Glover's Mistake

David's blog was his counter-plot and everything was up for judgement and redressal. If he watched TV or read a book, was delayed by roadworks or bought a sandwich, he'd blog about it. Then the comments from others might appear. It was peculiar what brought people to his site. Anything and everything. And when they arrived they'd look around, then join in. People take so much shit that they'll jump at a chance to give some back. And David's rancour was applauded. He was permitted. He felt fine. He didn't need to justify, but on occasion, late at night, adrenalized with vitriol, some cobwebby corner of him almost understood the problem: he was searching not for things to love but a place to put his rage.

David Pinner, the hero of Nick Laird's second novel, is the lowest of the low. Not a murderer, a rapist, a terrorist or even a Tom Hanks fan... he's a blogger. The scum!

David is a man consumed by insecurity, jealousy and that unsavoury combination of inferiority and superiority complexes that all true bloggers know so well. When he meets up with an old art school tutor who's gone on to bigger things, he sees romantic possibility (despite the fact that he's an unlovable slob - he's deluded, of course... didn't you hear, he's a blogger!?) But when the object of his affection meets and falls instead for David's flatmate Glover, there's nothing he won't do to put a spanner in the works and wreck their happiness.

I read a couple of reviews of Glover's Mistake that complained it was hard to sympathise with such a loathsome protagonist, yet strangely I didn't have a problem. It's true that David is slime, but you have to admire his single-minded dedication to the cause. Laird admits to being a fan of the way Nick Hornby writes about relationships, yet Hornby's heroes are usually lovable idiots - he's never released a grotesque like David Pinner into the world. As a poet, Laird's writing is a little more flowery than Hornby's, and his characters a little more arty, but their obsessions and anxieties will strike a chord with Hornby fans... and bloggers the world over will obviously be able to relate to David himself.

Because, let's face it, we are all scum.




Do I need to add a winking smiley face to the end of that post?

I Love It When A Film Comes Together

The A-Team movie didn't do as well as expected at the US box office. It lost the battle to another 80s remake, The Karate Kid. I had a hard time understanding why before I'd seen the movie. As a child of the 80s, while I thought The Karate Kid was an OK flick, The A-Team dominated my youth. I loved that show, and I'd been looking forward to a big screen remake for years. We've had to wait a few more weeks for The A-Team to burst into the UK, but after finally seeing the movie... I now have a REALLY hard time understanding why it lost out to Jackie Chan, Will Smith's kid and a bit of rubbish kung-fu.

Because The A-Team movie does exactly what you want it to do. It doesn't try to re-invent the wheel. It doesn't try to make the A-Team believable or hardboiled or treat the concept with a seriousness it doesn't merit... yet neither does it mock the show (and our memories) in the way other big screen adaps have done (stand up, Starsky & Hutch). It says - you know what, The A-Team should be big and loud and brash and outrageous... but most of all, it should be fun.

They could so easily have screwed this up. It's simple enough to cast some black dude with a mohawk and have him say "I ain't getting on no plane, fool" a few times to satisfy the fans. And the rest of the team could have been reduced to their broadest strokes and replicated too - the handsome playboy, the crazy pilot, the silver-haired, cigar chomping leader. Yet the writers here have actually tried - and mostly succeeded - to give what could have been merely caricatures a little depth and development. The casting is perfect. At no point did I think, "that's Liam Neeson". I actually believed it was Hannibal Smith, from the start. George Peppard would be proud. Likewise Bradley Cooper captures that same mix of charm and vulnerability that Dirk Benedict did so well, and District 9's Sharlo Copley gives us a Murdock who's both Howling Mad and really quite sweet. Quinton 'Rampage' Jackson wins the battle with Mr. T, going beyond bluster and bling to be the surprise of the show. And yes, we do get to discover exactly why he doesn't want to get on no planes, fool.

There's slimy support from the always excellent Patrick Wilson and another 80s hero - Simon & Simon's Gerald McRaney (George Hearst in Deadwood); plus a nice cameo from Don Draper himself, John Hamm. (Sadly I missed the Schultz and Benedict cameos as nobody warned me to wait around till after the credits.) The only character who gets shortchanged is Jessica Biel's one-dimensional love interest / super agent, as forgettable in her way as the original Amy Amanda Allen... I guess this always was a show where the guys dominated.

The stunts are utterly ridiculous, the gags are frequently hilarious, the catchphrases, vehicles and gadgets are all given due consideration... really, what else could you want from an A-Team movie?

The Karate Kid? Bah!

Status Anxiety

Yesterday, as part of my working day, I had an awkward meeting with a client. I won't divulge their occupation, but for the purpose of this post, let's just call them a Successful Person. Someone who has worked hard in their chosen field to rise to a level of achievement that would be respected by others. A professional.

I take such meetings from time to time, and it's no big deal. I may have a chip the size of a King Edward on my shoulder about having achieved Sweet Fanny Adam in my own career, but I try not to let it show. This time was different. The Successful Person in question was a former High School classmate. I didn't know that going in, but I recognised her immediately. I'm pretty sure she recognised me too (the name is memorable if nothing else), but neither of us acknowledged it. We treated each other as complete strangers: it was easier that way.

Afterwards, I was reminded of the post I wrote a couple of weeks back about why I don't do school reunions. About not wanting to explain myself to a bunch of people who'd made something of their lives. Am I that insecure about my position in the world? Do I really care so much what other people think? Or am I being too hard - and projecting that self-criticism onto others?

Louise says that whenever she tells people what I do for a living, they always think it's fascinating. From the outside, working in the media always seems that way. And I'm under no illusions that - as much as I hate this job - there are far worse things I could be doing to bring in a wage. But at the end of the day, I don't really care what other people think - I care what I think. And I think that I've failed. There are millions of people in the world who don't have the job they want, who haven't achieved the goals they set them themselves in their youth, who feel they've let themselves down. And I dare say a good proportion of them have far more to complain about than I do. I just never thought I'd be one of them.

But the world needs losers. We play an important role in society. If nothing else, we remind the winners exactly what they've won. I hope they appreciate it.

The Oh My! Meme

Not done a meme in a while, and nothing else is happening much at the moment...

Stolen from Sunday Stealing...


