I would like to congratulate whichever PR spin doctor came up with the idea of hashing up the votes for the final of that ballroom dancing game show on the BBC.
Until last week I couldn't have named you a single contestant, told you how the show worked (other than it's people dancing - but I wasn't 100% sure it wasn't on ice-skates), or what night of the week it's on.
Now, thanks to the 'voting debacle', it's been on the news and in the newspapers and everything and has been publicised to the sort of people who have better things to do on a Saturday night than watch the goggle box.
A PR campaign very well executed.
Tuesday 16 December 2008
Wednesday 3 December 2008
New look, same old story
So the latest paper to get a new-look design make over is the Metro. Spewing multi-colour and shaded lines all over the place.
Is this to make it look more like a website? Although that seems to be still mostly blue and red.
I don't know how the Metro is fairing these days - I know I'd still rather read it that some of the dross being put out by local news groups.
Plus the Metro is free so can afford it's revamp.
For those who don't know, ailing paper's usually try to recoup losses by;
a) sacking as many staff as they can legally get away with
b) making those journalists who are left do twice as much work
c) redesign the paper
d) make the folio smaller so there's less work to be done - but also less news in the paper
e) when they've re-hashed the look of the paper, reduced the staffing levels to the point where the remaining staff are all off with stress and taken half the pages out, they charge more for paper!!
And then they sit back in their big cheese offices and wonder why the industry is struggling.
Is this to make it look more like a website? Although that seems to be still mostly blue and red.
I don't know how the Metro is fairing these days - I know I'd still rather read it that some of the dross being put out by local news groups.
Plus the Metro is free so can afford it's revamp.
For those who don't know, ailing paper's usually try to recoup losses by;
a) sacking as many staff as they can legally get away with
b) making those journalists who are left do twice as much work
c) redesign the paper
d) make the folio smaller so there's less work to be done - but also less news in the paper
e) when they've re-hashed the look of the paper, reduced the staffing levels to the point where the remaining staff are all off with stress and taken half the pages out, they charge more for paper!!
And then they sit back in their big cheese offices and wonder why the industry is struggling.
Monday 1 December 2008
Twas the Night Before Xmas
I know it's a tad early for festive celebrations, but as it's the 1st December I think I can (just about) get away with this.
If anyone is familiar with the traditional seasonal poem Twas The Night Before Christmas here is an alternative version.
WARNING: Contains language not suitable for young children.
'Twas The Night Before Xmas
'Twas the night before Xmas and the kids wouldn't sleep,
Mamma was upstairs wrapping an Action Man jeep.
Pillowcases had been left out at the end of the bed,
In the hope of a visit from that big man in red.
The plastic has been buzzing all through December
And they were well in the red as the fire turned to ember
It had to be put out so Santa could come,
Not a hint of credit to poor dad and mum.
The little brats were all hyper on chocolates and candy,
Leaving papa in his kerchief sipping the end of the brandy.
A Christmas seemingly so perfect, but still papa laments,
Because he knows for this day there are still 12 more weekly payments!
The WII's second-hand, he sighs, and the Tardis is fake,
"There as much ours as a bloody snow flake."
When out in the back yard there arose such a din
He sprang from his chair to see what was occurring'.
He pulled on his crocks and his superman t-shirt,
"Keep still," he told Mamma, "someone's gonna get hurt."
When what to his wondering eyes should he see,
But the chav family next door nicking someone's Christmas tree.
There were half in the yard, and busy them all,
Eight of them pulling the tree up over the wall.
With a little hoody leader so lively and quick
Papa shouted, "Oi leave it or I'm calling the nick."
"Now dickhead, now knob, now idiot and twat,
"I'm not going to let you ruin someone's Christmas like that!"
But then in a twinkling, papa heard in the flat,
The prancing and pouring of another little prat.
Who was busy in the living room while he'd been making a fuss
Nicking the wide-screen and the brand new sky plus!
His eyes how they twinkled with criminal intent,
His cheeks were flushed as to the window he bent,
Dressed all in kappa, from his head to his toe,
His hoody still wet from the Christmas eve snow.
The stump of a rollie was held tight in his gob,
As this little hoody hoodlum set out on the rob.
He had a spotty face and his legs shook like jelly,
As he walked to the window with their flat-screen telly.
He spoke not a word, but gave papa a wink,
The little shit was taking everything but the kitchen sink!
