Wednesday 26 March 2014

Osmosis is... With Sabrina Spellman

Let's face it, the are always a dozen jobs that need doing that we really cannot in our heart of hearts be bothered to get on with. 

During one of my classes today I discussed with some of my Latin students the concept of "mañana mañana", that being putting things off until the tomorrow which, of course, never actually comes. They were delighted to know that we have a word for it in English; procrastination.

pro·cras·ti·nate   (prō-krăs′tə-nāt′, prə-)
v. pro·cras·ti·nat·edpro·cras·ti·nat·ingpro·cras·ti·nates
v.intr.
To put off doing something, especially out of habitual carelessness or laziness.
v.tr.
To postpone or delay needlessly.

[Latin prōcrāstināre, prōcrāstināt- : prō-forward; see pro-1 + crāstinusof tomorrow (fromcrāstomorrow).]

pro·cras′ti·na′tion n.
pro·cras′ti·na′tor n.

I'd love to be able to say that I'm not a slave to this dispicable affliction, but indeed this blog itself is often a means to waste time before doing a more pressing task. Over the course of this evening, I've made four cups of tea, taken a bath, watched two episodes of American Horror Story (my new favourite show), Masterchef, and the episode of Sabrina that inspired this post's title, as well as taking various toilet and tobacco breaks, all in the vain hope that the pile of marking that I've been periodically making my way through would somehow disappear whilst I was off doing something more interesting.

But of course it doesn't. I'd like to preach to you, dear reader, on the dangers of leaving things to the last minute, but in all honesty, I would be an utter hypocrite to do so. What I will say, however, is that those dishes aren't going to do themselves, those lesson plans are going to magically fill in, and not even owning a talking feline is going to get those exam papers marked. So sure, stick the telly on, get yourself a cup of tea, but the sooner it gets done, the sooner you can relinquish that little whisper of guilt in the back of your mind.

Learn from the Spanish; tomorrow never comes.



Tuesday 25 March 2014

I Want an American Cheeseburger with Tony Stark

Food has always been a comfort to me, and nothing moreso than the juicy delight that is a proper American-style cheeseburger. The succulent beef, preferably lovingly licked by the fiery fingers of a flame grill, the melted cheese, maybe a rasher of perfectly crisped bacon, some lettuce, a couple of slices of tomato, a little mustard, a little ketchup, all sandwiched between a lightly-toasted bun. Absolute perfection. But heaven forbid there be any pickles!

During my time in Japan, I will freely admit that in a bid to combat the inevitable homesickness (and as such missing of comfort foods), a large percentage of my monthly budget found itself spent on a delectable mix of Hard Rock Cafe legendary burgers and sandwiches from the Hawaiian burger specialists Kua Aina. 

Sure there were things I missed more; cheese, Marmite, Mars Bars and anything sausage-based (dear lord there were times I genuinely would have killed for toad in the hole), but at least a good burger (if overpriced) burger was always just a short car ride away.

So we've been living in Bournemouth for precisely two weeks now, and have been counting the pennies until payday comes. As such, food has been any number of creative takes on pastas, stews and rice dishes. Having worked in kitchens on and off for the last decade, I can get pretty innovative with my cooking, so at least we're getting a varied diet.

Sometimes, however, you just need a bit of stodge. Having had little in the way of proper comfort food in the last fortnight (save, admittedly, for a darn good turkey roast I threw together on Sunday), and having had a redonkulously long day, I found myself craving something junky.

So thank The Lord for Burger King. I, like our good friend Tony Stark, will fight to the death over BK's superiority over other burger chains, and agree that when you've got the "urge", there is no better place to go. 99p for a cheeseburger, my stomach and cravings were sated without my wallet being emptied.

Roll on payday, 'cause papa needs an enchilada...


Monday 24 March 2014

Time For a Top Ten with Tim Curry

Tim Curry is truly a living legend. One of Britain's finest character actors, his career has spanned over thirty years, and brought us some of cinema's finest villains, and animation's greatest voice performances. He has also recorded some absolutely sensational albums (his rendition of Baby Love by The Supremes is an experience one never forgets) and haunted the dreams of anyone with any inkling of a fear of clowns.

This week, through happy coincidence (thank you Film4), I have had the pleasure of sitting through a number of Curry's finest films, and found myself realising that this is a man who has never given a bad performance. Sure, he's been in some bloody awful movies (Garfield A Tale of Two Kitties... Scary Movie 2... Barbie in the Nutcracker...), but hey, he still made the best of the dire scripts.

So to celebrate the awesomeness that is Timothy James Curry, and to thank him for keeping up my spirits over the last week, I decided this evening to put together a run down of my favourite Curry portrayals. originally, it was going to be a top five, but I simply could not narrow it down. So here's ten...

10. Cardinal Richelieu (The Three Musketeers, 1993)
There are two things that always come to mind when you think of this rather lacklustre Disney swashbuckler. The first is the awesome theme song from the musketeers of rock Sting, Stewart and Adams, and the second is Curry's delicious performance as the scheming cardinal. Peter Capaldi comes close in his weaslyness, but Curry will always be the definitive Richelieu.

9. Taurus Bulba (Darkwing Duck, 1991-1995)
Darkwing was by far my favourite Disney Club cartoon; sure Rescue Rangers was great, and Ducktales is more iconic, but as a kid (and even now to be quite honest), the mishaps of St. Canard's blundering superhero were utterly enthralling. The thing that made Darkwing so memorable though was its villains, and none were so sinister as crime lord Taurus Bulba, brought to glorious life by the inimitable Curry.

8. Herkermer Homolka (Congo, 1995)
Don't get me wrong, Congo is an absolutely atrocious film, which is a real shame seeing as Michael Crichton's book, upon which it is based, is one of his finest. It's one redeeming feature however, is. Curry's comedic turn as the overly camp Romanian philanthropist with one of the daftest names to ever hit the silver screen. The fact that the character isn't even in the book makes it a true Curry original!

7. Darkness (Legend, 1985)
Tom Cruise fannying about chasing after unicorns in one of the worst scripted fantasy films of all time... Let's face it, if it weren't for Curry's portrayal of the demon Darkness (obviously not supposed to be the devil!), Legend would have quite rightfully disappeared into the gallery of embarrassing eighties movies only referenced in those "way back when" specials. Unfortunately, Curry was, as always, so damn good in this film that we are cursed forever to sit through endless reruns... You win Darkness. You most definitely win...

6. Mr. Jigsaw (Loaded Weapon 1, 1993)
Loaded Weapon is one of the best, if oft forgotten, spoofs to come out of National Lampoon's calvacade. Emilio Estevez and Samuel L. Jackson solve a spate of hilarious murders all pupeteered by Curry's evil Mr. Jigsaw. Who turns up at one point in the film as a wilderness girl. If you haven't seen it, find it, love it, and thank me later.

5. Long John Silver (Muppet Treasure Island, 1996)
There are few actors who can take a role in a Muppets film (and one of the best Muppet films at that) and actually outshine the Muppets. Tim Curry as Long John is simply wonderful, both touching and treacherous at the same time, and his "only number", Professional Pirate is one of his finest musical numbers to date.

4. Dr. Frank N. Furter (The Rocky Horror Picture Show, 1975)
The role that brought Curry to the world's attention is everybody's favorite sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania. The plot is nonsense, and the second half is famously one of the weakest in MT, but how can you argue with one of cinema's greatest cult movies? And Curry never fails to leave us trembling with antici.....