1. The phone rings; who don't you want it to be?

Work. Or Tom Hanks. (Stop bothering me Tom, I'm not going to watch Toy Story 3 until they redub your bits.)

2. When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your trolley?

Of course. It's called civilization.

3. In a social setting, are you more of a talker or a listener?

Definitely the second.

4. What was the last compliment someone gave you?

"You're not completely useless, are you?"

(They were wrong.)

5. Do you play the lottery?

When it first began, I bought a ticket every week. Then I realised that money could be better spent.

6. If abandoned alone in the wilderness, who would you want with you?

Wolverine.

7. Do you like to ride horses?

Not really. Did it once, found it rather uncomfortable.

8. Did you ever go to camp as a kid?

I went to a youth hostel once, does that count?

9. What is your favourite party game?

Guessing what time we can go home.

As a kid, I always liked Hide 'n' Seek.

10. If a sexy person was pursuing you, but you knew he/she was married, would you go for it?

Is it Kate Winslet? Has her divorce come through yet?

11. When was the last time you lied?

The last question.

12. Could you date someone with different religious beliefs than you?

As long as they weren't a scientologist. (It's not the aliens I object to, more Tom Cruise.)

13. If you have a S/O, who pursued who? If not, do you like to pursue or be pursued?

There wasn't really much in the way of pursuit. She just took pity.

14. Use six words to describe yourself.

Writer. Unachiever. Geek. Reader. Misanthrope. Dreamer.

15. Name a song that could make you cry?

Every time I get this question, the answer always ends up the same.

The Reservoir by Shirley Lee.

16. Are you pleased with your education?

Education is wasted on the young. I made a couple of wrong decisions, could have studied more, gone to a better uni... been a completely different person. Would I have been any happier?

17. How do you feel about gun control?

If I had a gun, I'd use it every rush hour. Hence, I think gun control is a very smart idea.

18. If your house was on fire, what would be the first thing you grabbed?

The cats.

19. How often do you have a romantic weekend?

I was about to say "every weekend is a romantic weekend"... then I thought... you better ask Louise.

20. Do you think more about the past, present or future?

The future.

21. What was the last adult magazine you have read?

Define 'adult'.

You mean a jazz mag?

I thought the internet put them out of business.

22. What are you told about your eyes?

They're too often closed.

23. How tall is just right?

For what? Seeing over the neighbour's hedge?

24. Where is your dream house located?

On a remote, windswept island.

25. Do you have a secret fetish?

I can never understand why I find stockings so exciting. They're a bit bizarre if you think about them.



26. Have you tried bourbon? If yes, what type?

Ah, the good old days. Jack, my dear old friend - how are you, it's been years.

27. Have you ever seen a male or female stripper?

Only with their clothes on.

28. When was the last time you were at TGI Fridays?

A long time ago.

29. When was the last time you were at Church?

Earlier this year, at Davey's wedding. Actually, that was an abbey - does that count?

30. Where was the furthest place you travelled today?

So far, I haven't travelled anywhere - apart from coming upstairs to sit at the computer. I'll be leaving for Mirfield shortly. Pity me.

31. What was your favourite job?

Working in the record library.

32. What condiments do you like at your BBQ?

Ketchup and a nice BBQ sauce.

33. What's your favourite David Lynch movie?

Wild At Heart.

34. Do you look like your mum or dad?

I love them both.

35. Who was the last person that you showered with (it's okay to leave out the name)?

Eh? How can I answer the question if I leave out the name?

Thoughtballoons - The Punisher

This week's Thoughtballoons character is Marvel's never-smiling psychotic vigilante Death Wish-tribute, the skull-chested Frank Castle aka The Punisher. Often a bit of a one note character, he works well as a guest star / antagonist, but it's tough to make us care about him. It's also much easier to play him for bleak laughs - which was the temptation. Too easy...

Read my 1 page Punisher story here.

Simon King's Wild Life

Wildlife photographer and TV presenter Simon King has led a very fortunate life. He's done what many of us aspire to - he's lived his dream. Simon's specific dream has always been to study and observe and get as close to the natural world as possible, and he's pursued that goal with a single-minded determination that is admirable. It's true that part of Simon's success is down to knowing the right people - he makes no bones about the fact that his father worked for the BBC and introduced him to many of the contacts that helped forward his career. But I don't think that's the only reason for his success. His talent, dedication, hard work and genuine passion for nature is evident in everything he does.

It's not as though he hasn't had to make sacrifices for his work too. While much of this book involves the thrills and spills of wildlife photography - from being swarmed by killer bees to almost losing a finger to a panicking otter to being attacked by a rabid cheetah and having fire ants bite into your manhood - King also talks movingly about the death of his dad and the end of his first marriage - a clear choice between being a stay-at-home family man and a full time nature-chaser.

"I was one of the luckiest men alive, still am. I reasoned that life would always throw up challenges, and compromises would always have to be made. As long as I was still able to feel the wind on my face and get pleasure from it, I would try to juggle the loves of my life so that none suffered from too great a neglect."

Reading Wild Life, I felt a degree of envy for the life Simon King has led. But not for the sacrifices he's made. As exciting an idea as living amongst lions, elephants or albatross might be, I wouldn't want to give up my home comforts to do it. I'm glad there are people like King who are obsessed with wildlife to such an extent - and that they're happy to share their obsession with us.

30 Songs - Day 12

Day 12 - A Song From A Band You Hate

And no prizes for guessing who that band will be.

Oh, how do I hate U2... let me count the ways. What's worse? Their world-conquering bombast? Their self-righteous pomposity? Their smug, humourless egotism? That blasphemous Spidey musical? (Oh, the horror.) Or just the fact that Bono is such a cock?

As with many awful bands though - or at least many awful bands who have been around at least half as long as U2 - I don't hate their music quite as much as I hate them. Yes, I'll turn off the radio if I hear the opening bars of With Or Without You or Where The Streets Have No Name, but it's more for the image they bring with them - Bono's big gurning mug, those stupid red sunglasses, the stubble... and that voice. That voice that makes Bob Geldof sound like Julie Andrews. Not the singing voice: the patronising, proselytising, "I'm bigger than Jesus", Here-I-Am-At-The-UN-with-my-mate-the-new-Nazi-Pope-bow-down-before-me-you-ignorant-serfs speaking voice.