After he'd finished his work with the nimble speed of an elf,
Papa cried out in fear, in spite of himself.
"Don't take the presents," he pleaded in fight,
As the little bugger ran off into the night.
He sprang over the fence, and to his team gave his a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
So papa exclaimed, 'ere he refilled his glass,
"Christmas is it? Merry Christmas my arse!"
If anyone is familiar with the traditional seasonal poem Twas The Night Before Christmas here is an alternative version.
WARNING: Contains language not suitable for young children.
'Twas The Night Before Xmas
'Twas the night before Xmas and the kids wouldn't sleep,
Mamma was upstairs wrapping an Action Man jeep.
Pillowcases had been left out at the end of the bed,
In the hope of a visit from that big man in red.
The plastic has been buzzing all through December
And they were well in the red as the fire turned to ember
It had to be put out so Santa could come,
Not a hint of credit to poor dad and mum.
The little brats were all hyper on chocolates and candy,
Leaving papa in his kerchief sipping the end of the brandy.
A Christmas seemingly so perfect, but still papa laments,
Because he knows for this day there are still 12 more weekly payments!
The WII's second-hand, he sighs, and the Tardis is fake,
"There as much ours as a bloody snow flake."
When out in the back yard there arose such a din
He sprang from his chair to see what was occurring'.
He pulled on his crocks and his superman t-shirt,
"Keep still," he told Mamma, "someone's gonna get hurt."
When what to his wondering eyes should he see,
But the chav family next door nicking someone's Christmas tree.
There were half in the yard, and busy them all,
Eight of them pulling the tree up over the wall.
With a little hoody leader so lively and quick
Papa shouted, "Oi leave it or I'm calling the nick."
"Now dickhead, now knob, now idiot and twat,
"I'm not going to let you ruin someone's Christmas like that!"
But then in a twinkling, papa heard in the flat,
The prancing and pouring of another little prat.
Who was busy in the living room while he'd been making a fuss
Nicking the wide-screen and the brand new sky plus!
His eyes how they twinkled with criminal intent,
His cheeks were flushed as to the window he bent,
Dressed all in kappa, from his head to his toe,
His hoody still wet from the Christmas eve snow.
The stump of a rollie was held tight in his gob,
As this little hoody hoodlum set out on the rob.
He had a spotty face and his legs shook like jelly,
As he walked to the window with their flat-screen telly.
He spoke not a word, but gave papa a wink,
The little shit was taking everything but the kitchen sink!
After he'd finished his work with the nimble speed of an elf,
Papa cried out in fear, in spite of himself.
"Don't take the presents," he pleaded in fight,
As the little bugger ran off into the night.
He sprang over the fence, and to his team gave his a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
So papa exclaimed, 'ere he refilled his glass,
"Christmas is it? Merry Christmas my arse!"
Monday 17 November 2008
Beat the credit crunch - sack a servant
I'm sorry, but I can remain silent no longer as middle class journalists scamper to get on the credit crunch bandwagon by coming up with ever more far-fetched angles on the current economic downturn.
Some weeks ago there was an article in The Guardian's Saturday 'travel section' about how to have a skiing holiday on a budget.
And now today there is an article in Wales' national (ha ha!) newspaper the Western Mail about poor tax-dodgers, I mean students, who are unable to take gap years due to the recession.
I hate to burst people's bubbles, but mummy and daddy not being able to afford to pay for you to bum your way though Thailand smoking joints and getting laid, or having to cut back your annual skiing holiday to Austria from three weeks to just two is hardly living on the bread line.
C'mon people. Being made redundant from your minimum wage shop job because things are slow on the high street and having to decide if you spend your dole money on the heating bill or presents for your kids this year - that's toughing out this whole godamn mess the fat cat bankers have dropped us in.
Gap years? Skiing holidays? Next you'll be telling me Mr and Mrs Snob have had to sack one of their servants to keep up with the payments on their second home in France.
Can we have a reality check please?
Some weeks ago there was an article in The Guardian's Saturday 'travel section' about how to have a skiing holiday on a budget.
And now today there is an article in Wales' national (ha ha!) newspaper the Western Mail about poor tax-dodgers, I mean students, who are unable to take gap years due to the recession.