3. Nigel Thornberry (The Wild Thornberrys, 1998-2004)
The Wild Thornberrys was one of Nickelodeon's most delightful shows, with a concept we can all relate to. After all, who at some point in their life hasn't dreamed of being able to converse with animal? And to have Tim Curry as their father?? Nigel is one of the most iconic cartoon characters of the nineties, and earns his place at number three on the list.

2. Wadsworth (Clue, 1985)
An all star cast in a movie based on a board game? Clue really should not have worked, and indeed still has some stigma surrounding it amongst those who have never dared watch it. The farce is hilarious, owing in abundance to Curry's mesmerising turn as master of ceremonies Wadsworth the butler, who at the same time acts as narrator, hero, comic relief, and, ultimately (depending on which ending you draw) villain.

1. Pennywise the Dancing Clown (IT, 1990)
Having haunted the dreams of anyone who has had the pleasure of watching one of cinema's greatest Stephen King adaptations, and even filling those with no previous fear of clowns with a severe case of coulrophobia, there is no way that Pennywise could come anywhere but top of the list. The embodiment of evil, Curry is almost unrecognisable as he throws himself entirely into the role, every movement, every utterance as terryfying as the last. And gosh darn did he teach us not to accept balloons from clowns in storm drains. After all, we all float down here...

Thank you Mr. Curry for making us laugh, making us sing, and terrifying us to our very souls.

Oh...

....pation!


Sunday 23 March 2014

Comfort Food with Mr. Krabs

There's nothing better than that warm feeling you get after a delicious meal. Slightly sleepy, stomach sated, it's a feeling of safety and comfort. As I sit here writing this, tummy full of a lovely home cooked Sunday dinner, I can genuinely think of few better things in life.

Today, in our quest to explore our new hometown of Bournemouth, we decided to take advantage of some cheap tickets and check out Bournemouth Oceanarium, a small aquarium just by the pier.

Now, I love aquariums. I have since I was tiny. Indeed, one of my earliest memories is of a trip to the Sea Life centre in Brighton (I believe it was Brighton... It could in fact have been anywhere south of London) when I was chosen to ride a chariot pulled by dolphins. Pretty cool nowadays, but when you're four, it's pretty much the pinnacle of coolness. Since then, I've taken every opportunity to check out aquariums anywhere that my travels have taken me.

But with these travels has also come my second passion; the aforementioned feeling of a full tum. As such, I have tried almost every bird and beast that this planet has to offer. From turtle to sea urchin, from crocodile to whale, I can unashamedly admit that whatever a chef has had the audacity to serve, I have summoned the moxy to devour.

And so, it's with a strange feeling of guilt that I will admit that aquariums have taken on a strange new form to me, and one that is scarily similar to an all-you-can-eat buffet. As we wandered through the neon tanks today I could not help but find myself thinking how tasty that spiny lobster looked, and how much I regret not getting round to trying puffer fish.

Am I a bad person? Or is the student of Anthony Bourdain that still lives within my psyche just in need of a little more culinary adventuring? I'm not sure, but one thing I do know is that every time I watch Spongebob these days, Mr. Krabs looks all the more appetising...

Somebody get me a Krabby Patty...


Saturday 22 March 2014

Laundry Day with Dr. Horrible

Doing the laundry is one of those annoying grown up things that should really be simple, but inevitably end up being a complete pain in the backside.

The process should go as follows; sort clothing, stick in washer, put washer on, wait thirty minutes then stick in dryer for required length of time. Not rocket science, and indeed on paper not fraught with the problems that always arise.

So today, after receiving some upsetting news from home, I decided the way forward was to work my way through that weekly list of niggling chores that for one reason or another always seem to plague our weekends.

Having run the vacuum cleaner through the flat, I then made my way over to the communal block of our apartments, basket sling over my shoulder like Widow Twanky and set myself up for the thirty minutes or so that would follow.

Two and a half hours later, I'm still here.

See, some doofus (I shall not take the blame for not checking) had set the machine on a full 40 degree cycle, rather than the "quick wash" to which I am accustomed. This I only came to realise over an hour after I had switched the damn thing on. In a state if panic, I twiddled the dial to "drain", thinking that with only an hour until the laundry gets locked up, I might still have time to dry the clothes within.

Well, that's the logical thing to do! I hear you cry! But alas, fair reader, upon opening the washing machine, I was confronted by a torrent of murky, soapy water, and a pile of sodden clothing. My only option was to return the dial to "quick wash" and start over again.

So here I am, sitting atop a washing machine at quarter to eight on a Saturday night (when I was so very looking forward to an evening in with The Voice), waiting for the cycle to finish and hoping that "high power" on the drier will get my clothes toasty within ten minutes.

So my advice for today; next time you're in the laundry, two hours before closing time, check that no bigger has messed with the machine, because I'm going to have to make some real puppy-dog eyes in about fifteen minutes. Either that or whip out my freeze ray. Either's good.


Friday 21 March 2014

Friday Night In with Sarah Silverman

I think I'm getting old. 

Well, actually, as my upcoming birthday and my rapidly greying temples can attest, I am most definitely getting old. And so, at nine thirty on this fine Friday evening in a new town at the end of my first week of a new job, I find myself celebrating in the way to which I have become so very accustomed of late.

Now, don't get me wrong; during my late teens and early twenties, I was by no means against an all night dance session. Indeed, the penchant that my friends and I shared for the grimy nightclubs of Aberystwyth probably still account for many of our current debts.

So why aren't I out this evening partying with my new students? It's not like I wasn't asked to join them on their weekly pub crawl, so why am I not there? Well, the reasons are threefold.

Firstly, and excuse my uncharacteristic prudishness, but I don't want to make a drunken fool of myself in front of my new class. Admittedly, it's a rare occasion that I make a drunken spectacle, but I would rather not run the risk so early in my new job.

Secondly, and arguably the biggest factor, is that I'm budgeting to the hilt for the next week. It's been a quiet couple of months on the work front, and relocating is not cheap. Nosireebob.

Thirdly, is the fact that I seem to have reached a point in my life where more often than not, I simply can't be arsed to go out. Given the choice of a hot bath, a movie and a tasty dinner curled up on the sofa, or battling through the drunken streets to spend money that could be better spent on fun things like rent and groceries, I would choose the Radox anyday. Maybe it's a sign that I'm getting old, or maybe it's simply a portent of maturity. Or maybe they are the same thing. Who knows?

What I do know though, as I lay on the couch feeling squeaky clean in my dressing gown, chock full of tortellini and chuckling away to the complete season two of The Sarah Silverman Program on DVD is that right now, there are few things I would rather be doing. Shame I don't have any Mississippi Mud Pie. could totally go for Mississippi Mud Pie right now... 


Thursday 20 March 2014

How British TV Killed the American Sitcom with Barney Stinson

Since the invention of television, the US of A has created countless godawful feel good family sitcoms. Cringeworthy, with an all too wholesome moral conclusion to every episode, the generic, formulaic sitcom has plagued screens globally for decades.

However, there have been some gems. The fifties brought us the iconic Phil Silvers Show, with the following decade introducing us to the more far-fetched adventures of Samantha Stevens in Bewitched, as well as the creepy adventures of The Munsters and The Addams Family. 

And then we fast forward to the nineties, when the adventures of everyone's favourite Friends filled our screens. Friends was a show that gripped the world, making its stars the highest paid television actors of the time (a claim recently surpassed by the leads of The Big Bang Theory). It was a show that made us laugh, made us cry and genuinely defined a generation of coffee-slurping yuppies.

Many will argue that Friends has yet to be beaten in its position as "Greatest American Sitcom Ever", but over the last ten years, there have certainly been a few contenders, for me, they are Scrubs, The Big Bang Theory, and the truly fantastic How I Met Your Mother.

