Never have I been forced to slow down my intake of a form of media more than I am doing right now with regards Dexter.
With just 3 episodes left to watch I am try to ration myself to one per month. This is the beginning of the end of 5 wonderful series of a TV show which is just the TV show I would have wanted to make given the chance.
For those who have no knowledge of Dexter – The synopsis is the story of a Miami Police Dept blood splatter analyst who also happens to be a serial killer. But….you can’t help loving the guy and being on his side. Partly because he only kills the bad guys and partly because he is just ……well, likeable.
All the while watching this you can acknowledge it’s a little messy, a little far fetched, your way off being drawn right in – knowing the charcaters are just characters. That said it doesn;t matter. It’s just great. It’s always sunny. Miami looks amazing. It’s full of dark humour.
They had better make some more…….and soon!
a teacher in India cost £5 per day and a footballer in England gets £80,000 a week!
you have to pay £4 to visit your sick Grandad in hospital for half an hour.
an African man with HIV can have as many wives as he wants
most countries have a (x) billion $ defence budget and Eddie Izzard runs 41 marathons in 53 days to buy malaria nets.
all the rich people live in thatched houses which were built for the poor.
Saddam had to be dealt with while Mugabe seems to free to act in an equally appaling fashion. Oil?
greed has ovetaken kindess and consideration.
all my bills are increasing along with corporate profits and shareholder wallets.
a friend of mine was quoted £4000 for 2 new teeth!
nurses earning a relative pitance for their dedication are attacked in hospitals daily.
It is cheaper to fly to Spain than get a train from London to (anywhere really!)
People feel the need to write about how mad the world has gone. 🙂
So another hero bites the dust. I grew up playing tennis and I still love tennis. Mr Agassi among others was a bit of a legend when I was a young fellow.
And now! Idiot – no need for him come clean and ruin the reputation of the sport that was too up its own arse to punish their golden boy.
Comes to something when you have to start taking Crystal Meth BECAUSE you have just pulled Brooke Shields! I bet there are a few thousand american boys who started on the Meth because they couldn’t get hold of Brooke.
I am sure Andre feels better for getting this off his chest (is that hairy – or another wig effect?). However – I can only ask WHY? What good can come of his sensational book now…..and surely he doesn’t need the cash……unless he is still stuffing a fortune up his nose?
The ladies got their way. They get the same money as the men. FAIR?
Mens singles final 7-5, 6-7, 6-7,6-3,14-16 Total games played 77! Over 4 hrs on court
Ladies singles final 7-6,6-2 Total games played 21. 1hr 20
Someone tell me at which exact moment the world went completely mental!
Let’s put that situation into everyday life.
In case you hadn;t noticed, I am a woman. As such I think everything is unfair.
As such I will now be working 1/3 or less as hard as you but you will pay me the same figure you earn for working 3 times harder.
If you have a problem with that tough because as I said I am a woman, end of!
Wow. It is now 24 days since the last time my lovely wife sat down to a feast of generic freaks, losers and wannabees either singing or dancing. This heaven can’t last.
Do you get the impression I don;t like these shows? Correct. They have hurt men – badly! Some saturday nights I feel like I am in a war zone under fierce attack, not from enemy soldiers but from crap reality shows based on a musical or a plan to line that idiot Cowell with more cash. At times they have been known to run from 5pm to 10.30pm with others being recorded on other channels.
Bring back Brucie and the Generation Game. That was proper family saturday night TV. Trouble is my kids now love the dancing and singing tosh!
What a mess. I think the issue is that only three men ever got away with dancing:
Michael Jackson (freak)
Oh and maybe that Len Goodman fellow but that was pre TV and now you notice he never dances, he just abuses the contestants, a lot of whom now seem to be celebrities!
So come on TV land show some backbone and if we can’t beat ’em then let;s at least have some shows middle aged man would enjoy:
Strictly how good is your 70’s Disco after 6 pints of Stella
Table Tennis on ICE
A few months back we got a dog. He’s great fun and on the whole a good thing. One downside is that the hoovering rota in our humble abode has gone from maybe two or three times a week to daily. So there I am hooving away and a conversation with a friend recently about the pro’s and cons of camping enters my thoughts. What a wierd link you may think. But here’s the thing.
With two kids and the dog and us we must make 20+ trips in and out the front or back door every day and each time bring a little of the outside inside with us. Then everyday we collect the little bits of outside inside the hoover, take them back outside and put them inside the bin. Then the binmen take them away inside a truck and bury them where they become the outside again.
So I get to thinking camping actually does makes some sense. Why not just live outside with the outside instead of having the outside going in and out all the time.
Except give it a few weeks and they’ll have us hoovering out the tent!
I live in a small and fairly remote village. For nine months of the year it is pretty muddy pretty much most of the time.