I hate to burst people's bubbles, but mummy and daddy not being able to afford to pay for you to bum your way though Thailand smoking joints and getting laid, or having to cut back your annual skiing holiday to Austria from three weeks to just two is hardly living on the bread line.
C'mon people. Being made redundant from your minimum wage shop job because things are slow on the high street and having to decide if you spend your dole money on the heating bill or presents for your kids this year - that's toughing out this whole godamn mess the fat cat bankers have dropped us in.
Gap years? Skiing holidays? Next you'll be telling me Mr and Mrs Snob have had to sack one of their servants to keep up with the payments on their second home in France.
Can we have a reality check please?
Friday 14 November 2008
Religion and riots
My comedy gig last night went well. I was on the same billing as poet and playwright Patrick Jones (see link below) who has been in the media limelight recently in Wales because Christians don't like his work.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/7725790.stm
Honestly, freedom of speech and all that. And I thought religion preached tolerance and respect and love of your fellow man!
I was also approached by a 'fan' after the show - which was great and very exciting.
My festive Christmas poem based on Twas the Night Before Christmas' raised the most laughs of the evening. I'll try and get it published here in the next few days.
I'm still keeping up with Annie's Antics in America:
Friday 7 November 2008
Annie in America
Ha ha, and so I'm back.
Well I've never really been away, it's just that I've been reading Annie Rhiannon's blog about her trip to America to meet Barack Obama.
Sounds like she's having an amazing time, I don't know how to do links on this blog thingy, so I'll just paste her website:
http://annierhiannon.blogspot.com/
I've also been busy preparing for some more gigs I've got coming up, one of which is at a literary festival. (Comedy as literature? Surely not? It's just, well, comedy. It's silly, and unstructured and chaotic and simplistic - at least my comedy is anyway.)
They want me to talk about how I got into doing what I do (I didn't like to ask what it was the organisers think I 'do' exactly, although I'm curious to know myself) to encourage other people to pick up the quill, as it were, and try and be creative.
D'ya hear that? The organisers of a literary festival think I'M creative.
Well whaddya know. I just hope when I'm there this week they think it's comedy too.
Well I've never really been away, it's just that I've been reading Annie Rhiannon's blog about her trip to America to meet Barack Obama.
Sounds like she's having an amazing time, I don't know how to do links on this blog thingy, so I'll just paste her website:
http://annierhiannon.blogspot.com/
I've also been busy preparing for some more gigs I've got coming up, one of which is at a literary festival. (Comedy as literature? Surely not? It's just, well, comedy. It's silly, and unstructured and chaotic and simplistic - at least my comedy is anyway.)
They want me to talk about how I got into doing what I do (I didn't like to ask what it was the organisers think I 'do' exactly, although I'm curious to know myself) to encourage other people to pick up the quill, as it were, and try and be creative.
D'ya hear that? The organisers of a literary festival think I'M creative.
Well whaddya know. I just hope when I'm there this week they think it's comedy too.
Wednesday 22 October 2008
Penalised for NOT being in debt
It is unfair that you can't book certain things online without a credit card.
I've tried in the past to book train tickets, tickets for events or even buy goods and when I get to the 'pay page' the website curls up into a foetal position and starts crying if I give it my ordinary bank account card details.
This is not fair.
To have a credit card means you are in debt - you borrow money from the bank to pay for things - yet you get benefits for doing this, such as insurance on purchases.
No wonder there is a global credit crisis when the average Joe is given benefits for being in debt!
Monday 20 October 2008
Why you shouldn't be a woman
A friend has become the first victim of the credit crunch I actually know in real life.
Having worked several years for a company in the UK which sells double-glazing windows she was made redundant last week because the company is struggling as people are pulling back the purse strings and not buying as many new windows for their homes.
She is pregnant and now looses her maternity pay - although she should get some redundancy money - and will now struggle to get a job.
No-one is going to employ a member of staff who is going to have to take (at least) six months off very soon after starting. But isn't this illegal sexual discrimination?
A father-to-be would have no problem securing a new job, so why should a woman be penalised for having to take time off to have a baby?
It makes me so cross even my coffee tastes bitter.
Having worked several years for a company in the UK which sells double-glazing windows she was made redundant last week because the company is struggling as people are pulling back the purse strings and not buying as many new windows for their homes.
She is pregnant and now looses her maternity pay - although she should get some redundancy money - and will now struggle to get a job.