The problem is, with their critical acclaim and popularity across the pond, these shows suffered the same fate as the final few series of Friends. That fate is, of course, endless reruns on digital television,

Now, the rerunning of a great show is not in itself an issue. The thing to remember, however, is that the reason we love these shows so very much is that we engage with them. And how do we do that? We grow to love the characters as the characters grow themselves.

As such, showing random, unconnecting episodes is NOT the way to get your audience involved!

I have met so very many people who claim to hate the three aforementioned shows simply because they have only seen a couple of disjointed episodes. Take any drama, and you need to watch it in chronological order in order to follow the story arcs. Would you watch a handful of random out-of-order episodes of a soap opera and expect to enjoy it? Of course not. So how on earth do the gods of scheduling expect to attract new audiences by throwing random chapters of the greater story at the general public?

Why does the finale (let's forget about "season nine") of Scrubs still to this day reduce me to a blubbering wreck? Because I watched it in order! Why do I find myself holding back the tears at almost every single new episode of How I Met Your Mother? Because over the last nine years, I have grown with these characters and they have grown with me. These shows are well thought out and beautifully crafted. So don't fuck with them! There's a reason they are great, E4, and you are single-handedly destroying them, just like you did with Friends.

So to those of you out there eagerly awaiting the final episode in the life of Ted Mosby next week, then like me I'm sure you have a couple of boxes of Kleenex already on standby. And to those of you who have not yet discovered the comfort that lies within the walls of McClaren's pub, then switch off your freeview boxes and go and buy the first season of How I Met Your Mother. You won't regret it. It's freakin' legen....


Wednesday 19 March 2014

Glee Reaches 100 with Brittany S Pierce

I've never made a secret of my love of Glee. I remember when the first season began airing in the US, waaaay before it was even close to hitting UK screens (that's right, I'm a Gleek hipster), I spent my Thursday evenings in my hovelly little Japanese bedsit enraptured by the misadventures of everyone's favourite a cappella show choir.

Glee gets a lot of stick from my personal contemporaries, but in its early years (most noticeably the first season) it really was a great show; character driven with just the right amount of well chosen, if often cheesily reproduced, pop numbers. Indeed, I can remember a good handful of occasions when the show brought me almost to tears. Managing to walk that fine line between touching and hilarious, the first few seasons of Glee were truly worthy of their accolades.

This wee, Glee reached its one hundredth episode and decided to delight its fans with a special reunion show, bringing back all of the (non-deceased) original cast members. Unfortunately, rather than celebrate Glee at its peak, this remixed reunion did little more than make this haggard old writer realise just how far from the tree the Glee apple has rolled.

In a recent conversation with a friend (and indeed a former Glee fan herself), I mentioned that I had been enjoying a marathon catch-up of season five so far. She was shocked to discover that the show is still running. This having been said, I found myself examining the season so far...

Firstly, the current cast. Yes, we still have the "back row" members from the first season, Artie and. Tina, as well as fan favourites Sam and Blaine who made their debuts in season two, but them aside, I find myself struggling to even remember the names of the rest of the utterly undeveloped members of the New Directions.

Then we have the New York bobbins. Fearful of letting go of their characters after they graduated from McKinley High, creators Brad Falchuk and Ryan Murphy decided to split the completely unconnected action between NY and Lima. And you know what? It doesn't work! If they had concentrated on developing new characters rather than holding feebly on to the old ones, perhaps the show would still be as strong as when it began.

Bringing back classic characters this week really reminded me of how very well the original characters were written and developed, and how smart the storylines once were; Terri Shuester's faked pregnancy, Quinn's baby, Kurt's coming out to his father (one of the greatest moments in American TV of the last decade), anything, abso-ruddy-lutely ANYTHING involving Noah "Puck" Puckerman, and, most memorably of all, just how bloody horrible and hilarious Sue Sylvester once was.

So make a choice, creator people. Either move on and accept that you need to spend time and effort on your sophomore cast members, or just bring back the old cast for good and stop fancying about with meaningless drivel.

And many be lets have some more of Brittany being Britney. 'Cause, y'know, that was just the right mix of hilarity and down right sexiness.


Tuesday 18 March 2014

Wasting Time with Mari Takahashi

I will be the first to admit that I spend far too much time on video games. Well actually, my mother would be the first one, since she manages to point it out at any given opportunity. But unfortunately, in the age in which we live, the gods of technology, who previously had been so benevolent in their blessings, decided that we all needed to be taken down a few pegs.

After being granted the gift of the internet, allowing us to garner knowledge in moments, we were then endowed with this encyclopedic skill at our very fingertips when Wikipedia decided to create a mobile phone app. Couple this with a 3G network, and never again will an argument ensue over what the names of the couple next door in Bewitched were, and pub quizzes are now little more than a challenge to be the first to spot the other team cheating.

Alas, with great power has come great procrastination, as the main use nowadays for the tiny powerhouses we now hold in our hands has become comparable to that of a Nintendo Gameboy. Now, I myself have not owned a games console since buying my PS2 nearly ten years ago, and that in itself was merely because it was cheaper than buying a new DVD player. As such, for the most part (I do allow myself every new Tomb Raider that gets released) I have managed to avoid the countless hour-wasti that accompanies any length of gaming time.

That was until I bought my iPhone about two and a half years ago. 

Since then, I have been reading less, I watch fewer movies, and I am rarely found without the cursed thing in my hands. And for this I blame the advent of iOS gaming. I have a highly addictive personality. As such, the old console games were perfect for me; the were finite. I could obsess for a few days, get the game completed and then move on with my life. Now, however, we have endless updates and expansions of games that don't even require the television to be turned on; one simply has to reach into ones pocket and swipe left.

For me, there are three main culprits;

The Simpsons Tapped Out
I adore city building games. I also love the Simpsons. Put them together, constantly update, and you have me hooked. Sigh.

Candy Crush Saga
I tried so very hard to avoid this game, but when everyone at the restaurant I was working in at the time was playing it, I couldn't help but give in to curiosity. Addictive and ultimately unrewarding, having Candy Crush on my phone is a daily reminder of how glad I am that the removed Flappy Bird from the Apple store before I had the chance to download it.

Marvel's Avengers Alliance
This is the big one. Marvel has always been a big part of my life anyway, and to create what is essentially Pokemon, but with Marvel Universe characters was always going to enthrall me. I've been a daily player of this ruddy game for almost three years now, and with Playdom not in any way slowing the influx of new characters, and Marvel essentially having an infinite amount of heroes at their disposal, there's part of me that fears I shall still be logging on into my retirement years.

I'd like to say that I've learned from this piece of catharsis, that I will now take the knowledge of my addiction and put it towards a brighter, game-free future. But let's face it, next time I'm on the bus, or waiting for an appointment, or simply on the loo, there's just too much temptation at my fingertips. And when YouTube is filled with delightful gamers like the lovely Mari reminding us just how much fun it is to while away the hours, then who is really at fault? 

Let's blame YouTube. 

Mmm... YouTube...





Monday 17 March 2014

Back to School with Will Schuester

The first day of school is, if American sitcoms are to be believed, one of the most terrifying days of a person's life. Fortunately, perhaps, I have absolutely no recollection of starting primary school. Sure, there is a faded photograph on the piano of me in my brown shorts and school cap, but as far as a cognitive memory goes, nothing. I do remember starting school in Durham after out monumental move to the North at the age of ten, and the subsequent teasing for my "cockney" accent, and my first day of secondary school, huddled in a corner with my small handful of primary school companions, fearing for our lives in the shadow of the sixth-form giants that surrounded us.

