Score

There seems to be nothing - absolutely nothing - that the tabloids love more than a good old fashioned sex scandal. Over the last week I've become aware of two rather interesting cases: one over here in Blighty, the other over the waters in the US of A.

First, to the home grown territory. John Terry, captain of the English football team and also captain of Chelsea FC, has been scoring away from home (not my pun, sadly) with the ex of one of his England team mates, Wayne Bridge. The girl in question is a French underwear model. But then, she would be, wouldn't she?

My comments to this, I must say, are no way connected to the fact that I am an Arsenal FC supporter and Terry plays for Chelsea: He's an idiot. First of all, have you seen his wife? Seriously, she's stunning. Why the hell would anyone want to cheat on the likes of her? It's about as likely as a porn script winning Best Original Screenplay at the Oscars, but it happens all the time. Footballers' Wives, the rather hit-and-miss soapy gloss that ended here a few years ago, was all fun and naughty make believe but this is serious stuff. Terry has kids, and they're bound to be affected by the excrement that's due to hit the fan.

Terry was booed by Burnley supporters on Saturday night when Chelsea played away at Burnley, and he scored the last winning goal for his team (again, scoring away from home, and again, not my joke) - this conduct towards him is going to continue at every away game for the next few months. Should he be sacked as England captain? That's for the manager, Fabio Cappello, to decide. However, ideally the decision should be made on whether this revelation is going to affect Terry on the pitch. If it does, then maybe a break wouldn't be such a bad idea. Give someone else a go for the World Cup campaign, maybe.

Over in the States, it's a politician in the docks (the other most famous kind of tabloid scandal usually involves politicians). John Edwards, a one time presidential hopeful, is involved right now in a damning sex case where his former mistress, a Rielle Hunter, has won the right to claim back a sex tape that the couple made, as well as some interesting photographs. His former aide, Andrew Young, has just published memoirs which claim these exist, and further proving the point that he was asked to claim Hunter's daughter as his own and not that of Edwards, which she so obviously is.

Edwards' wife is leaving him, his political career is in tatters, and now every dirty old man and interested student is going to be surfing the world wide web for a One Night In Paris scenario featuring Edwards and Hunter.

Peter Griffin says in an episode of Family Guy: "Oh, it's fun to watch rich people be naughty". And it is, in a way. Affairs happen 24/7; there's probably one going on right now as I type. It's tragic, stupid and immoral (unless you happen to be in an open relationship, in which case, if that's what makes you happy, go with it). But when rich and famous people get caught, we feel like it's some kind of vindication. Yes, if we get caught then there's bad news on the horizon for us. But at least we won't get the media attention that Terry and Edwards are now having to face. At least we won't get booed by thousands of people at football games and political rallies.

Celebrities need to take more care in their lives - it's incredibly difficult, I'm sure, as we're such a celebrity hungry culture that we just eat this stuff up for breakfast. But what kind of a message does it give people? Mind you, the fact that it's been treated in such a negative way may arguably seen as a good thing. After all, if people see how much rubbish is thrown at you if you are guilty, maybe then people will think twice before cheating.

Laters.

Grumblings

Last assignment handed in on Wednesday, weekend away with the CU a really enjoyable time. Last week of normal lectures at Winchester, three lectures left to go, then three exams, then nothing...

Yet in between all of this "excitement" we seem to have become surrogate parents in our house. Recently Smoker had the wonderful idea to purchase two bunny rabbits, seemingly because she has nothing better to do with her time now that she has unofficially dropped out. This Monday she went and promptly lost one of them, by letting them roam free in the garden...not exactly a good idea.

Thankfully the lost bunny, whom we had given up for dead, returned three days later, right as rain, completely un-traumatised by the experience. Then this weekend Smoker goes and loses her again. She came back the next day - apparently shes got a burrow somewhere in the garden.

I didn't exactly agree to having rabbits in the house. We're still owned by the University and technically, as far as I'm aware from similar experiences last year with Third Year's hamsters, not allowed pets. Yet Teacher, Other Bloke and I seem to now be doing most of the looking after of these animals. The other two don't mind that much, as they wanted rabbits anyway, but we had a major grumbling session last night about it. And we made a rather painful decision to call the RSPCA next time something like this happens again. It sounds rather harsh, I admit, and its the last thing that I want to do - hopefully its the extreme. But really they're not our rabbits. Why should we keep looking out for them?

Moan over.

Laters.

D'oh!

