Half Term Hijincks

So far, half-term week has been glorious. Things that haven't been mentioned on this blog yet include: visiting our friend Sarah at her gallery, both getting Nathan Barley-esque haircuts in Covent Garden, meeting up with Matt, Alex et al for the amazing Spurs V Arsenal game. Somehow ending up at a banjo playing convention with Alex, at midnight on the Charing Cross Road. I vaguely remember us promising to start a band, too. Having our good chums Mark and Mel visit yesterday was also a delight.

We're now off to spend the day at home in Harborough, before coming back to spend the weekend desperately trying to catch up with the planning and assignments we should have been doing all week. Sugar Loaf, here we come.

Happy Halloween!

Gareth

Brand on the run

The ridiculous reaction to the Brand/Ross scandal completely sickens me. Peter Tatchell (funnily enough, Russell Brand once revealed that he referred to a particularly effeminate handbag he owned as a 'Tatchell Satchell') has written a great article here. Being a massive fan of Brand's radio show, I feel like a bunch of outsiders have turned up and ruined my fun. Brand and Ross made a mistake, they apologised. It's taken a fortnight-long Daily Mail hate campaign to stir it up into the frenzy we see now. I did feel slightly sickened when I heard it, because there was a misogynistic undertone to the way Andrew Sachs' granddaughter was being referred to. Brand's major appeal has always been that he's on the side of the bullied, and his jeering exchange with Ross had the distinct whiff of bullying.

But it was a one-off.

It reminds me of the reaction  Pete Doherty gets when he arrives late to a gig. "Babyshambles' frontman acts shambolically." Isn't there a clue in the name? "Anarchic comedian behaves anarchically." 

My one fear is that without the radio show, Russell will lose the humbling influence of a weekly live knockabout, and concentrate on those awful Superbad-style Hollywood films that tend to get produced every five minutes. 

A weekly podcast, anyone?

Gareth

The Cliff Richard Amnesty

During the aforementioned meal courtesy of Jim and Laura (an extremely tasty three courses: carrot and coriander soup, risotto and tiramisu) Jim and I discussed the concept of the 'Cliff Richard' factor.

To explain, one of my most vivid childhood memories occured whilst cycling around Market Harborough fulfilling my paperboy duties. Once or twice a year, I'd notice a coach outside one of the small terraced houses. It was full of middle-aged/elderly ladies, brandishing official Cliff Richard merchandise: flags, T-shirts, banners etc. They never failed to attend Cliff's most recent outing at the NEC or Wembley. I remember the whole thing being organised by a delightfully charming lady called Diane, who sadly isn't around any more. At the time, I remember being so perplexed: Cliff Richard hadn't done anything - released a good album or single (Millennium Prayer aside) - for decades. So what was the appeal? Why would you continue to support someone whose best days were clearly behind them? In a sense, I already had my answer - the Cliff fans were having a laugh, getting away from it all for a day and just enjoying each others' company. Cliff was both essential to their enterprise and irrelevant.

As I've grown a little older, I feel like I can understand the Cliff fans more and more. For, although in my mind I'm an acerbic critic, a cutting-edge nihilist, a cultural magpie; in reality I have more in common with Cliff's coach party. Because there are some performers and bands who I feel have  given me so much pleasure in the past, that I feel they've earned my continuing support, irrespective of their current and future output.

The reason Jim and I were discussing this phenomenon was because I was defending Ricky Gervais latest performance in 'Ghost Town', and Jim was defending Peter Kay's recent X Factor parody. Notice in both cases I used the word 'defend'? I explained to Jim that I think Ricky Gervais has amused me so consistently, for so long now, that he's been added to my personal 'Cliff Richard list'. I explained my theory to Jim, and he suggested that he had similar affections for Kay. We were both completely unprepared to entertain the notion of criticising our respective 'Cliffs', purely because of their former glories.

For what it's worth, the rest of my 'Cliff list' includes the following:

- Manic Street Preachers (I must've been to around forty gigs by now, and plan to see them play at least once a year between now and the time I (or they) drop.)