Nevertheless, these first days pale in comparison when weighed against the terror of walking into a school as the newest member of staff.

I've taught English as a foreign language on and off now for five years (the off period being the year and a bit since my return from Japan, during which I've managed little more than a cover post here and there) and find few greater pleasures in life than that clichéd reason every teacher gives; inspiring a class. I'm sure in the future I'll blog endlessly on the joys of being an awesome teacher, but that's a big-headed story for a more smug day.

This morning, however, as I arrived for my first day at one of Bournemouth's leading language schools, quaking in my stylish yet affordable boots, I realised how I must have felt all those years ago on my first day at West Dene Primary School.

Would the kids like me? How hard would the lessons be? What would the teachers be like? How terrible would the lunch be? Really, it's amazing how similar the questions of a new teacher are to those of a quivering schoolboy. 

I guess the main difference between starting a teaching post and starting any other job is that with most jobs, you can hide behind contemporaries for your first few days, whereas it's very tricky to hide when leading a class. Indeed, it rather defeats the point of the post in the first place. Much like acting, being a teacher puts you in the spotlight, performing to an audience that you must not only entertain, but more importantly educate. Perhaps that's why so many graduates with drama degrees end up as teachers; it's almost like a stable acting post. 

Fortunately, however, the kids did like me, the lessons, for the most part, went pretty well, the teachers are lovely, and I took my own packed lunch. So generally, my nerves were all for naught. Bring on day two. Now, all I need to do is assemble my own multi-lingual glee club...


Sunday 16 March 2014

A Walk in the Park with Squirrel Girl

I love nature. People often ask me what I miss the most about Japan, and my answer is always the same; the wildlife. My summer days in the south of Japan were shared with a cornucopia of furry friends and creepy crawlies, including Stuart, my house gecko, and Gerrald, the dinner plate-sized spider that lived above my front door. My morning coffees were spent with the terrapins and snakes out on the balcony, and at times I genuinely felt like I was living in a Gerald Durrell book.

So returning to the UK to our less-than-inspiring native fauna has been something of a disappointment. Up in Durham, it's rare to see anything more exotic than a pigeon, let alone a cheerful turtle.

As such, it has been with a childlike glee that I have spent the last few days wandering through the parks of Bournemouth, only to be confronted by hundreds (not exaggerating here) of bushy-tailed grey squirrels. I know many will argue that they are vermin, or that the are an invasive Yankie species, driving out our native reds like McDonalds has destroyed Wimpy, but personally I love them. Their neurotic antics and curious nature utterly endearing.

So, in true Inner Monoblog fashion, to celebrate my rekindled adoration for our bushy friends, I've put together a short list of my favourite squirrels. Enjoy!

5. Squirrel Nutkin
The protagonist of Beatrix Potter's eponymous Tale, Squirrel Nutkin is one of Potter's darkest stories. A complete ass, who enjoys nothing more than annoying people, Nutkin goes too far in his taunting of Old Brown the owl, and almost gets himself skinned by the foul-tempered tawny. Fortunately, Nutkin escapes, merely losing his tail in the process, but learns that being an annoying douche has painful consequences.

4. Squeakers
Another annoying little bugger, this fellow makes the list for having some of The Emporer's New Groove's most hilariously memorable scenes. Whether it's threatening to wake a group of sleeping wolves by popping a balloon llama (where the heck does he get a balloon from in C15 Peru??) or conversing in squirrel talk with Patrick Warburton, he's one of the real stars of this highly underrated Disney flick.

3. The Squirrel Nut Zippers
One of my all time favourite bands, The Squirrel Nut Zippers are a delightfully eclectic mix of Ska, Jazz and Big Band. You've probably never heard of them, but their song Hell has been used on dozens of movie soundtracks, so you'll know at least one of their tunes.

4. Slappy the Squirrel
Animaniacs was a freakin' amazing show. Witty, well animated, and surprisingly educational (Wacko's States and their Capitals song has stuck with me for almost twenty years now), Animaniacs boasted some of the most well thought-out characters ever seen in a kids show. Pinky and the Brain, Chicken Boo, and of course, the crotchety old rodent, Slappy the Squirrel. Living in an old tree with her peppy nephew Scrappy, Slappy will always stay in my nostalgia banks as the woman who taught me the old joke about the Who being on stage... "Who's on stage?" "That's right!" "No, Who's on stage??" "Who!" "That's what I said!" Etc, etc...

5. Doreen Green 
One of Marvel's lesser-known heroes, Doreen Green, better known as Squirrel Girl is actually one of Earth 616's mightiest heroes, having taken down Doctor Doom, Wolverine and even Thanos single handedly. She has served the Avengers, the Great Lakes Avengers and currently works for Heroes for Hire (albeit as Jessica Jones and Luke Cage's nanny) and has a delightful sidekick called Monkey Joe. Admittedly, my secret love of furries may have helped her top this list, but hey, we all have our kinks.

Saturday 15 March 2014

Lost Blog with Grumpy Cat

So, about an hour ago, I published the terrifying tale of my adventures today with Gumtree, bicycles and rogue turnips. It was up for about half an hour and has since inexplicably disappeared, both from my feed and my dashboard. Wherever it's gone, I'm hoping it returns safely, as it was a goodun. Until then, I'm as grumpy as Grumpy Cat. Sort it out Google.

Apologies to my regular readers. Hopefully we shall return to our regular service by the time I wake up.



Up the Gumtree With My Turnip (and Christina Ricci)

One of those embarrassing secrets that anyone who's known me for any length of time will know is that I'm pretty much terrified of riding a bicycle. 

It probably doesn't help that I was never actually taught to ride as a child. Having been cursed with dyspraxia from an early age, my father soon gave up on returning me to the saddle after a very lengthy afternoon. As such, it wasn't until I was about eleven that I forced myself to learn. Many scraped knees later, I was somewhat more confident. It wasn't until my twenty first birthday, however, that my nightmarish fear surfaced.

Most people remember their 21st for the right reasons; doning their lashmina, hitting the lash point and getting so smashed that they can't even remember the moment when they actually received the key to the door. For the most part, I do remember my 21st positively, but it is clouded over by one of the most horrifying and scarring (literally) moments of my life. A group of us got together and went to Center Parcs (a woodland retreaty kind of a place) and had a wonderful weekend wavering between drunken barbecues, spa days and late night games of hide-and-seek in the forrest. Unfortunately, after a delightfully relaxing day at the spa, on the cycle back to the villa, I took a rather nasty (to put it lightly) tumble. Some makeshift sanitary towel bandages, a helluva lot of jelly beans and seven years later, I am still utterly terrified of getting back on a bike.

Manami, on the other hand, loves the damn things. So after six months of her bugging me to buy one, I decided to get some cash together and see what Gumtree had to offer.

Now, I've never used Gumtree before. It's like a localised eBay, but you actually go to the seller's house and make the transaction in person. Thus, as I made my way through the residential district of Bournemouth, armed only with a turnip (stew for dinner), I had a growing fear that I was going to find myself embroiled in some kind of Outback torture movie (anyone seen "The Loved Ones" by the way? Fantastic little Aussie indie horror film). Fortunately, as I found the address (well appointed semi- detached with a BMW parked on the drive) and was greeted by a charming gentleman, I realised with relief that my chances of spending the next week tied up in someone's basement were relatively slim.