That said, if I close my eyes and try to expunge all thoughts of His Holy Smugalot from my mind... I don't abhor every single U2 song. New Year's Day, Desire, One (especially the Johnny Cash version), The Sweetest Thing, Beautiful Day... I wouldn't want them in my mp3 library, but I wouldn't tear off my ears and pour battery acid in the holes to stop me from ever hearing them again.

The track below is as close as I ever came to actually buying a U2 record. Even at the tender age of 16, common sense prevailed, but I've got to at least give them this...

The Rainbow Orchid - The Quest Continues

Fans of sumptuous, detailed artwork and rattling good yarns rejoice - Julius Chancer is back in the second thrilling episode of Garen Ewing's The Rainbow Orchid - available to order now. This time Julius's quest for that elusive flower takes him all the way to India where he has to contend with plane crashes, punch ups and the rare beauty of an angry maternal snow leopard*. It's all jolly good fun in the best European comics tradition: but it's more than just a homage or tribute to the adventures of Tin Tin and others you may recall from your misspent youth. It lives and breathes and stands proud on its own two feet - Garen's book deserves to win every award going for graphic novel artwork and storytelling.

Truly, if you don't like The Rainbow Orchid, you don't like life!

You can sample the strip from the beginning here and buy both volumes 1 & 2 from Amazon or from Garen's store (where you'll also find a choice range of Rainbow Orchid merchandise too).



(*Snow leopards are one of my favourite animals. I have pictures of them on my notice board at work. So I was especially thrilled to see one guest starring in this comic - with its cub to boot.)

Inception

Sorry to say, my fears regarding Christopher Nolan's Inception came to pass. It's an enjoyable movie, yet I kept wanting to enjoy it more. It's a visually spectacular movie, but - as is often the case with Nolan - a somewhat cold and emotionally unengaging one. It's also overlong and unnecessarily complex. With its dream inside a dream inside a dream inside a dream plotline it felt like Nolan & co. had leapt to the messy threequel without properly exploring what was a fun premise to begin with. And most disappointing of all, certain inconsistencies of plot, unanswered threads, and a two dimensional supporting cast suggested that most hoary of cinematic cliches. While Nolan steered away from explicitly delivering this during the movie's final moments (a la Shyamalan) the film did - perhaps even more frustratingly - hint at it, as though the writers wanted this to be a twist that movie anoraks will debate endlessly for years to come. "Ah, but was his wife telling the truth? Was he actually...?"

But don't let all that put you off. Inception is definitely the best and most imaginative blockbuster of the summer thus far (though it has been a pretty dire summer) and it is a film you ought to see at the cinema. It proves, indisputably, that we don't need 3D to make our eyes pop out. Indeed, 3D would only have spoiled the tremendous sfx on show here, so kudos to Nolan for not jumping on that particular lame bandwagon.

On the Nolan-ometer, Inception falls below Memento, The Prestige and The Dark Knight. It's Batman Begins all over again: thoughtful, fun and spectacular in parts yet too long, too cold and flawed overall. Still, a better flick than many other contemporary film makers could dream of delivering. Just not as gripping as it might have been.

Top Ten Movie Songs

No, not songs from the movies - songs about the movies. And no Celine Dion: guaranteed.



10. Belle & Sebastian - Like Dylan in the Movies

Stuart Murdoch's stalker anthem (one of many!) based around Dylan's famous promo film for Subterranean Homesick Blues. I'm not sure how the two connect, but when the end product sounds this good - who cares?

9. The Auteurs - Underground Movies

Another song I really don't have the first clue about lyrically... but as with most things Luke Haines touches, it has a welcoming seediness.

8. Murder By Death - Holy Lord, Shawshank Redemption Is Such A Good Movie

Murder By Death are great with the titles. This comes from the album Like The Exorcist, But More Breakdancing which also features tracks called: I'm Afraid Of Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf, Intergalactic Menopause and Flamenco's Fuckin' Easy. All inspired titles which the songs in question rarely live up to... how could they?

7. Suzanne Vega (If You Were) In My Movie

Simply put: if you were in Suzanne Vega's movie, you'd get the girl.

6. Death Cab For Cutie - A Movie Script Ending

Death Cab For Cutie believe you can go home again.

5. Thea Gilmore - Movie Kisses

Here it is
The not-so-happy-ending
We've done our picket fence defending
We did Bogart and Bacall and now the spotlight's gone, and anyway
All those movie kisses just last too long

4. Everclear - Songs From An American Movie Part 1

There's something of the David Lynch about many Everclear songs. On the surface: white picket fences. Underneath: darkness.

3. The Long Blondes - Lust In The Movies

I know you think you're in the movies.
You're in the movies and you don't wanna know me.
Well I know all about fear and desire, and I know all about lust, etc.

Edie Sedgwick, Anna Karina, Arlene Dahl.
Edie Sedgwick, Anna Karina, Arlene Dahl.
I just want to be a sweetheart.

I always thought Kate was singing about Tolstoy's tragic heroine Anna Karenina along with cult actresses Edie Sedgwick and Arlene Dahl. I never quite understood why.

Turns out it's actually Danish actress Anna Karina. Well, I never.

2. The Drifters - Kissing In The Back Row Of The Movies

One of those things you dream about doing when you're young and single... then when the opportunity does finally arrive: "Get off me, woman - I want to watch the film!"

1. Okkervil River - Our Life Is Not A Movie Or Maybe

Their best song, it's a lyrical blizzard and no mistaking, with some of the more interesting rhymes you'll hear this week.



Do you have a favourite movie song? Do tell.

Anyone who suggests My Heart Will Go On, Everything I Do (I Do It For You) or Take My Breath Away... don't let the door hit your arse on your way out.

I Write Like...

There's an online oojamaflip I've discovered which purports to examine any writing you paste into it and tell you which famous author you write like. Obviously I was eager to play along...

Firstly I submitted Chapter 1 from my current in-progress novel...

I write like
Cory Doctorow

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Really?

I've never read any Doctorow, but I understand he's well-regarded. I wonder if Chapter 2 will bring the same assessment...

I write like
Kurt Vonnegut

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Oh.