- Frank Skinner (say what you like about 'Shane', it was full of great jokes)

- Seth MacFarlane shows (Charlotte was a Family Guy fan years before it became cool, and she got me into this when we first met. American Dad is just as good)

- The Simpsons/Futurama (I don't care what people say about later Simpsons episodes - the people behind these shows make us laugh every day of our lives. To sit through the sub-standard stuff is the least we can do)

There are always people waiting in the wings to join my 'Cliff list'. Russell Brand is probably the most recent addition. I'm not actually sure it's healthy to foster such a commitment to certain people, but I'd hate to just 'quite like' some things and be ambivalent towards others. Isn't that sort of attitude the reason why 'Hollyoaks' and 'Two Pints' continue to be made?

But I digress. Because here it is, the 'Cliff Richard' amnesty. To borrow from the Manics: This is my Truth Tell me Yours - this is your chance to declare your own list of people you support unwaveringly, despite the fact that the charts/popular criticism/common sense suggest you should do otherwise.

It'd be great to find out who your personal 'cliffs' are!

Gareth

The Purley Gates

Yesterday we visited our good friends Jim and Laura McRae. It wasn't easy, there was engineering works at their station so we had to get off at Purley. After a lovely meal we started to make our drunken way home.

My title suggests that this station was akin to the pearly gates, that this station too represented the entrance to heaven. Nothing could be more wrong.
11:30- Me and Gaz were not in the best shape mentally due to alcohol and argument. With our train into the depths of 'heaven' cancelled...we awaited salvation.
12:15- We boarded a train to Victoria, on our journey we were serenaded by a one armed, and very eloquent, tramp. He told stories of hidden foes, cold nights and a sharp surgeons knife.
12:45- Having resisted 'temptation' we traversed the system of night buses. By this time we had put aside our differences to help our survival. We stood close to share body heat and to reduce our exposed surface area to muggers.
2:55- Muggers fooled and £2 lighter we got off at the stop at the end of our road and literally ran home, giving the night back to the homeless, drunk and completely insane!

Char

"British" museum

Me, Gaz and Steve visited the British museum today for a whirlwind tour. The speed of which was dictated by how long Gaz could make it without food. He seems to have worms at the minute, either that or he has shares in Tesco express. Good for him, he will be the only one with money left in a few months.

Mista has graced us with a lot of his presence today. He's so gorgeous sometimes, i just want gobble him up cause gorgeousness must taste great! I'd love to be a cat, i would also sit around with smug self righteous looks on my face.

Char

The gag factory

Don't get me wrong - I lap 'em up. In fact, 'Dave' spends so much time in our flat, he feels more like a lodger than  a TV channel. But there's something gnawing away at me about most of Dave's shows (those comedy panel shows mainly, that originate on the BBC) something queasily cynical.

8 out of 10 Cats, Mock the Week, Would I Lie to You?, Never Mind The Buzzcocks, Have I Got News For You? Even Top Gear. Yes, sorry, Top Gear. I like all of these shows. Yet each time I laugh at them I get a pang, as though I've been manipulated, as though the laugh comes from my throat and not my stomach.

The issue I'm clumsily dancing around is the use of comedy writers. 

Now, I'm not so naive to have thought that these shows didn't use writers, but what galls me is how small the pool of 'talent' is from which these shows draw their comic hydration. Keep your eye on the credits the next time you watch any of these shows. I guarantee you'll see the name Ged Parsons. Others will include Fraser Steele, Jim Pullin and Pete Sinclair. 

It's difficult to articulate why I have such a problem. I guess it's comparable to hearing your favourite band play a cover version. I think that some of the panel show regulars  are amazingly talented, particularly Paul Merton, Frankie Boyle, Bill Bailey and David Mitchell. In fact, I like them so much, that I'd rather see them make the odd dodgy gag that falls flat (safe in the knowledge that the material is their own, and, hey, we're all human) than watching an endless stream of perfectly crafted comedy nuggets, never knowing whether it's actually their material or not.