After purchasing the bike for a very reasonable price (indeed, less than I had made busking that afternoon... Bournemouth folk are so very much more generous than their Northern counterparts!) I was stuck with a conundrum; push the bike back to the flat, or face my fears and ride the cursed thing. I decided to bite the bullet.

And so followed the most terrifying half an hour of my life...

I mounted the bike, and with trepidation by my side and Siri screaming directions in my ear, began to make my way through the woody cycle paths back to town. Twilight setting in, I began to peddle more furiously along the dark and uneven lanes, suddenly feeling like Ichabod Crane, the headless Horseman fast at my heels. Fearful that my turnip would suffer the same fate as the Horseman's pumpkin head. 

Thirty minutes later, breathless and quivering, I arrived back to the flat, alas not into the lustful arms of Christina Ricci, safe and for the most part sound. And so I learned three things today;

1. Gumtree is not full of serial killers,
2. Turnip is a cheap and tasty addition to stew, and
3. I'm still bloody terrified of bikes.

Oh, and Johnny Depp is one of the luckiest buggers alive.


Thursday 13 March 2014

Why I Love Sweden with Ming the Merciless

Let's face it, Britain is a bit rubbish. I know we as a nation are all fiercely patriotic, and sure there are things that are great about our fair isle, but if we're honest with ourselves, we're all pretty miserable with our lot. We're underpaid, overworked, underappreciated, and we aren't ever blessed with a decent bit of weather to make up for it.

You know who are a pretty happy nation though? The Swedes. And they've got a lot to be happy about! Today's ramble is on my top ten things about Sweden. Enjoy!

10. Skype
Originally created by Swedish programmer Niklas Zennstrõm, Skype has kept people across the world in touch for free, and kept my mate Stu in pocket for a good while too. So that makes it good for two reasons. Rock on Skype!

9. H&M
I once bought a purple waistcoat from H&M and it was beautiful. It did look like the wallpaper from Disney's Haunted Mansion though...

8. ABBA
If it wasn't for the image of Pierce Brosnan belting out SOS still haunting my every waking moment, the quintessential Swedish pop quartet might have made it higher on the list. He may have had a licence to kill, but his performing licence needs to be revoked.

7. Alexander Skarsgård
Okay, so Skarsgård isn't the world's greatest actor, and with such duds as Battleship and Straw Dogs clogging up his resume, it's a good thing he won the role of sultry Sheriff Eric North in sexy vampire drama True Blood. Sure, he's no David Boreanaz, but he isn't Swedish, so doesn't make the list.

6. Shooting Stars
The Reeves and Mortimer panel show would have not been complete without everyone's favourite Swedish strumpet Ulrika Jonsson. Yeah, she was mostly there to be ridiculed, but what larks we had!

5. Alfred Nobel
Without Nobel, we wouldn't have the Peace Prize, and ironically we wouldn't have dynamite either. Certainly an oxymoron if ever there was one. But, without Nobel, by osmosis we wouldn't have had Hanna Barbera hero Dyno-mutt, nor would Jimmy Walker have had a catchphrase in Good Times. Gee jillickers!

4. Roxette
Everyone bangs on about ABBA, but we're you aware that eighties pop-rockers Roxette are also from Sweden? With such hits as "The Look", "Joyride" and of course "It Must Have Been Love", Roxette were the ultimate eighties group.

3. IKEA
Flatpack furniture, hilarious product names, freakin' amazing meatballs (literally amazeballs!) and that funny named pink juice, IKEA is an institution, and rightfully so. They have recently redesigned the Billy bookcase though, which is somewhat irksome.

2. Swedish Chef
One of the best Muppets. Need I say more?

1. Max Von Sydow
One of the greatest character actors of all time, Von Sydow brought to our screens some of cinema's most iconic (and creepy) characters, ranging from Father Merrin in The Exorcist to Vigo ("He is Viiiiigooo!!") in Ghostbusters II. Most importantly, however, he was Flash Gordon's nemesis Ming the Merciless. So obviously he's the best thing to come out of Sweden. Fact.





Wednesday 12 March 2014

Rick-Rolled by the Radio with Rick Astley

It's always the first song you hear each morning that gets stuck in your head for the remainder of the day. For me, for whatever reason, usually my iPod being fickle, 90% of my days seem to be filled with Starship's We Built This City. Fortunately it's a song that I absolutely love, and now every time the 3 advert comes on, with the little girl singing it with her cat, I find my mood inexplicably brightened for the next few hours.

One song, however, that infects me like a virus more unwanted than gonorrhoea is Rick Astley's ridiculously annoying Never Gonna Give You Up. 

Even before the tedious Rick-Rolling that swept the globe a few years ago, I hated this song with a vengeance. It's cheesy lyrics, Rick's punchable face, and a voice that simply doesn't fit his image, this was a song that irked me almost as much as Gwen Steffani's ruddy Hollaback Girl. As far as that song goes, I'm with Cleveland Brown...

“I don’t know what a Hollaback girl is, but I have to imagine it’s a foul, disease-ridden thing that wears too much make-up to cover up the fact that it’s a 47-year-old fish dog.”

So this morning, upon jumping in our hire car, on our way to return it to the dealership in our new homestead of Bournemouth, I was horrified to have been aurally affronted by Astley's gurgling tones. And have had that poxy song stuck in my head since.

Screw you Rick Astley. Screw you very much.


Tuesday 11 March 2014

Out On the Open Road with Max and Goofy

I love road trips. Admittedly I haven't been in the driver's seat properly in almost ten years, but I do love a jolly good car ride.

Kicking back in the passenger seat, music blaring and knowing (hopefully) that you're off on an awesome new adventure with your bestest buddy by your side. Obviously you're inevitably going to need to pee at some point, usually just after passing a service station with the next one not for twenty three miles (yeah, I kind of need a pee right now) and then end up spending twenty pounds on a Happy Meal (who's smiling now Ronald, you creepy bastard?!). But for the most part, you'll be taking in the lovely countryside, wailing along to whatever CDs you've remembered to pick up, and trying your hardest not to get stuck behind too many lorries or traffic jams.

Of course, when you've run out of tunes, filled yourself with over-priced Burger King and trying to think of anything but running water, there's always the option of a game or two. Here are a few of my favourites. Why not try one? Or multitask and try them all. That's what I'm doing...

Zitch Dog
Anyone who watches How I Met Your Mother will be aware of Marshall and Zed's bizarrely named game which essentially consists of shouting "zitch dog" whenever passing by a canine. Why zitch dog? No-one knows, but I'm having fun Snap-chatting my mate whilst he's at work with various fluffy friends as we pass them.

The Eddie Stobart Game
Eddie Stobart, for those not in the UK, is a very British haulage firm famed for its fleet of very green trucks. When exactly this game arose, I'm not sure, but it's played very competitively between my family. Like most highway games, it's a case of being the first one to spot an oncoming truck and shouting "Stobart" as loudly as possible. One point is rewarded for a full truck, half for just the cab, and three for one of those insane double lorries. 

Yellow Car
A better game for a car full of lads rather than when driving with your minute lady friend (for obvious reasons), this basically involves punching the other people in the car as hard as possible whenever passing a yellow car. Nothing more to it. The winner is the one with the least bruised arm by the time you reach your final destination.

Roadkill
This was one introduced to me by my friend Adam. You basically garner points for every dead animal you see. The scoring system is along the following lines;

Undeterminable carnage - 1 Point
Pheasant, crow or other bird - 2 Points
Rabbit or hare - 3 Points
Badger or fox - 4 Points
Cat - 5 Points
Dog - 6 Points
Sheep - 7 Points
Deer - 8 Points
Cow or horse - 9 Points
Mountain Lion - 10 Points

Obviously, we don't get all that many mountain lions in the UK, but the option is always there! Arguments are bound to ensure as to whether that actually was a sheep or just a large white hair, but that's all part of the game!