I found it slightly interesting when I first heard of the plans of the government in Venezuela to drop The Simpsons from their regular television schedules. The reason for this move was that they felt the programme was "inappropriate" for young viewers, and that it contained "messages that go against the whole education of boys, girls and adolescents".

Fair enough. After all, over here in Blighty The Simpsons (normally) doesn't start until 6pm which is the very start of the watershed, which is the period of time where the more adult themes can start to be presented or referred to in programmes a little more than during the daytime stuff. And sometimes an episode will contain a risque subject or two. One only has to remember Homer's sexual harassment accusation, or the rather racy episodes involving his and Marge's attempts to "snuggle".

And yet, what have the Venezuelans decided to put on in its place? Baywatch. Yes, the same Baywatch with Pamela Anderson and Carmen Electra running around a beach with very little on, while David "The Hoff" Hasselhoff stands around spouting lines whilst secretly stealing them for lyrics for his next best selling album in Germany.

Am I missing something here? Yes, The Simpsons does have its faults but at the end of the day surely it's about family values? Homer, though an idiot, is a lovable idiot, and genuinely loves his wife and kids. Marge, though possibly stereotypical as the stay-at-home mother, does have a tendency to go out into the world and make a stand for her beliefs. Bart is a rebel, but anything he does that has serious repercussions are dealt with, and he occasionally feels sorrow (check the episode Bart the Mother) . Maggie's a baby - okay, so she occasionally attacks her father with a mallet, and okay she nearly murdered Mr Burns, but the former was a good laugh and the latter was an accident (we think)! And what the flippin' heck's wrong with Lisa? Grade A student all the way, smart, intelligent, funny - possibly the only truly sane one in the family.

Now look at Baywatch. Don't look too hard, mind, else you might get hypnotised by the slow running, the meaningful stares of the Hoff, the jiggling...the endless jiggling...

The point is, Baywatch, if you think about it, is ten times worse than The Simpsons. Not just in its content, either, but in its writing. The Simpsons has always been one of the best written shows in the history of television, give or take the odd slip-up and the boringly mandatory "clip shows" that the Fox network force upon them. Baywatch? Oh no, a cute guy/girl is drowning, we'd better send out two even cuter guys/girls to rescue them and then perform mouth-to-mouth throughout the rest of the episodes. Please, any show where Pamela and Carmen can pull off convincing acting has got to have something wrong with it.

There is, however, evidence to suggest the amount of state control that Venezuelan television currently must answer to. One of the only new shows that is being made at the moment is a chat show, presented by a man called Hugo Chavez. And he only just happens to be the President of Venezuela. Ah, the perks of the job, huh?

Laters.

Rain, Rain, Go Away, You Won't Stop Me Trying To Pray...

So we decide this week, the last before the Easter holidays, to have a Prayer Table/Cafe for the rest of the campus outside our chapel. Then boom - biggest storm for a while hits practically the whole country. Okay, I'm being a bit over-the-top but from the way it was reported by the media it sure felt like the whole of the country.

Anyway, we at Winchester weren't left out. Right as we started to set up the heavens opened, which I suppose is kind of ironic. But did that stop us? Nope. In fact, I would argue that more people stopped inside the chapel to have a hot mug of something, a chat and occasionally a prayer then they would have done had it not been raining and it been glorious sunshine.

To misquote slightly, God works in flipping mysterious ways. We are never going to understand them here on earth. We prayed and prayed and prayed for sunshine, for no rain to fall - didn't happen. Doesn't discourage us, though - far from it. We managed to proclaim his word by offering shelter, warmth, sunshine on a rainy day...okay, that one was a little corny, but you get the idea.

So why the Monday Moan status? Well, muggins here decided to stand outside with his friend's brolly to invite people in, only for a mighty gust of wind to blow it first inside out then snap it off its handle all together. Should have seen that coming, so I guess this is more a moan at myself than anything else. Silly boy.

Laters.

How Refreshing

Nothing to moan about today, because, as I predicted and gleefully discovered this morning, "Falling Slowly" from Once won the Oscar for Best Original Song. That's just got me on a 24 hour feel-good buzz!

Laters.