The question we should be asking is, why aren't Parsons, Steele, Pullin et al comedians/panelists in their own right? Are they hideously ugly men? Do they suffer from massive crises of confidence, or have particularly bad speech impediments? Why is this comedy A-Team always so confined to its underground lair? And don't they have trouble sleeping at night, knowing that they've engineered a way for even, say, Anne Widdecombe or Sara Cox to seem funny? However much they're being paid, shouldn't this at least cause a crisis of confidence? Bear in mind, these people carve out their living through appearing to be: a) slightly left-wing, and b) cynical about celebrity culture.

As I said, my main problem is just how short this comedy shortlist is. If there were several writing teams, each competing for the best topical gags, wouldn't it make for fresher, more interesting shows? 

That's not going to happen, so here's my idea: a new panel show. It's called 'Have I got ugly, bumbling, stammering, cynical writers who need to claw back their credibility for you?' Each of these comedy masterminds can wear balaclavas to mask their repulsive faces, and each will have access to Stephen Hawking's voicebox, to save them actually having to speak. The show can be 10 minutes long, because there'll be no pretense of actually reflecting topical news stories - the lads can just reel off their jokes and get out of there. 

Carol Vorderman can host... but, wait! Who's going to write her jokes? Has anyone got Ged Parsons' number?

Gareth

Three weddings and a grave yard.

This is the first Saturday for a while where we've had the chance to do whatever we like, so how fitting it was that today we ended three weeks of beautiful weddings, the very start of peoples lives, with a trip to Highgate Cemetary, the very end of peoples lives.

We visited Karl Marx's grave, it reminded me of old set material from Dr Who.

It looks like the face of Bo.

Steve Barraclough has come over and we went to see the new film with Ricky Gervais in, Ghost town. Good flick. If i was a ghost i wouldn't hang around being in 'limbo', i would scare nasty people by making stuff float and i would go to museums and mince around the parts that mere mortals have to pay extra for, cause i just don't seem to have to time or the money to do it now.

Char

Throw another blog onto the fire

If you're interested, my previous attempt at a blog is here.

Gareth

Hastily splashed onto the screen

After a morning of reading through Ricky Gervais' brilliant blog, Char and I decided to create a blog of our own (one that was slightly less good, and featured less Emmy-winning).

There are a few reasons for writing.

Firstly, I like the idea of keeping in touch with our friends in a way that isn't just hastily dashed-off facebook posts, or hastily dashed-off text messages. Creating a hastily dashed-off blog is the way forward. Hopefully, this way friends can read it if they want to and if it's entertaining, and not just because they're obliged to reply to something. (At this point I ought to point out I'm the world's worst facebooker and constantly forget to reply to people. As if you hadn't guessed from the fact I'm writing a blog, I'm incredibly self-obsessed. Sorry.)

Secondly, I feel a certain sense of responsibility, having gone to so much effort and expense in moving to London, that I should actually 'do stuff'. The reason for coming here was to visit galleries, go to great gigs and watch the sort of films that wouldn't have been shown at the Kettering Odeon. And I hope that starting a blog will compel us to all of this stuff and occasionally type it up. Be lovely if you'd like to read it and see what we're up to.

I'm going to drop the pre-cursor at this point (thirdly) and say that I've always wanted to keep a diary. Earlier this year I managed to keep a diary every day for 3 months and it was great. Plus, it's no exaggeration to say that when I managed to write 500 words a day for my novel/PhD project, it was one of the happiest times of my life. There's something undeniably and unashamedly cathartic about writing regularly. Did I mention I was self-obsessed?

So, what's going to be on this thing? 

Who are you, and why are you asking questions?

I'm a device.

You're an idiot.

As well as a journal of what we're doing/reading/watching/listening to, it'd be great to share some songs, prose, poems, jokes if I ever get round to creating any of those things. I also hope to introduce regular characters (friends from London and from Leicestershire) so that you all get to know each other, filtered through the cruel conduit of my clumsy fingers.

One such character is our erstwhile lodger, Matt. Matt recommended this website. For that, we should all be thankful.

Gareth