I suppose I should take that as a compliment, but it's not really what I was aiming for. A little less mindbending, I think.


How about my previous novel, Imaginary Friends...?

I write like
James Joyce

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Bwahahaha! So you're basically saying my writing is complex to the point of being impenetrable, right? Jeez... no wonder I can't get an agent.

Let's try a short story instead. How about From The Crack Of The Vinyl To The Hiss Of The Tape?

I write like
William Gibson

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

What? Gimme a break - that was hardly cyberpunk.

Let's try Shooting People Is Good...

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

You know, that's the first one I can see. I do sometimes go for a Palahniuk vibe on my short stories.

Let's try I Can Read You Like A Book, one of the most Palahniuk-influenced stories I've written...

I write like
Arthur C. Clarke

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Open the pod bay doors, Hal, I smell a rat.

Let's try something with no literary pretensions whatsoever. How about a radio ad script from my day job...?

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

DFW is turning in his grave.

It's not complete bollocks though. When I fed in the opening chapter from Stephen King's Bag Of Bones, it identified him straight away. Likewise it was spot on Bram Stoker, Jonathan Swift and Arthur Conan Doyle. But a chunk of Nick Hornby's Juliet, Naked was tagged as Foster Wallace again (sorry Nick, you apparently write radio ads too) while it also confused Douglas Coupland with King, Joseph Heller with JD Salinger, Emily Bronte with Joyce and Dean Koontz with Dan Brown ('ouch!' for Koontz).

As for yesterday's blogpost about the wrong knickers...?

I write like
James Joyce

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Quite.

Test your own writing and let me know who you write like.



This week's Thoughtballoons character is Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, The Penguin - waugh! You can read my one-page story here. According to I Write Like, it's very HP Lovecraft...!

The Wrong Knickers

Louise comes downstairs while I'm eating my tea.

"There's a pair of white knickers - from Primark! - in the washing you did over the weekend that AREN'T MINE."

"Well," I splutter, "they're not mine!"

I've never been accused of infidelity before, and though I don't believe Louise is seriously accusing me of it now, the very suggestion still makes me feel insanely guilty. I can feel myself blushing, stammering out possible explanations, getting all needlessly defensive... how the hell can I feel guilty about something I've not actually done? God help me if I'm ever up on an erroneous murder charge.

"But I didn't kill Tom Hanks!"

"You're going down, sunshine!"

Before I continue: a little history. I have never been unfaithful to anyone. I have however been cheated on twice - by two previous partners - so I know exactly how shitty it feels. As a result, no matter the circumstances, I wouldn't ever do that to another human being, particularly not someone I care about. Besides, I'd be rubbish at it. If an unfounded suggestion fills me with this much guilt, imagine what I'd be like if I was actually culpable?

The problem with any such accusation - even one made in jest - is that there's no way to answer it. If you deny it... well, that's exactly what you would do, isn't it? If you make a joke of it... oh, so you think it's funny, do you? The more defensive you get, the more guilty you seem. I really would make a hopeless criminal - but I'd be even worse as "an innocent man charged with a crime he didn't commit".

"But I wasn't anywhere near the building where Bono, Russell Brand and Chris Evans were killed in that suspicious explosion - I swear! The one-armed man did it!"

"Guilty as charged."

However, all that said, if I were to turn heartless cad-bastard overnight, I certainly wouldn't be running around with someone who wears white Primark knickers! Give me some credit! It'd be Anne Summers or Agent Provocateur all the way! And the same goes for if I were to take a sudden turn to transvestism. Stockings and suspenders, darling. Only the best.

Likewise, I think I'd be a bit more careful than to cast my strumpet's nether garments into the weekly wash. And even if I were that stupid, I certainly wouldn't take them out of the wash and hang them on the clothes horse to dry! What am I, a complete idiot?

Fortunately, Louise appears to have answered that question for herself. Or perhaps she's secretly relishing the idea that some other unlucky chump might be about to take me off her hands. As to the mystery knickers, they remain just that. Perhaps they've been left by a malicious prankster out to sow disharmony in Meltham Towers. Or perhaps Louise is so embarrassed by finding such unflattering knicks in the bottom of her drawer, she's blanked out all memory of ever having purchased them. Or perhaps one of our neighbours is sneaking into our house and depositing their tighty-whiteys in our laundry basket because they're too idle to do their own washing? Rest assured, we will get to the bottom of this...

The Post-Birthday World

I always enjoy it when someone takes a genre premise and writes a serious literary novel around it, so Lionel Shriver's Post-Birthday World has been on my hit list for a while now. I was a fan of Shriver already from her last two books, Double Fault and We Need To Talk About Kevin , so I knew exactly what to expect - and this didn't let me down.

PBW follows children's book illustrator Irina McGovern as she's faced with a life-changing decision - whether to kiss a man other than her long term partner Lawrence. The man in question is snooker player Ramsey Acton, a volatile, sexed-up bad boy: the complete opposite of Lawrence. In the moment of that decision, Irina's story diverges into two alternate realities: one where she goes for it and pursues the affair, another where she plays it safe and lives with her regret. Neither turns out the way you'd imagine, though both lead ultimately to the same conclusion.

If the premise sounds a little chick-lit or Sliding Doors, then chances are that's exactly how it'd have turned out from a lesser author. Thankfully Shriver brings weight and depth to the storytelling and shines an uncomfortably bright light on modern romantic relationships that should make even the most secure of readers question the decisions they've made in such matters. As Shriver herself points out in the afterword, "I'm as fascinated with the contrast between going to the supermarket with one man versus another as I am in the difference our selection of partners makes to our careers". What happens to Irina in these split realities proves there's no such thing as a black and white / right and wrong decision in matters of the heart. Whatever you choose, things will go wrong... and right... and wrong again. And there's no such thing as a perfect partner either.

Like David Nicholls' One Day, Shriver's excellent novel traces a path through contemporary history, from the death of Diana to 9/11, using such events to highlight the opinions and attitudes of the central characters and draw parallels between their concurrent storylines. It also mixes real people with fictional - most notably snooker players like Ronnie O'Sullivan and Stephen Hendry who clash with Ramsey in his quest to win the World Championship. (I'm never sure how novelists square such usage against the "all characters are fictional" disclaimer that appears in the front of the book.)
The only problem I had with Double Fault was that sometimes Shriver took the tennis metaphors to a corny extreme that distracted from the story. Here though the snooker forms an amusing and well-researched back drop, though the author does keep self-consciously apologising to American readers who probably won't know the sport from tiddly-winks.