Put Them Away, Lindsay

To start off today, I want to quote the always excellent Peter Griffin:

"You know what really grinds my gears? This Lindsay Lohan. Lindsay Lohan with all those little outfits, jumping around there on stage, half-naked with your little outfits. Ya know? You're a... You're out there jumping around and I'm just sitting here with my beer. So, what am I supposed to do? What you want? You know, are we gonna go out? Is that what you're trying to - why why are you leaping around there, throwing those things all up in my, over there in my face? What do you want, Lindsay? Tell me what you want? Well, I'll tell you what you want, you want nothing. You want nothing. All right? Because we all know that no woman anywhere wants to have sex with anyone, and to titillate us with any thoughts otherwise is - is just bogus. "

Okay, so I'm not going to comment on all of what Peter has just said, but the gist of it is fairly accurate in my opinion. Basically, Lindsay Lohan annoys me. Out of all the attention-seeking, media-hungry, headline-invading "Hollywood Princesses" that there are (and there's a few of them!), Lohan annoys me the most.

Part of this annoyance must be due to the fact that I didn't find her annoying two or three years ago. This is because she was making what I think is known in the Industry as GOOD movies - Freaky Friday (2003), Confessions Of A Teenage Drama Queen and Mean Girls (2004). Out of these three the best is Mean Girls - a savvy, intelligent high-school movie, something you don't see that often these days. And Lohan was very good in it; she wasn't brilliant, but she was very good.

So where has it all gone wrong, Lindsay, and why oh why oh why has it gone wrong? Her last film role was in I Know Who Killed Me (2007), a feature I don't think was even given the honour of a cinema release over here in Blighty, and which has earned her three Razzie nominations: two for worst actress and one for worst couple (apparently it's about twins or something, I don't know, I don't care).

And now, what's this I see? She has stripped nude to pose for New York Magazine - that's right, New York Magazine, not FHM or Maxim lads mags. It's all in tribute to Marilyn Monroe. Let me ask what might seem a stupid qustion, Lindsay: if you're posing for a tribute photoshoot of Marily Monroe, why are you doing it with no keks on? And honestly, can you really compete with the blonde bombshell to end all blonde bombshells? All About Eve (1950), Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953), The Seven Year Itch (1955), Some Like It Hot (1959), The Misfits (1961) etc. Why not choose an image from one of these iconic films instead of just using Monroe as a flimsy excuse to get your bongo drums out?

Disturbingly, I suspect there can be comparisons drawn between Lindsay and Marilyn however. Thing is, Monroe's obvious talent, which is plain for all to see in The Misfits, was wasted by a 50's studio who were intent on using her blatantly obvious sex appeal to sell movie tickets to a lot of blokes. She kept being typecast in the same old roles - no argument that she was great in them, but she was typecast in them. Now look at Lindsay - her career started the same way, as happens with all teen stars. But now I feel Lindsay herself is using her own party girl lifestyle to get the work she wants to do, which is just as an excuse to stay a step ahead in the media circus from the other "Hollywood Princesses" like Britney and Paris.

There may, however, be one saving grace for Lindsay in my books. Down on my list of rental DVDs is Robert Altman's last picture, A Prairie Home Companion (2006), which Lindsay has a small role in. If she is good in this - and I'm not willing to accept anything other than Very Good - then I'll give her another chance. Until then, put some clothes on and go to acting school!

Laters.

A Tiny, Meaningless Celebration

Just thought that I had to write something, because that way I could proudly say that I have now written 100 Blog Entries. Woo hoo!

Seriously, is this anything to be proud of? Those of you who are "avid readers" will know that I mainly use this blog as a form of stress relief when I'm aggravated about something. Is it really that interesting to read someone's rant? It doesn't seem it when I read back what I've written, especially seeing as how, on these damn library keyboards, I type so fast that I occasionally miss out a letter in a word, and so have to go all the way through it to make sure I've spealt it all right, and even then, when its published, I still find the odd wrong word, which annoys me even more. Whats up with that?

Still, it is kind of fun to have a little piece of the World Wide Web that is MINE, ALL MINE, and they can't take that away from me. Unless I ever write somthing that goes against the contract you have to sign (or click your mouse in the box to tick it in this case) to be able to write anything.

Not that I exactly know what it is I can't write, because, honestly, who actually reads that rubbish? Don't we all just read the first sentence and think Yeah, yeah before automatically ticking the box without reading it all. I'm not saying I do that with every single contract I have to sign - that would be both wrong and stupid. But here there desn't seem much point in wasting time reading when I could be ranting.

All I can do is guess at what I can't write about - I can't write fundamentalist, religious rubbish, I suppose, or anything that could be classed as terrorism or indecent. Though in the latter's case, I call to the witness stand Belle De Jour and her late blog, Secret Diary Of A Call Girl. I rest my case.