No-one is going to employ a member of staff who is going to have to take (at least) six months off very soon after starting. But isn't this illegal sexual discrimination?
A father-to-be would have no problem securing a new job, so why should a woman be penalised for having to take time off to have a baby?
It makes me so cross even my coffee tastes bitter.
Friday 17 October 2008
Something for the week.....?
With another comedy performance tonight (Friday) my weekend won't start properly until about 11pm when I'm off stage and can truly relax. Which got me wondering.
What is that Friday feeling? At what time exactly on a Friday does that feeling start? My weekend will "officially begin" (as popular Radio Disc Jockeys in Britain tell us on their programmes) at 5pm today when I leave work.
But, as I sip my Friday morning coffee and think about the next 72 hours until I am back here at my desk drinking machine-made-warm-caffeine-goop out of a plastic cup, I wonder why we place so much emphasis on these two days of the week.
Ok, so most people are not at work, and your time is your own, but wouldn't it be nice to have that "Friday feeling" on, say, a Tuesday. To feel like the day is your own and that you can do whatever you want.
So next Tuesday, get up with a smile on your face, knowing it is your last day at work, be happy all day and on Tuesday night rent a video and get some popcorn in or do whatever it is you might do to relax on a Friday. Treat yourself - and trick the system - into an extra Friday next week.
But before the "extra Friday" I will be granting everyone next week (no, no need to thank me) enjoy this one first.
Have a nice weekend
What is that Friday feeling? At what time exactly on a Friday does that feeling start? My weekend will "officially begin" (as popular Radio Disc Jockeys in Britain tell us on their programmes) at 5pm today when I leave work.
But, as I sip my Friday morning coffee and think about the next 72 hours until I am back here at my desk drinking machine-made-warm-caffeine-goop out of a plastic cup, I wonder why we place so much emphasis on these two days of the week.
Ok, so most people are not at work, and your time is your own, but wouldn't it be nice to have that "Friday feeling" on, say, a Tuesday. To feel like the day is your own and that you can do whatever you want.
So next Tuesday, get up with a smile on your face, knowing it is your last day at work, be happy all day and on Tuesday night rent a video and get some popcorn in or do whatever it is you might do to relax on a Friday. Treat yourself - and trick the system - into an extra Friday next week.
But before the "extra Friday" I will be granting everyone next week (no, no need to thank me) enjoy this one first.
Have a nice weekend
Wednesday 15 October 2008
Why you shouldn't care about Victoria Beckham
Ok, so I've got nothing personal against the woman, in fact, for the purpose of this blog you could replace her name with any number of celebrities, tv soaps, diet fads etc
But why do the goings on of these people - who have contributed so little to society - have to be reported constantly in the newspapers, on tv and online? You can't get away from it.
I can't access my online email without first clicking to a homepage which offers me snippets of the day's global news, Victoria's new pixie cut, Jordan's boob jobs, Tom Cruise's parenting tips, who wore what at which awards ceremony. G.R.O.A.N.
For the world wide web it does sometimes seem to have quite a narrow (and plastic) view of life.
Ah well, time for coffee.
(Victoria's hair cut looks shite anyway.)
But why do the goings on of these people - who have contributed so little to society - have to be reported constantly in the newspapers, on tv and online? You can't get away from it.
I can't access my online email without first clicking to a homepage which offers me snippets of the day's global news, Victoria's new pixie cut, Jordan's boob jobs, Tom Cruise's parenting tips, who wore what at which awards ceremony. G.R.O.A.N.
For the world wide web it does sometimes seem to have quite a narrow (and plastic) view of life.
Ah well, time for coffee.
(Victoria's hair cut looks shite anyway.)
Tuesday 14 October 2008
Global Credit Crunch?
We have been saved, Hallelujah! But is it just me or did this massive, global, crisis not affected you directly ?
I live in the UK, have no children and earn enough money a month to get by, but not so much to have a mortgage. There must be thousands of other working couples/people in this situation.
I have a car and have noticed the pinch from petrol prices which have been going up steadily throughout 2008, but don't use the car on a regular basis. I don't eat out a lot, am careful with spending, have double-glazing so my rented flat isn't difficult or (too) expensive to heat, I don't have a credit card.
It's not that I'm trying to belittle the serious situation in the global markets, it's just that the credit crisis hasn't really crunched over my life - yet.
And that makes me really frightened.
