverted back to my escaped hamster and I'd have to leave The Sweeney which was showing on UKGold for another time.... Shame really, I'd never seen that episode before.

Everything had gone quiet behind the TV, maybe Big Vern had fallen asleep? I decided to check. It was a tense moment, for all I knew Big Vern could be just around the leg of the telly, waiting… I took no chances, with my shaving mirror selotaped to a wooden spoon I slowly edged forward, my heart thumping in my throat.. I felt vulnerable…. I lowered the helmets visor.

I could see Big Vern, his back to my field of vision….. licking himself. Now was my chance, I could take him by surprise. Quickly I reached around and blasted him with the Air-Duster from point blank range. I scored a direct hit, Vern spun round, the shock of the Air-Duster lifting him in the air. It was like a scene from The Matrix. As the adrenalin took hold he lost control of his bowels and took off for the exit. The air was filled with the stench of Thai Chicken as I still hadn’t taken last nights curry down to the bins but it didn’t seem to bother Vern. Blinded by what must be sheer terror he fled into Toms’ perfectly positioned towel…… Vern would soon be back in the big-house, banged up in solitary with loss of privileges and little chance of parole.

Epilog….

As I sat at the table waiting for one of Sam’s exquisite culinary delights I began to explain to Lt Frank Monahan how Jefferies had made a schoolboy error and misjudged the amount of peroxide he injected in Ms Davies’s thorax. Just then some totty half my age walked in and inferred we should hurry if we were to spend the rest of the weekend shacked up in some cheap hotel where she takes it up the garry and squirts like a fire hydrant on a hot summers day.

Everyone laughed and we all agreed I was the best Medical Examiner working for the D.A…… After that we all faded to black.

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