Ah, well. Here's to the next hundred blogs!

Laters.

I See Dead People

There's been a lot of fuss recently about the Ancient Egyptian Pharaoh Tutankhamen. First of all we saw his mummified face for the first time in decades. Now we have a huge exhibition of his treasures taking place at the O2 Arena which people have been queuing in droves to get tickets for. The same happened with the Terracotta Army earlier this year. I just have one question: why?

A couple of Saturdays ago I was in Stratford-Upon-Avon with a few friends doing a research project for a presentation we must do next week. This is where, in case you didn't know, William Shakespeare was born and was buried. Although I couldn't go into the birthplace, namely because of it being rather expensive, one of my friends and I went and did the next best thing, which was to go to the local church and see his grave.

It cost us 50p each at student process. We walked slowly up to the long velvet rope which lay as a barrier in front of the altar. There, second from the left, we saw the cold stone slap which underneath lay the remains of arguably the greatest writer ever.

And...that's it.

We weren't exactly expecting any kind of epiphany, but the fact is we didn't even get a hint of one! Oh look, a grave stone in a church. How exciting. What a flipping waste of money more like. I could have stayed outside the church and looked at all the other gravestones in the churchyard and not paid a thing! But because Shakespeare is considered so fantastic, so amazing, that you just have to go inside the church (which, coincidentally, is named on the sign as Shakespeare's Church) to see what all the fuss is about.

It is, point blank, a huge tourist trap. The only decent thing in Stratford is the RSC theatre, which is offering tickets at £5 for 16-25 year olds. Who wants to queue up for ages and spend vast quantities of money to see dead people' stuff (or dead people) when you can pay a fifth of the price and see something that actually meant something to them: a play, for example.

What? Me, a Struggling Writer, actually recommending a play? Never!

Laters.

Busy Busy Busy

So busy in fact that I cannot do much other than quickly type this and update this week's passage.

Laters.

The Book Of Face

Yes, I must admit now that I have finally joined the ranks of countless others and set up a Facebook account. I spent most of this morning trying to figure it out, as technology and me - well, we don't mix.

Still, at some point today I must remove myself from this chair, actually get out of my pyjamas and put some clothes on and clean. Yes, today is the day set aside for cleaning - a task I do not look forward to. It's not that I mind a little cleaning, you understand, but it's the state that the house is in at the moment requires a planned assault with military strategies and tactics.

How did it get to this situation? I'm going to raise a slightly guiltless hand and say that we've all been so busy this year that it really is one of those things we put aside. My social life, I'm happy to say, has improved greatly since I started taking more of an active role in what our CU does, but this now mean that I am out nearly every night of the week, and when I get home I am usually too tired to do anything other than cook, eat and collapse.

And it's the same for all of us. Sure, we could do more that would help us, but that still leaves me the problem of the bathroom and the kitchen to worry about.

Well, this is it - time to stop writing and grab those rubber gloves. If I don't make it, just remember these words from one of the truly great philosophers of our time:

"What's the point of all this cleaning? Are we so vain?" - Homer Simpson.

Laters.

The Early Bird Got Up To Catch The Early Worm...

...and then found that actually the Early Worm wasn't due to get up until two o' clock in the afternoon.

I have the first of my two exams today, and I made the mistake of thinking it was at 9am. So I got up nice and early, though was in a kind of a daze thanks to my old pal Morning Amnesia (TM). When I got to the University, however, I went to check which room the exam would be taking place in and saw to my utter delight - note sarcasm - that, actually, I needn't have got up when I did at all.

So I went food shopping instead. I ended up walking through Sainsburys pushing my trolley like a zombie shuffling around in Night Of The Living Dead. When I got back home it was only coming up for a quarter to ten. Nice.

Still, I guess I should make the most of it and use the time I have now to revise. My one nagging problem, however, is that this exam is taking place in the West Downs Centre, which is at the top of a very steep hill. It's at two in the afternoon, so I'll have to leave here at half one at the latest. This is, coincidentally, also the time when the sun will be at its highest. I will arrive at West Downs exhausted, hot, and sweating like a pig. And then I'll have to do a two hour exam. Oho, I know how to have fun, don't I?

Laters.