30 Songs - Day 11

Day 11 - A Song From Your Favourite Band

Ah, but my favourite band when?

This week?

This year?

This millennium?

...of the 90s?

...of the 80s?

...of the 70s?

...of the 60s?

...of the 50s?

Or... of all time?

Hootiebits The Magic Owl

I hate the abbreviation LOL. I hate it for its scandalous geeky shorthand. I hate it for its stench of hipster exclusivity. I hate it because I have an awful sinking feeling that it was originally devised as TEXT SPEAK - and I deplore the way TEXT SPEAK is destroying our language.

I also hate it because it prevents me from saying that something made me laugh out loud without someone, somewhere thinking I'm saying LOL.

That said - fuck it. Ralph Kidson's latest small press comic made me laugh out loud till I burst something squishy inside. I wish I could explain what it is about Kidson's irreverent cartooning that amuses me so much, but god help us all if he ever calls it a day.

Hootiebits The Magic Owl ("For Adult Birds & Mammals Only") may well be Ralphie's magnum opus. It stars a magic owl who works for god, can travel in space and time (and under the sea) and occasionally kills people (but only 6 in 10,000 years so I wouldn't worry too much). Mostly he just hangs out with his friends, drinks sherry with the Elephant Man, gets drunk and wakes up in bed with Bill Oddie and then goes down the pub with a scented binbag for a ploughman's lunch. (One of his friends, on introduction, made me laugh so much that milk came out of my nose... and I haven't drunk milk since I was 5 years old and they gave it me at school and it made me throw up.)

In fact, I laughed so much I think I need to go read it again. If Hootiebits sounds like your kind of thing, pop on over to Paul Rainey's website where you'll find details on how to email Ralph for a copy of his comic. That might seem like an awful lot of effort, but it's worth every mouseclick.

Predators

Unlike many of my peers, I don't consider the original Predator an action classic... so why, you might ask, did I go see its latest sequel?

The truth is, I've been getting cinema withdrawal. With the exception of Bad Lieutenant: Port Of Orleans, which ran for about five minutes a couple of months ago and I missed because I was on holiday, there hasn't been one film I've remotely wanted to see at the pictures since Four Lions... and that was two months ago. I can't remember the last time I went two months without wanting to go the movies - what a truly dire celluloid summer it's been - what the hell is Hollywood playing at?

Anyway, in preparation for Chris Nolan's Inception, which by now we've probably built up far too much because there's so little else to look forward to, I was finally persuaded to venture back to the local multi-fleapit for Robert Rodriguez's latest reinvention. I kinda wish I hadn't bothered.

Predators isn't so much a bad film as a relentlessly dull one. It does nothing you haven't seen a hundred times before in this kind of movie, and it does so with very little imagination. The original Arnie vehicle just about worked because it offered a certain element of surprise. But once you know that the Predator is the ultimate hunting/killing machine, what else is there to discover? This time there's a bunch of them and some are even more predatory than we've ever seen before? Big deal.

The cast try their best. Adrien Brody is actually not half-bad filling Arnie's shoes, despite the fact that he could happily climb into one of Arnie's shoes and sail it to China. That crumply-faced Mexican-looking bloke who appears in all Rodriguez's films shows up and snarls a bit. Topher Grace is even more slimy than he was in Spider-Man 3. And then there's Walton Goggins...

We were watching Justified the other week (I think Louise has a thing for Timothy Elephant) and when they let Walton Goggins out of jail, and I cheered, Louise turned to me and said, "you love him, don't you?" I couldn't deny it. He was the best thing in The Shield, the best thing in Justified, and now he's the best thing in Predators. When it comes to being an utter sleazeball, Walton Goggins can do no wrong.



The same can't be said of Laurence Fishburne who brings so much ham to his cameo, one of the predators actually chokes to death on him. Which is a blessing for everybody.

Top Ten Television Songs

Well, I did radio, it only follows I continue with a list of my favourite songs about the idiot box...

Special mention goes to two bands names after TVs - Television Personalities and Television. If I ever do a Top Ten about tents, Marquee Moon will be number one.

For any Blur fans wondering where Graham Coxon's Coffee & TV is, I'm saving that for the Coffee Top Ten. No, seriously.


10. The Handsome Family - All The TVs In Town

You can’t see the stars
Above the city skyline
But sometimes the air shines like gold
Under the yellow street lights

The psychotics in the park
Howling up at the sky
And the silent airplanes
Slowly drifting by

Sometimes it all seems to glow
As bright as the lights
From all the TVs in town

But when I wake up scared
In those still summer nights
When the air hangs like snakes
Around flashing neon signs

It seems like there’s nothing
Along these broken roads
But blinking lights on creaking metal poles

Ah, Rennie Sparks. Lyrical poet.

9. I Am Kloot - 86 TVs

I really should pick up the new I Am Kloot album. The reviews seem to suggest they're finally ready for their Elbow moment (years spent flogging a horse that only a few people realise isn't dead... until said horse is reborn as a stallion).

8. Billy Joel - Sleeping With The Television On

I am the product of a misspent youth spent listening to Billy Joel records. See also 'Close To The Borderline' in which Billy sagely notes, "I don't change channels so they must change me".

7. Pulp - TV Movie

Without you my life has become a hangover without end
A movie made for TV: bad dialogue,
Bad acting, no interest.
Too long with no story & no sex.

See also Clem Snide's Made For TV Movie, Everclear's TV Show and Bruce's TV Movie.

6. Mansun - Television

Overblown, theatrical instrumentation? Check.

Pretentious lyrics? Check.

Every album a concept album> Check.

So why did Muse become massive and Mansun disappear? Paul Draper was robbed.

5. Airborne Toxic Event - I Don't Want To Be On TV

I don't.

I've worked with a TV crew twice in my life, recording two separate documentaries, and both times I've found them peopled by arrogant tosspots who thought everybody else existed purely to do their bidding.