So next time you need a break from modern living, and you long to rest your weary load, if your nerves are raw and your brain is fried, just grab a friend and take ride together upon the open road!


Monday 10 March 2014

Customer Service with Penny

Working in customer service sucks. We've all been there and we all know it. Hopefully we get lucky and end up working with a group of like-minded individuals, each so equally scathing of the world that somehow the day seems somewhat brighter by a shared hatred. It's lovely really how group loathing brings people together.

Having to deal with the general public and their general problems (by "general" I refer to a problem with you,my our product, their lot in life, whatever seems to be disgruntling them at that moment in time) is soul destroying, but having lived through it for the better half of my life, I've come to take a certain amount of pride in my work.

As such, it truly irks me when confronted with a "customer service representative" with about as much people skills as a dried up prophylactic. Today, I have had the pleasure of such service.

It's funny really; it seems that the cheaper the product, the better the service. Go into 90% of cafés or coffee houses across the country and you are more than likely to be greeted by a cheerful server, more than happy to share a joke as they prepare your steamy chai latte. Same goes for pubs. When was the last time you were confronted with a genuinely grumpy barmaid? Personally I can't remember.

Today, prior to leaving the North East, I decided to pop into my local comic shop simply to thank the guy that handles my orders for his help over the last however many years. I didn't have anything to pick up, but his advice and knowledge of his wares has meant I've achieved the maximum enjoyment with the minimum spend on my monthly subscription. Is he a smily chap? Not overly. But dear god is his service great. So thanks were in order.

Compare that then to the rent-a-car representative who I've had the joy of dealing with this afternoon. An expensive transaction, and one that was conveyed with about as much warmth as a snowhair's ear. Sure, I'm not looking for a bar-mitzvah style hootenanny when I'm hiring a vehicle, but at least tell us how to use the keyless car instead of just disinterestedly thrusting an envelope upon us and pointing to a car out back. For a moment I felt like busting out a Planes, Trains and Automobiles inspired rant. But no. Won't be seeing her again, so stuff her.

All I'm saying is take a little pride in your job. To coin the cliche, a smile costs nothing. If you're working in a restaurant, it should get you a tip, in a shop, repeat custom and a satisfied shopper. Anywhere else, and it might eventually get you somewhere in the world. I mean Christ, none of us really want to be in the industry anyways. The general public are generally freakin' douchebags.


Sunday 9 March 2014

Pack Up Your Troubles with Eliza Doolittle

I've discussed already this week how much of a pain moving house is; finding a place, dealing with ruddy estate agents, getting monies together for deposits, wondering exactly what you're going to need in regards to furnishings, council tax brackets, power providers... It's all just an utter nightmare.

With all of that out of the way, however, you're still left with one of the most time consuming and utterly boring aspects of the move;

Packing.

Like most things in life, there are two approaches to packing; the careful approach and the manic approach. each has it's pros and cons, but at the end of the day, you're going to find yourself pulling your hair out either way.

The Careful Approach
Organised packing, like most tasks sprinkled with a little touch of OCD, is time consuming and generally madness-inducing. Ensuring everything is in a carefully labelled box and grouped together for ease of access at your eventual destination. You're probably going to have a jolly good sort out as your doing it, ruthlessly getting rid of all of that stuff that at one time seemed so very important, but now looks like nothing more than a hotch-potch of random nick-nacks garnered from a gypsies wedding. You're going to end up ready to move in the other end with ease and organisation, but, like anything so meticulous, it's going to take you ages to get there. I think I'll just practice some guitar a bit... damn procrastination.

The Manic Approach
In the days before the move, there will inevitably cone a time when you simply think "sod it, I'll just stick it all in boxes and deal with it when I get there!". Now, if you're the kind of person who can happily spend the next few months, years, decades, living in clutter and disorder, then perhaps this is the method for you. If not however, you're only going to hate yourself when you reach the other end and thereafter spend three days manically searching for the loo roll. By which time, of course, it's far too late. Do yourself a favour and take the careful approach.

And allow yourself some procrastination time. It's all got to be done by some point, and everyone works better in those last few crazy hours. So Grab another cup of tea, have a fag, take the dog out for a quick walk, or, heaven forbid, write a bloody blog entry...


Friday 7 March 2014

Famous Last Shifts with Mila Kunis

I've had a lot of different jobs in my lifetime. So many in fact that most people, when meeting me for the first time, find it hard to believe that one man could have been head chef, hotel manager, English teacher, house musician and advertising agent by the age of twenty seven. But I have. It probably helps that I haven't been out of a job (technically, though not necessarily psychologically) since the age of fourteen. Subsequently, however, I've had a lot of "last days". Many of these I remember with fondness, some I barely remember at all, and some I still look back upon with a sense of regret.

I guess that's always the way when moving on to pastures new. Save for being made redundant twice last year, leaving has been, for the most part, my choice. I've always strived for better, and having been stuck in the service industry for much of my career, can you really blame me?

So to mark my final day as Farnley Tower Hotel's breakfast chef/assistant general dogsbody (after a year and a half of searching, I've finally found a teaching position in Bournemouth of all places!), I thought I'd take a look back on some of my previous "last days".

Rock 'n' Amigos
My first job (paper rounds not included) was in a twee Mexican restaurant in Durham city. I started out waiting tables before the head chef took something of a shine to me and moved me into the kitchen. At sixteen it was quite cool to be able to tell people at school that I was a chef, though looking back I was really little more than a glorified kitchen porter. It was here, however, that I learned the basics of the trade that would both support and haunt me for the next decade. Unfortunately, my father (always an overbearing presence in my life) took a disliking to the fact that I was working unsociable shifts for three pounds an hour and essentially told me I wasn't to go back. Ho hum.

Dogs' Trust
Advertising? Dogs? What a great mix! No, not really. My advice to anyone who sees an ad for "at least 23k" commission only work is to steer well clear unless you enjoy traipsing the streets in all weather for about £100 a week. My "career" in marketing lasted less than a month before I politely informed them it wasn't for me.

Salt
Salt was a pretty fun place to work; I was at their Aberystwyth restaurant for two years during university before becoming sous chef in their Cardiff Bay site for a year and then subsequently returning to Aber whilst sofa hopping as the gods on high took their merry time processing my visa for Japan. The staff were great, and many of them have become my friends for life. The stories that the submarine-like kitchen could tell are endless (indeed, my fry cook at the time - the one who inspired me to go to Japan - did in fact write a "kids book" called The Happy Little Fry Cook). When I left Salt, I was thrown a huge Japanese themed do which involved me dressing up as a Hentai schoolgirl. Like most restaurants, I left with the bittersweet feeling of relief and fondness.

WinBe English School
I loved this job. I truly did. It's because of my time in Japan that I have spent the last eighteen months desperately trying to return to teaching. I left due to an acrid mix of wanting to return to the "normality" of the UK and longing to see friends and family again. And cheese. Dear god I missed cheese. Saying goodbye to the ninety or so kids that I had taught and watched grow over my years at the school was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, but the blow was lessened by the amazing barbecue and booze-up thrown by the bar that I had spent my weekends singing in. Unfortunately my totes emosh leaving speech is somewhere on YouTube. Oh the humanity!