The latest rescue packages seem to have buoyed things slightly - for now.
I'm worried I should be taking evasive action to protect myself from any repercussions in the future. But how? Could this happen again?
It's like looking up the hill and seeing this huge snowball hanging on a precipice above me. It's been getting bigger and bigger, and rolling down hill faster and faster, but just before it hits me it stops, creaking on the cliff, poised to fall. And I just stand there helpless, looking up at all of the people who have been crushed.
I live in the UK, have no children and earn enough money a month to get by, but not so much to have a mortgage. There must be thousands of other working couples/people in this situation.
I have a car and have noticed the pinch from petrol prices which have been going up steadily throughout 2008, but don't use the car on a regular basis. I don't eat out a lot, am careful with spending, have double-glazing so my rented flat isn't difficult or (too) expensive to heat, I don't have a credit card.
It's not that I'm trying to belittle the serious situation in the global markets, it's just that the credit crisis hasn't really crunched over my life - yet.
And that makes me really frightened.
The latest rescue packages seem to have buoyed things slightly - for now.
I'm worried I should be taking evasive action to protect myself from any repercussions in the future. But how? Could this happen again?
It's like looking up the hill and seeing this huge snowball hanging on a precipice above me. It's been getting bigger and bigger, and rolling down hill faster and faster, but just before it hits me it stops, creaking on the cliff, poised to fall. And I just stand there helpless, looking up at all of the people who have been crushed.
Monday 13 October 2008
I'll be back...
... and so I am. Holiday over and back to the real world.
I was, as Mary guessed, on a (canal) boat in middle England but the weather was amazing and there was a coffee maker on-board!! So good result all round.
It gave me some time to think about life, love, the universe, coffee and all the 'big' questions, and I came to the conclusion:
I just don't have a big enough ego to blog.
Morning Coffee is my second attempt - in nearly as many years - at blogging.
I have several reasons for wanting to do this, ranging from the run-of-the-mill reasons that motivate most bloggers, such as interest in the world at large, wanting to be a real (ie paid) writer, connecting with people, wanting to feel like I've achieved something, touched someone, that I've made a small difference in this huge expanse of lonely universe.
To the more bizarre reasons, such as an unreserved fascination (obsession maybe?) with the idea and genre of blogging as literary form, as a 21st Century Dikesnsian alternative to the working-class serialised novel, or something like that.
My first attempt was a much more personalised affair; this is my name, I live here, I like these things, my cat's name is etc. etc. But I found it difficult to get used to the idea that people were sat on their computers at home/work/cafes reading about "me", knowing about me. It's not that I'm worried about perverts or weirdos, it's just that I don't think I'm that interesting. Not to a stranger anyway, not to someone half way around the world who's never met me and is trying to figure out what sort of person I am through a few web pages and some inane ramblings about life.
So this blog is purposefully anonymous, not to keep you from knowing who I am, but because Morning Coffee is not supposed to be (too much) about a personality. It's supposed to be somewhere to click to when you've got five minutes at work and read something that's a little bit different, sometimes funny, and hopefully entertaining, while you have your coffee.
So drink up and get back to work!
I was, as Mary guessed, on a (canal) boat in middle England but the weather was amazing and there was a coffee maker on-board!! So good result all round.
It gave me some time to think about life, love, the universe, coffee and all the 'big' questions, and I came to the conclusion:
I just don't have a big enough ego to blog.
Morning Coffee is my second attempt - in nearly as many years - at blogging.
I have several reasons for wanting to do this, ranging from the run-of-the-mill reasons that motivate most bloggers, such as interest in the world at large, wanting to be a real (ie paid) writer, connecting with people, wanting to feel like I've achieved something, touched someone, that I've made a small difference in this huge expanse of lonely universe.
To the more bizarre reasons, such as an unreserved fascination (obsession maybe?) with the idea and genre of blogging as literary form, as a 21st Century Dikesnsian alternative to the working-class serialised novel, or something like that.
My first attempt was a much more personalised affair; this is my name, I live here, I like these things, my cat's name is etc. etc. But I found it difficult to get used to the idea that people were sat on their computers at home/work/cafes reading about "me", knowing about me. It's not that I'm worried about perverts or weirdos, it's just that I don't think I'm that interesting. Not to a stranger anyway, not to someone half way around the world who's never met me and is trying to figure out what sort of person I am through a few web pages and some inane ramblings about life.