Apologies if you work in TV and you're the exception to that rule.

4. Ned's Atomic Dustbin - Kill Your Television

Music blogger Friend Of Rachel Worth over at Cathedrals Of Sounds has a regular feature in which he names Bands That Should Have Been Bigger Than The Beatles. I thoroughly agree with many of his suggestions, including Spearmint, Furniture and The Pearlfishers. Even if they'd never released a record, Ned's Atomic Dustbin deserve pop sainthood for their name alone.

3. Bruce Springsteen - 57 Channels (And Nothing On)

The early 90s is generally considered Bruce's creative nadir. Releasing two albums on the same day is always a sign that something's up (see also GnR - though Use Your Illusion I & II were slightly less disappointing than Lucky Town and Human Touch). This is probably the best track he recorded between Tunnel Of Love and The Rising, and the lyrics hint at just why his mojo went astray.

I bought a bourgeois house in the Hollywood hills
With a truckload of hundred thousand dollar bills
Man came by to hook up my cable TV
We settled in for the night my baby and me
We switched 'round and 'round 'til half-past dawn
There was fifty-seven channels and nothin' on

Never trust any artist who's so content the only thing they've got to complain about is "there's nowt worth watching on TV".

2. Disposable Heroes Of Hiphoprisy - Television, The Drug Of The Nation

This was one of the toughest Top Ten decisions I've had to face. Which is the better television tune, the Disposable Heroes... or the track that - by toss of a coin alone - made it to Number One? Both are essential listening, and yet they're also somewhat surprising choices that venture a little further from my usual whiteboy indie/rock safety zone.

T.V. is the reason why less than ten percent of our nation reads books daily...

1. Gil Scott Heron - The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.

No, the theme song will be written by Gil Scott Heron... and lo, it shall be genius.



So... which TV track would have you refusing to change the channel?

Thoughtballoons - Aquaman

This week's Thoughtballoons character is Aquaman. Yes, the guy who talks to the fishies. I feel bad for Aquaman. Nobody knows what to do with him anymore. They're always killing him off and resurrecting him for cheap drama with some ludicrous new power of something, the latest example of which is just one more cynically death-obsessed reason why I don't read DC superhero comics any more. So this story isn't so much a dig at Aquaman, but a dig at all the people who've dissed him over the years... and all the writers who can't think of anything interesting to do with our undersea champion (myself included).

Read my Aquaman story here. Then check out the other guy's 1-pagers... they've treated the King of the Seas with a little more dignity.

30 Songs - Day 10

Day 10 - A Song That Makes You Fall Asleep



Back in my early 20s, I went through the worst bout of insomnia I've ever suffered. I was working nights at the time, getting home at about 3am, then catching maybe a couple of hours sleep (if I was lucky) before dawn jolted me awake. This went on night after night for weeks on end. I went to the doctors, I chewed sleeping tablets like Opal Fruits, I did strange relaxation exercises involving lots of ommmmmms... nothing had any effect.

Then one night I put on Hats by the Blue Nile. It was, and probably still is, the most chilled-out record in my collection. I defy you to put this record on late at night and try to stay awake beyond this... the first...

ZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Funk

Some days you just wonder why you bother. The whole world seems against you and there's no point fighting it. Things you'd normally laugh off, or at least banish from your mind as inconsequential, rise up to become insurmountable. All effort seems pointless. You feel like you've wasted your life and it's too late to do anything about it. You feel old and worthless and tired, and you'd welcome armageddon as a relief. You stare blankly at the computer screen and know that nothing you type will ever make any difference to anybody. The flashing cursor is taunting you. None of your usual distractions bring any pleasure or relief. You want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers up over your head, and wish the world away.

What do you do, when you're in a funk? Do you have a guaranteed get-out-of-misery card to play whenever the tsunami of existential ennui crashes over you? Go on, clue me in. How do you get through to tomorrow?

I could do with a laugh.

Synchrony Four

The long awaited fourth issue of Andrew Cheverton's small press anthology Synchrony has recently slithered out into the world and it's an enticing bag of genre-leaping shorts, beginning with Auto-Lolita, the story of a pleasure-droid with an attitude that goes beyond sexy. Then Chev teams up with West colleague Tim Keable for a flower picking, rooftop swinging, zombie-avoiding adventure called The Scent Of Coriander. Chev loves him some zombies, but he's about far more than the head-shooting action, as this touching tale shows. There's more heart to be found in the breakdown fable Cracks, and Moon, a self-illustrated 1-pager that manages to say so much with so little. Finally Chev teams up with artist Dan Lester and takes aim for your funny bone with Rod Hull & Emo, of which Lee & Herring fans would surely approve.

I admire Chev's ability to tell such tales in so few pages - I struggle so much to keep my own PJANG page counts to single figures to satisfy those busy, busy small press artists who don't have all day to be drawing other people's scripts... Chev makes it look easy in this excellent, diverse and enthralling collection. Check out Synchrony #4 and some of Chev's other still-in-print books here. They're well worth your time and your pennies.

The Way Home

Early on in The Way Home, real estate agent Mindy Kramer eats dinner in a Thai restaurant and neglects to tip the waitress. In less than a couple of pages, the author allows us a tiny peak into the resentment Mindy’s waitress, Toi, feels towards the ungrateful customers she has to smile at every day as part of her working life. Much later in the book, Mindy has a tense confrontation in the same restaurant with the novel’s central protagonist, Chris Flynn, that leaves her in tears. Toi looks on, taking sadistic satisfaction in the way “the tall blond man (has) humbled the bitch and made her cry”. These are the only times we meet Toi, but it gives you an idea of the depth George Pelecanos gives to even bit-part characters in this superior thriller.

Pelecanos worked as one of the principal writers on The Wire, and fans of that show won't be disappointed by his work here. There’s that same gritty detail, a terrific ear for urban dialogue, and a plot that refuses to follow a predictable genre path. When a carpet-fitting ex-con trying to go straight finds a big bag of cash under the floorboards, you think you know exactly what’s in store. When he puts the money back and goes on with his working day, it’s the first in a series of surprises that keep you guessing right up to the final page. Unlike many crime novels, this isn’t a story of black and white – it’s a story with lots and lots of grey. Characters that do stupid, bad, wrong-headed things one moment… then try their hardest to make amends. Characters who find themselves risking everything they’ve gained for bloodthirsty revenge, then plausibly change their minds and do their best to put an end to the cycle of violence they find themselves caught up in. It's refreshing and inspirational plotting, well worth your time.