Mrs Mustard's
Mustard's was one of the toughest jobs I've ever had to endure. After returning from Japan, I found it nigh on impossible to find work and inevitably found myself back in the kitchen. Unlike previous culinary exploits, however, we had a very tense head chef (from the school of Marco Pierre White) and a kitchen haunted by poltergeists. Seriously. I nearly died one day when the ceiling collapsed where I had been standing a split second before. Our last day at Mustard's will always stand out as the day I turned up for work as usual to find the bailiffs emptying the place. Much drunkeness ensued, followed by a week trudging through three feet of snow before I found...

The Establishment
Of all the restaurants I've worked, the 'stab has been my favourite. As head chef, I developed my own menu, did a heck of a lot of baking, and, most importantly, got to work with the most amazing team I've ever had the privalage to be stuck with. Unfortunately, the restaurant just wasn't making enough money, and we were forced to close. Our final night was the George Gently wrap party, and myself and the team had an awesome evening throwing cocktails and shapes with the stars of the show before having one of those manly emotional moments as the doors finally closed. Save for WinBe, leaving The Establishment was my saddest last day to date. Which brings us finally to...

Farnley Tower Hotel
Farnley is like my safety net; ten minutes from my childhood home, I have worked here sporadically for the last decade, and was fortunate (if that's the right word) that a position arose the same week the Establishment shut down. Returning to somewhere you worked as a teenager, before the degree, the masters, the teaching... It rather gets you down. But you get through it, and as I said in my blog with Mr. Luhrman, it's worth it in the end.

As Justin Beiber said, never give up!

Am I seriously leaving on that? No. Here's a picture of Mila Kunis on a cliff instead. Enjoy.


The Funny Thing About Arenas with Jack Whitehall

Comedy is a funny thing. It's something that we can all share in, and something that we all need to brighten up our day to day lives. Of course what one person finds hilarious may well be utterly offensive to another, but our reaction, whether positive or negative, unites us in reaction alone.

In recent years, the comedian has become the height of celebrity. Where once we looked upon musicians and film stars, in the Twitter-verse, we now see the funny men of this world at the height of stardom, and where once they had been relegated to dingy pubs and comedy clubs, a new wave of arena-filling stars has emerged.

This week, with a small hint of trepidation, I headed to Newcastle's Metro Radio Arena to see young comedian Jack Whitehall in action. The hesitation was not for the comedian himself; I've come to garner a large amount of respect for Mr. Whitehall; at twenty five he has already managed to make a name for himself as one of British TV's smartest comedians - Bad Education is by far my favourite sitcom in many years, and I feel a strange kinship that is only shared between fellow public schoolboys. No, my concern lay in the fact that this was an arena gig.

Now, I've always held strong the image of the aforementioned dingy comedy club. Maybe it's because all of my previous experiences of live comedy have been in such venues, but I feel there is a certain intimacy in live events. Indeed even when seeing live music, I like to be so close to the stage that I can almost touch the performers (I reference my trip to see Counting Crows last year when I was literally within reach of Charlie Immergluck for much of the show. I spent most of the evening quivering like a schoolgirl). There's just something magical about being up close and personal with whoever is on stage.

So the concept of arena comedy rather bemused me; could the intimacy of a darkened room translate into the cavernous halls of an arena? 

Well, for the most part, yes, I admit, it can.

Performing in the round, Whitehall managed to be engaging throughout, utilising the space to its fullest, thus ensuring the entire audience could appreciate the performance no matter where they were sitting in the vastness of the arena space. A number of large screens positioned above the circular stage ensured that those at the back could still see the amusing gurnings of the comedian, and meant that even those in the executive boxes (why on earth would you sit in a box for any live show? Sure, sports I can understand, but a performance? With the sound piped in, you really may as well be watching on television) had a good view.

The show itself was a cracker, keeping us in fits of laughter throughout, Whitehall's manic neuroses on the subjects of sex, the British psyche and, of course, The Lion King, are thought-provoking and hilarious. At times, longer anecdotes seemed a little over-rehearsed, but for the most part, this was a perfect night out.

So I admit I was wrong; perhaps with the right man and the right material, a comedian can comfortably make his home in the spacious abodes of arenas up and down the country. But when the stadiums of the world replace Springsteen and Bon Jovi with the likes of Michael McIntyre and Lee ruddy Evans, I might raise an eyebrow or two...


Wednesday 5 March 2014

House Hunting with Gil Gunderson

Whenever there is a survey or top ten list of the most stressful things in life, moving house always reaches high in the charts.

In my own past, I've always been quite blessed in the house-hunting department; when I first left home to go to university, I was, as most students are, supplied with university accommodation. It was a pretty depressing little room, shared with a rather monosyllabic young Christian with a penchant for eating the fat on steaks and a communal toilet used by around twenty strangers. Fortunately, within a couple of weeks, I managed to get myself moved to a much more pleasant abode, an eight-person flat with my own en-suite. I'm not a fan of sharing toilets; I have a shy bladder at the best of times.

My proper first experience of "house-hunting" thus occurred near the end of my first year, when my friends Michael, Adam and I realised we really needed somewhere to live for the following semester. The three of us had met at registration, and had instantly bonded over a David Bowie badge on Adam's pre-hipster blazer. From that point we had been an inseparable trio and had decided it would be pleasant to get a place together. Fortunately we were right. We took the first place we looked at and subsequently spent a very happy three years in what we christened The House of Tasteful Men.

Since then, every house I have lived in has been supplied by employers, and as such it was not until this past week that I experienced the nightmarish hell that is finding a new home.

Admittedly, giving myself a day to find somewhere to live three hundred miles from my current base was probably not the smartest first move, but hey, it's always been easy before, so why shouldn't it have been this time?

Here's why:

1. Everybody is looking for value for money
An obvious first statement, but why would you pay X amount for a squalid little bedsit when you can get a furnished flat for the same price? You wouldn't, obviously, and that's why chances are that nice cheap and cheerful flat you've seen on the website, or even looked at a mere half hour ago, has already been let. Even if you've already paid the admin fees. More on that later.

2. If a house is nice, someone already lives there
Think about it; the only reasons to move from a house you like (actually, to move at all) are for a new job or if you're having kids. The nice houses are gone. People ain't moving in this crummy economy.

3. Houses on with multiple agents
Personally I feel this should not be legal. Having found a flat on Friday, a tidy little loft apartment, I immediately returned to the letting agents, paid my holding fee and that was that. I returned home feeling accomplished and thereafter spent the weekend relishing in relief only to be informed on the following money that the house had been on with two agents and that the landlord had decided to go with the other. Since then, I have been pulling my hair out trying to find somewhere from afar. Not fun.

4. Estate agents do not care
At first meeting, your agent may seem like the loveliest fellow in the world, someone determined to fulfil your needs at any cost (preferably the lowest to you). Unfortunately, like most salesmen, this is a complete ruse to try and lull you into buying into whatever they may happen to be selling. In the end, the only thing important is the commission. We've all seen Glengarry Glen Ross, we know how it works.

Fortunately after stressing myself into the worst flu I've had in years and crying like a baby for three days straight, the school I'm going to work for has found me a lovely condo-style apartment with pool and gym facilities, so turns out I didn't need a ruddy agent after all! Looks like Grae's movin' up to the big time!



Tuesday 4 March 2014

Ninja Japanesing with Chiaki Kuriyama

My Japanese is terrible.

That's not really a surprising statement for an Englishman to make, but when you consider I lived in Japan for over three years, it's actually quite embarrassing that my proficiency never exceeded that of a four year old child. 