Why then does one of my neighbours insist on cleaning his car about every six hours! Ok – not quite that often but (and this is true) I have counted him or his wife cleaning their sweet little Fiat six times in the past ten days. Guess what it’s white! Great choice when your house is halfway up an old railway line. And if it looking dirty bothers one that much buy a brown one!
I guess every cul-de-sac or close or street has at least one or two similarly minded bonnet buffers. I have a friend who said a couple in his street used to clean their car together every Saturday in matching shell-suits….nice.
Don’t get me wrong – I too like a clean car but I only bother with a full on clean in summer when there is half a chance it may gleam for more than two hours before the heavens upon on it or a tractor pulls out in front of me with a mud sprayer on the back.
I am not sure why it bothers me that said neighbour is so auto dirt adverse. I think it must be because there are so many better ways to waste time – like staring out the window at your neighbour washing his car again!
Hey all. So I went to a gig last night at the great venue which is Brixton Academy. Looks great, sounds great, maxes out at 5000 so all round fine and dandy. Even the car was still there when we came out!
The gig was “The Enemy” whom I will refrain from mentioning in much detail in this post for fear of gushing like a big girl! (Big fan, big fan). Needless to say I think that they are in a champions league spot as far as live performances are concerned and as they are only about 14 they are surely destined for great things.
What I really wanted to write about is the role and the quality of the support acts at gigs in general.
Is there really any point in them? I think I have been to over 100 gigs and I have enjoyed the support act ……….twice! I also stuggle to think of any support acts I have seen whom I have ever heard of again.
There is a theory that they are there to warm up the crowd. Amazing how a venue that holds 5000 can have 83 people in the toilet, 4910 in the bar and just 7 watching the support first suuport band. For the second support band the general rule is to multiply by 3 – so 21 for the second act and so on. Based on that rule you would need about 12 support bands to equal 1 atmosphere of any sort.
Another theory is that playing as a support act is a stepping stone to fame and fortune. Not true – mainly because they are cr*p.
My theory is that awesome bands like say “The Enemy” choose the worst bands they know so that any fans of theirs who may be wavering can be heard on the way home to be saying “Tell you what Debs, compared to those other two bands The Enemy are f*c*ing awesome, shows you just hard hard it is”.
In December I smashed my collarbone into 5 pieces. Two weeks ago Lance Armstong tried to copy me – I think his was in 3 bits.
I bet that is where our similar experience ends. Lance won’t experience the sort of trip to the NHS I endured yesterday.
So I arrive at the hospital in good time to park the car – that means 30 mins early. I enter the fracture clinic where the receptionist may as well hold up a card with “I’ll be with you in a minute sir, I am just talking utter rubbish about how the admin process of this unit doesn;t work and the filing system is rubbish with a fellow Eastern European admin clerk”
Take a seat – 20 minustes.
“Mr Matt – you need an X-ray. Out of here right, right, right, right, straight across, left”
Arrive X-ray clinic 1. “You need X-ray clinic 2 love” “Out of here left,left, righ, left, across corrider, past white doors, through grey doors, left”
10 mins later arrive X-ray clinic 2 nearly knocking down a fairly old lass on the way in – oops. 20 min wait, “Mr Matt – into this cubicle please. Take all your clothes off and put on a gown”. For the record – last 3 appointments – No cubicle. No gown?
10 mins in the cubicle and knock, knock please come out. X-ray time. Why the gown I ask? “Hygiene”. Right hygiene. Because having an x-ray in the noddy wearing a gown must be more hygienic than standing in my suit less my jacket. Getting changed in a cubicle the size of a phone box which includes the stunning feature of a bin bag full of used gowns hanging on one wall and has the odour of a hundred sweaty and poorly bodies soaked into the cheap plywood surround must be sooooo germ free!
X-ray over and almost forced to use the sat nav on my phone! I work my way back to the Fracture clinic for my 2.10 appointment. It is now 3.00pm. Another 30 minutes wait and I get my 48 seconds with the consultant who manages a smile and a nod inbetween informing me that my shoulder will be part metallic for the rest of my days.
Did I manage a smile and a spring in my step as I left. You bet I did. How come? Cause I saw the lady I nearly knocked over coming out of X-ray over an hour ago just finding her way back to the Fracture clinic waving a hospital map and growling at Svetlana who said “I’ll be with you in a minute madam”
Until last week it had been 7 years since my last Oyster. Last time I had Oysters I washed them down with 10 pints of Guiness and a bottle of Champagne. I was very poorly.
This time I washed them down with 2 bottles of red wine. I wasn’t poorly but I was amazed.
Amazed at how horrid they are. Crayfish are nice. Lobster is nice. Mussells are nice. Oyster are pretentious.
Watching businessmen drowning “snotfish” in tabasco just to make them taste bearable, just to be one of the “aren’t Oysters great gang” would have made me chuckle loudly to myself –
had I not been one of the gang and gone home drunk with a tabasco stained tongue.