Steve's Meme

Steve created his own 10 question meme. Because he didn't ask me to, I'm answering it...


1. God gives you a free ticket to spend the night with absolutely anybody in the world and the entirety of history – whom do you choose?

Surely it isn't God who needs to give me this free pass, but Louise?

Oh, I'm sorry, I've just been reminded - in this house, same thing.

Anyway, I'm sure it will come as no surprise to anybody that my answer is...



...though obviously, all we'd do is have a couple of games of scrabble and read a few Spider-Man comics. In the bath.*

2. Frankie Howard or Frankie Boyle? (This is a separate question and is not related to no. 1 above.)

Thank god for that.

Neither, ta.

3. What life skill or ability do you wish you possessed?

I wish I was more socially adept and self-confident.

4. If it takes Johnny three hours to fill a bath with water using a colander and a train travelling at 90mph takes 2 hours to reach it’s destination why does Britain no longer have the right to call itself Great?

Lettuce.

5. Have you ever genuinely wished to be a member of the opposite sex (or are you that already)?

I have a hard enough time being the sex I am.

6. Do you have any embarrassingly weird interests or hobbies – and if so please explain in detail?

All my interests and hobbies are embarrassingly weird and I go into great detail about them here on a regular basis.

7. Dance, Punk, Goth, Metal, Grunge, Pop, Country, Folk or Classical? The choice is yours.

Any but the first. Within reason.

8. If you could change anything about your current lifestyle / life situation, what would it be? And what would you keep?

My job. And my bank account. The rest I'd keep.

9. If you were a packet of crisps what flavour would you be?

Cheese and bastard.

10. Describe the sandwich of the gods.

At the moment, it would be tuna/mayo. I can't get enough tuna/mayo right now. I'm sure I'll get sick of it eventually.

*I'm kidding. Do you really think I'd risk damaging my comics by reading them in the bath?

Quote Me Unhappy

So my car insurance renewal letter arrives. As usual, it's gone up massively from what I paid last year for no reason whatsoever. So I'm straight online to find a cheaper quote... which I do, within minutes.

I then have to call up the old insurance company and tell them I'm not renewing.

"Oh... sorry to hear that... can I ask why?"

"Because I found a much cheaper quote elsewhere."

"Oh, so it's purely a cost decision? If we could reduce your quote, might you consider staying with us?"

"I doubt you'll reduce it by fifty quid."

"Oh... perhaps not... we could probably come down by thirty or forty..."

The thing is, if my renewal had come through £40 less and I'd gone online to find I could only save a tenner, I probably would have stayed with them. But now they've quoted my £40 more than they actually need to just because they're greedy, that boat has sailed.

And yet, this happens every single year. There must be enough people out there who just automatically renew their insurance, whatever the quote, to make it worthwhile for the robbing bastards to carry on like this. And the best of it is, they actually sound hurt when you tell them you're cancelling.

Thoughtballoons - Spider-Man

I got to choose this week's Thoughtballoons character. No prizes were given for guessing. If you don't know why I picked the Amazing Spider-Man, you can read this.

For everybody else, here's my one-page Spidey strip. Given this may well be my only "real" chance to write my favourite fictional character, I wanted to include everything I loved about the character... not strictly possible, but I did my best.

Reunion

This summer, it'll be exactly 20 years since I left high school.

(Don't worry, this isn't one of those "God, I'm so old!" posts. Except... god, I'm so old.)

About time for a school reunion, you might think? Thankfully, as yet, there isn't one planned. (Or if there is, nobody's invited me. There probably is.)

It's also the 35th anniversary of the radio station I've worked at in one job or another for... ahem... 22 years now. They are having a party. I won't be going.

I never understood the appeal of reunions. I can count on one hand the number of schoolmates I'd ever want to see again, and the two main ones I still see anyway (though not as frequently as I ought to). The rest of 'em - particularly all the ones who were horrible, rude, inconsiderate and just plain mean towards me - well, I'd rather press my face slowly into an industrial sander than spend a precious evening in their company.

Likewise former colleagues. Don't get me wrong, in 22 years I've worked with some decent enough people. They've not all been wankers. But the ones I really wanted to stay in touch with... guess what, I stayed in touch with them. There's maybe a couple more I regret having lost touch with, but the rest can go swing. Besides, there's only one way that conversation can go...

"So, XXX, what are you doing with yourself now?"

"Oh, I'm in this really great job that pays me loads of money and I only have to work two days a week and the rest of time I spend getting stroked by oiled up nymphomaniacs, sipping Mai Tais on a beach with no flies. What about you, Rol?"

"I still work at the (pit of wretchedness and despair)."

"Oh." Tumbleweed. "What do you reckon's in this punch?"

Is this just me and my misanthropy... have you been to a reunion recently... just how much fun was it?

Top 40 Radio Songs

After last week's DJ Top Ten, and in celebration of today's announcement that 6 Music lives, here's a countdown of my favourite radio songs. Turned out when I checked my library there were so many great songs with radio in the title, I had enough for a whole Top 40 - with some left over! Seemed an appropriate enough way of celebrating the evil industry...


40. Roxy Music - Oh Yeah (On The Radio)

39. The Ataris - The Radio Still Sucks

38. Hefner - The Greater London Radio

37. Jane Bond & The UndercoverMen - Radio Moscow

36. Edwin Starr - H.A.P.P.Y Radio

35. Nirvana - Radio Friendly Unit Shifter

34. Robbie Williams - Radio

33. The Vines - Don't Listen To The Radio

32. Black Box Recorder - Factory Radio

31. Everclear - AM Radio

30. George Harrison - Devil's Radio

29. Talking Heads - Radio Head

28. Helen Love - Summer Pop Radio

27. Elvis Costello - Radio Sweetheart

26. The Ataris - Radio #2

25. Jesse Malin - Broken Radio

24. Teenage Fanclub - Radio

23. The Ramones - Do You Remember Rock 'n' Roll Radio?

22. Donna Summer - On The Radio

21. Bruce Springsteen - Radio Nowhere

20. Dead 60s - Riot Radio

19. Jim White - Static On The Radio

18. The Selecter - On My Radio

17. The Clash - This Is Radio Clash

16. Latin Quarter - Radio Africa

15. The Concretes - On The Radio

14. Steve Earle - Satellite Radio

13. Rush - Spirit Of Radio

12. Scissor Sisters - Tits On The Radio

11. Regina Spektor - On The Radio

10. The Wonder Stuff - Radio Ass Kiss

Radio Ass Kiss on the air
Say what you like now no one cares

9. Queen - Radio Gaga

I'd sit alone and watch your light
My only friend through teenage nights

Truer words never sung...