Eyes Of A Critic

This morning I caught up with the reviews of my favourite film critic, Mark Kermode. He was speaking his mind quite vividly on the third Pirates Of The Caribbean movie - basically, he hated it more than Homer Simpson hates a meal that doesn't contain any trace of meat. Now I as an amateur film critic, occasionally here but mostly on the glory of glories that is the IMDb website, know as well as the next man that a critic's view is his/hers and his/hers alone. Just because Kermode hates (and when I say hates, I mean he really, really hates) this trilogy of films, doesn't mean everyone else will. So for fun, and just because I can't really think of anything else to moan about today other than the weather down here in Winchester- erm, it's rubbish - here are a selection of reviews from the IMDb reviews page of the third POTC film, At World's End:

"I must say I was not convinced by this one" - Paul Gunnerman, Netherlands

"What an absolute relief it is to say that At World's End is not only a great successor to the past two Pirates movie, but also a movie that I might eventually be able to consider the best in the series!" - Simon Parker, UK

"I really like it very much - although someone may think it's too long, I say - you won't need to check the time because what's going on on the screen will keep you interested until the end." - sanuka, Russian Federation

"If not for Depp, and his always entertaining and fascinating character, and the lovely Keira Knightley this movie would be wholely miss-able. " - sportsguru19, USA

There you have it, ladies and gents. That old adage once again comes right to the forefront - everyone's a critic. Ignore everything people say to you and go and see it yourselves , make up your own minds whether its any good or not. Myself? I cannot wait to see it - I love the Pirates movies. Sorry, Dr Kermode.

Laters.

Mobily

So I go into my local O2 shop to buy a new mobile phone.
"Hello," I say to the man in there, "I'd like to buy a new mobile phone please."
He looks at me as if I'm talking a foreign language. "Ok," he says hesitantly, "what sort are you looking for?"
"A cheap one, " I say, "pay as you go."
"Uh huh," he replies slowly, "and a Sim card?"
"No, no," I say. "Just a new handset." I don't want a new Sim card: I've only just managed to memorise my mobile phone number!
He breathes in through his teeth. "Well, have you got your old phone?"
"No," I tell him. My old phone is lying on top of my printer at home.
"You see, I need to check the Sim card before I can let you have a new phone."
I'm slightly confused by this. "It's O2," I say, thinking he's got the wrong end of the stick.
He nods slowly. "Sure," he says. "But is it compatible?"
What?
"Erm, should be," I say.
"See, I can't let you buy a new phone until I'm sure your old Sim card is compatible. I can let you have a new phone and a new card; then you could have 300 free texts!" He grins at me; I half-expect his teeth to go ding and flash.
"I just want to buy a new phone," I say, feeling very muddled now.
"With a new card?" he asks, still grinning.
"No, just a new handset," I say.
His smile drops. "Can't do that until I've checked the old Sim card."
I take a deep breath and count to three. "Okay," I say, "I'll come back later with my old phone."
"Good, I'll be here all day," he tells me.
"Wonderful," I say, a huge fake smile on my chops. "Thank you for your help, good bye."
I'm out of there quicker than a rabbit on steroids.

Why is it so difficult to buy a new phone these days? I appreciate that technology may have moved on, bu my Sim card is only (just about) three years old! I shall try again later on in the week.

Laters.

Sod's Law

It's bloody typical, isn't it? The week after my birthday my phone decides to commit suicide and virtually die on me. After a rehearsal performance earlier in the day yesterday I found before going to bed that my phone had altogether stopped working. It refused to acknowledge my fingers furiously tapping away at the keys in a vain attempt to unlock my keypad. Thinking it was the battery I took the thing apart and then put it all back together again. Nothing. So I'm basically cut off from the world except for the one saving grace that is the world wide web. This should be interesting for a while but will get very annoying very quickly.

Yesterday morning was not that great either. The rain bucketed down outside, but I was determined to get to church on time. I braved the weather in my coat and was soaked to the bone. I spent the rest of the day in my pyjamas and dressing gown.

I suppose the one decent thing that happened yesterday was my shopping spree in HMV (ooh, that rhymes - maybe I can send it to them and they can use it as their new jingle!) Having been given a gift card for my birthday I was pleased to discover there was £15 on the credit card-like present. I was even more pleased when, after a lot of thinking, I decided to take advantage of the 3 DVDs for £20 offer. The result? Mission: Impossible 3, Little Miss Sunshine and The Prestige - and all I spent was a fiver. I think the words "get" and "in" are applicable here.

Where Wild Things Grow is nearing its completion of being re-edited for the fourth time (or is it the fifth? I've lost count!) I hope to finish it off today, though group work and a much-needed lecture on 18th century poetry and drama comes first!

Laters.