It's mostly an aversion to studying; since leaving school, whenever taking up a new hobby, I have hungered to perfect it as quickly as possible. Whether it's cooking the perfect moules mariniere, or learning how to draw manga, I find myself either picking it up instantly, or simply deciding it's not for me. So when it comes to the hours of actual book-smarting required gain any level of fluency in a foreign language, I'm somewhat begrudging to sacrifice time that could be otherwise spent rewatching old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

And so my skills in Japanese have been rather limited to those that have been acquired through an eclectic mix of anime and extreme gorno, many hours spent in karaoke bars and even more hours of general chit-chat with my girlfriend (a native of the Chiba area). As such, the four year old analogy is probably not best suited... Probably a severely handicapped alcoholic is a better likeness.

That said, my hold of the language is still better that 99.9% of non-Japanese living in the UK and as such, since my return from the Nippon, I have been having fun with a little pastime I like to call "Ninja Japanesing", a phrase coined by a very dear friend of mine during an excursion to London...

Soon after my return to the Uk, whilst on a jaunt around Soho, my friends and I passed by a tai-yaki shop. For those of you not versed in Asian baking, a tai-yaki is essentially a fish-shaped donut filled usually with either chocolate or sweet azuki bean paste. They are frankly bloody delicious!

As we passed by the shop, I began extolling my friends on the amazingness of this sugary treat, only to realise that the diminutive shop girl was at that moment turning the "open" sign to "closed".

With all the speed a slightly overweight chain-smoking dispraxic can muster, I jumped into the doorframe and begged in my best pigeon jap-lish for a handful of the tasty treats. So taken aback was the young shop girl that we spent the next ten minutes communicating in our linguistic hotpotch, establishing where best to find tai-yaki at that time of day (unfortunately, I established, their machine had been turned off and was not likely to be switched on again for the sake of three cakes). As we left the shop, my friends were dumbfounded, undoubtedly believing my Japanese to be much better than it actually is.

Since then, however, I have been having fun with tourists, whether it actually be being helpful when they're lost, or simply joining in random conversations with passers-by. Every time I still get that same bemused yet relieved reaction, and it means a lot to be able to give them a little bit of language relief when so far from home. Also I feel like a clever bastard. So I guess, as Joey Tribianni so rightly pointed out, you can never do a good deed without feeling a little smug about it somewhere inside.

Now, just to keep hoping for the day I can pull of some ninja-ing with the lovely Chiaki Kuriyama...




Monday 3 March 2014

Why You Can Always Rely on The Muppets with Dr. Bunsen Honeydew

Today has been one of those annoyingly kick-in-the-teeth kind of days... I'm full of man-flu, meaning that my vocals and general demeanor have been in no fit state to take advantage of Monday's usually lucrative buskings, and worst still, the flat in Bournemouth that I had put down a deposit on a mere two days ago has fallen through, thus leaving me about ten days to find a new abode from four hundred miles away... Fun times.

So what do I find myself doing? The same thing I tend to do every time life gives me a good beating; curling up in bed with a mug of hot ribena and delving into the world of Jim Henson,

The Muppets have always been a source of comfort to me. Maybe it's from the huge amount of Sesame Street I was plonked in front of as a baby. Perhaps it's that Muppet Babies is one of the first non-Disney cartoons I can remember religiously watching as a pre-schooler. Then there's Fraggle Rock; one of the few eighties TV shows that actually lived up to its theme tunes...

Side note: Seriously, we all remember TV themes from the eighties; Turtles, Captain Planet, Thundercats, but save for Disney's entries into the eighties/early nineties oeuvre (Rescue Rangers, Ducktales, Gummy Bears, Darkwing Duck, all of which had stellar intros, matched by equally awesome shows) how many of these cartoons were actually good? Put the nostalgia aside for a moment and watch an episode of Ulysses 31 and you'll realise what absolute dross was being smothered by an amazing piece of synth rock. Anyways...

When I was six I was given the choice of going to see Jason Donovan playing Joseph, or going to the pictures to see A Muppet Christmas Carol at the pictures. Looking back, I've always had the most outstanding taste. 

I think the major turning point, however, was when my family and I uprooted to Durham the week of my tenth birthday. I have vivid memories of being sat around the television on that first Friday night, hundreds of miles from my erstwhile home, watching in comfort as the premiere of (the sadly short lived) Muppets Tonight aired on BBC1. I realised then how much the Muppets meant to me. Had I known at that point that in my late twenties I'd still be finding solace in their fuzzy hides, I may well have made some very different life choices. But ho hum.

So as I sit watching Muppet Treasure Island, mouthing along to the entire script and yet still laughing my pants off, I figured it was time to give celebration and thanks to the merry band that have kept me company so very well thoughout the years.

How to do that? Why a countdown of my favourite Muppet movies of course! And hey, there's actually ten Muppet movies! A comprehensive top ten indeed!!

10. The Muppets Wizard of Oz
The most annoying thing about this film is that it should and could have been amazing. But it isn't. It's not funny, it's not heart-warming, and it's a good thing so few people have seen it, as it genuinely besmirches the Muppets' good name.

9. The Muppets Take Manhattan
The main problem with Take Manhattan? I must have seen it a dozen times, but can only remember Piggy's Muppet Babies dream sequence. It's kind of like only remembering Happy Days for the Mork and Mindy episode, that'd be insane!

8. Kermit's Swamp Years
Actually not that bad a film, but suffers immensely from a lack of Muppets. Indeed, aside from Kermit and a brief cameo from a young Statler and Waldorf, there's not a single recognisable character. Hmmmmm...

7. It's a Very Muppet Christmas Movie
Admittedly, we're already starting to get into the golden goodness of Muppet-dom, though this is the weakest of a great bunch. It's It's a Wonderful Life with Muppets. What more do you want from a Christmas film? Well... More on that later...

6. The Great Muppet Caper
Kermit and Fozzie play identical twins. Nuff said.

5. Muppets From Space
A really underrated film, this is probably the funniest Muppets movie to date. The pop-culture references are spot on, the idea of Gonzo actually being an alien, guided by cosmic wish fish, is hilarious, and Pepe's line "I have some green jello mmmkay?" Is simply priceless.

4. A Muppet Christmas Carol
I'll probably get some flack for putting this in fourth, and yes, it is my (and everybody else's) favourite Christmas film. It has Michael Caine in genuinely one of his finest performances ever (seriously, the conviction he puts into the role is astounding), some wonderful music, and always manages to put me in the Christmas spirit a'proper. No buts. Just I think these other three have higher merits...

3. The Muppets
The most recent entry to the canon is a love letter to Muppets fans of all ages; young Walter represents every fan from every country across the globe and as such helps to deliver us exactly what we needed; great music, a tear-jerking ending, just enough of each Muppet to keep us satisfied ("priceless!"), and the feeling that we have always, and will always need more Henson in our lives.

2. Muppet Treasure Island
Probably the most quotable Muppet film, with the catchiest tunes and Tim Curry being ruddy amazing. Fact.

1. The Muppet Movie
I couldn't not put this in first place; it truly is a classic. A road movie with a difference. From the opening credits and that Oscar winning song, I always had a rainbow connection (see what I did there) with this film, and still laugh every time someone mentions a fork in the road. Oh, and also it introduced Steve Martin to the world, so without this film, we could never have had The Man With Two Brains. And what kind of a world would THAT be???

So there we have it. A big thank you to Mr. Henson for brightening my life for pretty much as long as I remember, and kudos to his team for continuining his legacy in some equally wonderful films in the years that have followed. Unfortunately, come May, I get the feeling Wizard of Oz will be disappearing from the top ten as Muppets Most Wanted hits our screens. But that's probably not such a bad thing. Seriously. Disney, what the hell were you thinking?