8. Ricky Ross - Radio On

A haunting rarity from Ricky's first solo album.

7. REM - Radio Song

I remember REM purists getting all up in arms about the fact that this song featured a rap by KRS-One. Still, probably better than a rap by Michael Stipe. Unfortunately, 20+ years on, Radio Song has dated rather more than the rest of the album.

6. Tom Robinson - Listen To The Radio / Atmospherics

Tom Robinson was eight years old when he recorded this song. Seriously - just watch the video!

5. Kathleen Edwards - One More Song The Radio Won't Like

Ironically, I discovered Kathleen Edwards through hearing this record on Bob Harris's radio show.

4. Slade - Radio Wall Of Sound

In the early 90's, Slade decided they fancied a crack at the Def Leppard market stateside. They had to sideline Noddy a bit to do though...

3. Ballboy - All The Records On The Radio Are Shite

(Except Mine) sings Ballboy.

Except having the word 'Shite' in your title would probably rule out your chances of getting much airplay... although I did hear someone use the word "shitlist" in a news bulletin on Radio 2 this lunchtime, so anything's possible.

2. Buggles - Video Killed The Radio Star

A timeless classic from Trevor Horn and co... whatever happened to him?

The Presidents Of The United States Of America cover version from The Wedding Singer is always worth a listen too.

As is this rather cool live version by The Wrong Trousers.

1. Elvis Costello - Radio Radio

I've featured this song here before, and I'll probably feature it again...

And the radio is in the hands of such a lot of fools
Trying to anaesthetise the way that you feel...

With forty songs to choose from, I must have included your favourite radio song... mustn't I?

Outcastes - The Twist

There's a twist in the latest issue of Tony McGee's superior small press comic Outcastes. It's the kind of twist that had me rummaging through my back issues looking for clues as to what's coming next, but also the kind of twist that - though I didn't see it coming at all - in retrospect seems blindingly obvious. The very best kind of twist then.

Now approaching its third act, Tony is beginning to tie together seemingly unconnected threads from the book's earlier stories into what promises to be an exciting and continually surprising finale. Though I'm in no rush to see it end, I am intrigued to know the answers to the questions that have plagued us from the start - and the questions I'm only now beginning to ask, but I really should have been asking earlier.

Outcastes #8 will probably be a confusing place to start for new readers, which is why I recommend you go right back to the beginning. You can read the whole of the first issue for free by clicking here then start collecting the back issues from on Tony's own site. Us Outcastes, we've got to stick together...

Relentless

When novelist Cubby Greenwich receives a punishing review from one of the nation’s top literary critics, he tries his best to put it behind him. But critic Shearman Waxx has other ideas and soon starts terrorising the writer’s family, blowing up his home, and sending him on the run in fear for his life. Relentless is a book that lures you in with a plausible opening and likeable hero, then throws all credibility out the window with a series of escalating threats, a preposterous conspiracy and a villain who’s both unstoppable and untouchable. It breaks all kinds of narrative and genre rules – not least in the way it introduces elements of deus ex machina sci-fi in the final chapters that stretch our suspension of disbelief past breaking point.

And yet… I can’t help but admire Koontz’s continued skill at crafting breakneck-pace page turners, and his way with humour – you can almost see him winking at the reader as he piles plot twist on top of plot twist and writes his characters into one impossible scenario after another. Jack Bauer would approve. As with many of this author’s books, I wouldn’t be brave enough to recommend it for fear of ridicule… but I can’t deny I had fun.

This Takes The Biscuit

In work's kitchen this morning, I found a couple of fig rolls on a plate left over from a meeting. I couldn't stop myself. I haven't had a fig roll in years.

In tribute, I briefly considered compiling my Top Ten Biscuits and seeing whether fig rolls truly deserve a place amongst the gingerbread, jammy dodgers, fruit shrewsburies, chocolate digestives and chocolate chip cookies. (I'm trusting that my American readers are savvy enough to not question my definition of the word 'biscuit'... though I do sometimes wonder why us proud Brits muddied the waters of that particular transatlantic anomaly by part-adopting cookie too.) But then I realised... it's Friday, I'd rather just see here and eat a biscuit than actually write about them. (I might have to go get a coffee to have with them.)

What's your favourite biscuit?

If forced to choose in front of a firing squad, I'd probably have to say ginger. I do like a nice ginger biscuit...

30 Songs - Day 9

Day 09 - A Song You Can Dance To

As has been made abundantly clear, I'm not the biggest fan of dance music. I primarily appreciate music in my head and my heart, rather than my feet. Of course, that's not to say I don't feel an itching in my toes at the sound of a well-curated indie disco, or even a soulful chunk of floorfilling Northern or wedding party Dexys. The last time I properly crashed the dancefloor though, it was to get down to This Charming Man and Born To Run, hardly your first thought when it comes to songs that put a beat in your feet.

"I'm a lover, not a dancer," as Jim Steinman put it - and I did almost choose his gloriously overblown Dance In My Pants for Day 9... but then I took a moment to think back to the school discos of my youth. Whenever I do that, two artists stick in my mind. The first is Whitney Houston, whose smiling, wailing, triumphant I Wanna Dance With Somebody almost made a pop-kid of me. The second, much less surprising, is the Housemartins. Yes, I well remember watching everyone slow dance to Caravan Of Love, but I was generally hugging the wall by the time that came on. You'd be far more likely to catch me on my toes to this, a happy hour or so earlier in the night...