So this blog is purposefully anonymous, not to keep you from knowing who I am, but because Morning Coffee is not supposed to be (too much) about a personality. It's supposed to be somewhere to click to when you've got five minutes at work and read something that's a little bit different, sometimes funny, and hopefully entertaining, while you have your coffee.
So drink up and get back to work!
Thursday 2 October 2008
Out of office
As you read this I am either:
In the South of France enjoying the last of the summer sunshine before winter truly takes it's grip on Britain. I am sipping fresh French coffee for breakfast and rich red wine for dinner (eating in between of course).
Or, at home wondering why the colours I chose for my bathroom looked good in the shop but now make me feel a little sea sick when I'm having a bath.
Or, on a boat somewhere in middle-England getting wet and cold and drunk while eating pies and playing bridge.
Or, in Florida, riding The Hulk roller-coaster at Universal Studios until I'm so sick I need one of those little buggies fat people use to get around the park.
Unless my little French cottage has broadband I'll give you all two week's to figure out which one is true.
If you've wandered onto this page then perhaps you'd like to spend your morning coffee break imagining the perfect stress-free autumn vacation.
Back soon, keep the coffee freshly brewed for me
In the South of France enjoying the last of the summer sunshine before winter truly takes it's grip on Britain. I am sipping fresh French coffee for breakfast and rich red wine for dinner (eating in between of course).
Or, at home wondering why the colours I chose for my bathroom looked good in the shop but now make me feel a little sea sick when I'm having a bath.
Or, on a boat somewhere in middle-England getting wet and cold and drunk while eating pies and playing bridge.
Or, in Florida, riding The Hulk roller-coaster at Universal Studios until I'm so sick I need one of those little buggies fat people use to get around the park.
Unless my little French cottage has broadband I'll give you all two week's to figure out which one is true.
If you've wandered onto this page then perhaps you'd like to spend your morning coffee break imagining the perfect stress-free autumn vacation.
Back soon, keep the coffee freshly brewed for me
Tuesday 30 September 2008
When it's ok to drink in the middle of the day. . . .
When you're on holiday.
When your weekend of comic performances have gone well and earned you more gigs.
When you've retired (as most of the men in this bar seem to be).
When you're working.
When you've got a newborn baby (I haven't - mum in case you're reading this - there are just quite a few women with babies in the bar as I'm writing).
When it's cold, cheap, European brewed liquid gold, not crap British larger.
When retired men old enough to be your great-great-grandad are making eyes at you over your laptop.
When you don't have a newborn baby and your life is your own and you don't know how good you've got it.
When coffee - even strong black stuff - just won't take the edge off.
When, well, I'm getting quite drunk now and can't think of any more reasons - not funny ones anyway.
When your weekend of comic performances have gone well and earned you more gigs.
When you've retired (as most of the men in this bar seem to be).
When you're working.
When you've got a newborn baby (I haven't - mum in case you're reading this - there are just quite a few women with babies in the bar as I'm writing).
When it's cold, cheap, European brewed liquid gold, not crap British larger.
When retired men old enough to be your great-great-grandad are making eyes at you over your laptop.
When you don't have a newborn baby and your life is your own and you don't know how good you've got it.
When coffee - even strong black stuff - just won't take the edge off.
When, well, I'm getting quite drunk now and can't think of any more reasons - not funny ones anyway.
Friday 26 September 2008
Stage Fright
As well as being a nice, happy person who writes a hilarious online blog (click this link) I also try my hand at writing comedy. But given my lack of funds to pay performers I have been taking to the stage myself to get my work 'out there' in the real world.
This presents two problems. Firstly I am not a natural performer. (Admittedly a rather big set back if you want to get on stage in front of a theatre full of strangers and entertain them, let alone make them laugh.)
Secondly, even if I were a good performer, I've got to do my own stuff, which is twice as hard as being caught out for bad acting of someone else's work. This way, if I dive I'll be doubly to blame, for a rubbish performance and for writing such dire, tripe wafflings in the first place.
Luckily they say confidence is half the trick when you're on stage.
I've got a gig tonight.
Wish me luck.
This presents two problems. Firstly I am not a natural performer. (Admittedly a rather big set back if you want to get on stage in front of a theatre full of strangers and entertain them, let alone make them laugh.)
Secondly, even if I were a good performer, I've got to do my own stuff, which is twice as hard as being caught out for bad acting of someone else's work. This way, if I dive I'll be doubly to blame, for a rubbish performance and for writing such dire, tripe wafflings in the first place.
Luckily they say confidence is half the trick when you're on stage.
I've got a gig tonight.
Wish me luck.
Wednesday 24 September 2008
Two valleys girls in a tanning salon . . .
Two Valley's girls walk into a tanning studio and sit down in the waiting area.
"What you having Tesni? Ten or twelve?" asks one.
"Well I did Ten on Saturday, when I was out shopping with the kids and it looked lush, but it's faded now so I'll try the same again I think."
"Twelve can be just too much sometimes, for some skins I mean, ten is, like, just enough.
"I'm having a twenty."
They put money into a machine on the wall and collect their tokens for the sun beds and then sit back down.
"I hates it when people say you shouldn't tan," muses Tesni. "Science people and stuff who've never even ever been on a sun bed."
"So how do they know?" finishes Kadie.
"Exactly. It's all politics I think."
"What's what? What do you mean lovely?"
"I mean like these beds, and how you look and how you dress and stuff. It's all politics - other people shouldn't get involved. It's not no-ones business if I want to get my skin looking nice and tanned, or if I wanna shop in Primark or wear like I do, or if I wanna dress the kids in Burberry. I think it's lush and cute and if anyone says any different it's just politics."
"Like that Cameron guy putting a hoody on and joining a gang, that was just politics?"
"Huh?"
"Like them MPs in London making laws, that's politics. Is that what you mean?"
A sun bed becomes available and Tesni stands up to go into the booth.
"No actually, not in London, not politics." She searches for the word. "Personal I meant, it's personal."
"What you having Tesni? Ten or twelve?" asks one.
"Well I did Ten on Saturday, when I was out shopping with the kids and it looked lush, but it's faded now so I'll try the same again I think."
"Twelve can be just too much sometimes, for some skins I mean, ten is, like, just enough.
"I'm having a twenty."
They put money into a machine on the wall and collect their tokens for the sun beds and then sit back down.
"I hates it when people say you shouldn't tan," muses Tesni. "Science people and stuff who've never even ever been on a sun bed."
"So how do they know?" finishes Kadie.
"Exactly. It's all politics I think."
"What's what? What do you mean lovely?"
"I mean like these beds, and how you look and how you dress and stuff. It's all politics - other people shouldn't get involved. It's not no-ones business if I want to get my skin looking nice and tanned, or if I wanna shop in Primark or wear like I do, or if I wanna dress the kids in Burberry. I think it's lush and cute and if anyone says any different it's just politics."
"Like that Cameron guy putting a hoody on and joining a gang, that was just politics?"
"Huh?"
"Like them MPs in London making laws, that's politics. Is that what you mean?"
A sun bed becomes available and Tesni stands up to go into the booth.
"No actually, not in London, not politics." She searches for the word. "Personal I meant, it's personal."
Tuesday 23 September 2008
In the real world
In the real world I am not a white cup and saucer with a muffin on it, nore am I athletic, rich, Spiderman, or any of the things I sometimes dream it would be nice to be.
In the real world I'm a newspaper journalist and while it doesn't (often) involve hanging from a web-like-thread off the side of a building it can be quite an interesting job.
Today, for example, the fax machine was out of paper when I rolled in at 7.30am.
So before I had my coffee I had to check several different cupboards in the multi-media newsroom where I work to find paper for it.
I searched in the cupboard underneath the huge six-monitor screen which dominates the newsroom, with different displays showing our website, international news channels and our own online live coverage.
I searched in the cupboard by the video feed lounge where reporters do pieces to camera for our website.
I searched in the cupboard in our state-of-the-art meeting room with high-tech phones and video screens for live conference calls to anywhere in the world.
I searched and I searched, because no-one could get on with their job of bringing cutting-edge news to our multi-media global audience until I found paper for the old fax machine which is hidden away in the corner and needs dusting.
In the real world I'm a newspaper journalist and while it doesn't (often) involve hanging from a web-like-thread off the side of a building it can be quite an interesting job.
Today, for example, the fax machine was out of paper when I rolled in at 7.30am.
So before I had my coffee I had to check several different cupboards in the multi-media newsroom where I work to find paper for it.
I searched in the cupboard underneath the huge six-monitor screen which dominates the newsroom, with different displays showing our website, international news channels and our own online live coverage.
I searched in the cupboard by the video feed lounge where reporters do pieces to camera for our website.
I searched in the cupboard in our state-of-the-art meeting room with high-tech phones and video screens for live conference calls to anywhere in the world.
I searched and I searched, because no-one could get on with their job of bringing cutting-edge news to our multi-media global audience until I found paper for the old fax machine which is hidden away in the corner and needs dusting.
Monday 22 September 2008
Ultra sound-off
Why is it that friends think it's appropriate to send pictures of ultra-sound scans to me on my mobile phone?
There I was this morning, blowing the steam off my first cup of coffee of the day and 'bling' my phone announces that I've received a text message. Opening the in-box I see it's a picture message from my pregnant friend and I just know what's coming... it must be that time already I groan, flicking the message open. And yes, there I was staring at a grainy black picture with a white blob on it that looks like a baby. Urgh.
I suppose I should be flattered my friend chose to share the first pictures of her child with me, but I never know quite how to feel when the beauty and joys of new life and creation are presented to you unannounced on your Nokia during your first coffee.
I'm useless in these feminine, emotional situations. Do I text back? What tdo I text? "Congratulations it's a blob?" Do I not text back and risk shunning my friend at such a happy and emotional time in her life? I don't want her to think I don't care that she's pregnant, or about her baby, I just don't want to see text message pictures of the ultra-sound scan at half eight in the morning.
I text her thanks for the picture and that I'm excited about her having a baby, I ask some random question about morning sickness. Then I save the picture to a file on my phone called "Other people's ultra-sounds".
That's three school friends in the last six months who've thought it pertinent to send me the ultra-sound scans of their soon-to-be offspring via text.
Should I be taking a subtle hint, I wonder?
And then I take another sip of my coffee and think about changing my number.
There I was this morning, blowing the steam off my first cup of coffee of the day and 'bling' my phone announces that I've received a text message. Opening the in-box I see it's a picture message from my pregnant friend and I just know what's coming... it must be that time already I groan, flicking the message open. And yes, there I was staring at a grainy black picture with a white blob on it that looks like a baby. Urgh.
I suppose I should be flattered my friend chose to share the first pictures of her child with me, but I never know quite how to feel when the beauty and joys of new life and creation are presented to you unannounced on your Nokia during your first coffee.
I'm useless in these feminine, emotional situations. Do I text back? What tdo I text? "Congratulations it's a blob?" Do I not text back and risk shunning my friend at such a happy and emotional time in her life? I don't want her to think I don't care that she's pregnant, or about her baby, I just don't want to see text message pictures of the ultra-sound scan at half eight in the morning.
I text her thanks for the picture and that I'm excited about her having a baby, I ask some random question about morning sickness. Then I save the picture to a file on my phone called "Other people's ultra-sounds".
That's three school friends in the last six months who've thought it pertinent to send me the ultra-sound scans of their soon-to-be offspring via text.
Should I be taking a subtle hint, I wonder?
And then I take another sip of my coffee and think about changing my number.
Tuesday 16 September 2008
Something to chew over
I am hoping to poll people's opinions on the following social etiquette faux pas:
A colleague from one of our satellite offices rang me at HQ today. He was eating while he was on the phone to me, his words interrupted by the squishy munch as he chewed his cheese sandwich.
Now, in today's busy world I don't begrudge people who need to 'eat on the go' or, as in this case, eat at their desk. And should a call come through to you when you've not quite finished swallowing your gob-full of food then you answer it and hope you can clear your mouth before it gets embarrassing.
However - and I hope I'm not alone here - you don't MAKE a call while in the middle of chewing/eating/swallowing your food? Surely not?
How rude!
A colleague from one of our satellite offices rang me at HQ today. He was eating while he was on the phone to me, his words interrupted by the squishy munch as he chewed his cheese sandwich.
Now, in today's busy world I don't begrudge people who need to 'eat on the go' or, as in this case, eat at their desk. And should a call come through to you when you've not quite finished swallowing your gob-full of food then you answer it and hope you can clear your mouth before it gets embarrassing.
However - and I hope I'm not alone here - you don't MAKE a call while in the middle of chewing/eating/swallowing your food? Surely not?
How rude!
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