Monthly Archives: April 2012

Groezrock A-GO-GO

There’s a tinysmall chance you’ll get a blog tomorrow, but I seriously doubt it. I am, as I have done in the past, going to a place where I won’t have any internet. As such, I am out of the loop until about next Wednesday.

Well, unless they have wifi on the campsite, in which case YEAH TECHNOCAMP.

Tomorrow I am off to Groezrock. Well, actually I’m off to Belgium. I don’t even know what the plan is beyond ‘I get to Luton at some point and get in a recreational vehicle (“RV”), then we drive somewhere and end up in Belgium’.

I know at some point, though, we will end up in Meerhout, somewhere near Antwerp or in Antwerp or something to do with Antwerp or oh god I wish I knew Belgian geography.

Anyway, once in that place, we will then proceed to watch some bands, drink some drinks, eat some food and oh I’ve just remembered to get my ear plugs – have some sleep.

That’s not in italics because I’m being euphemistic – I mean to emphasise the fact that I will sleep this time around, unlike in Amsterdam.

Anyway, yes. I will see Belvedere. Regardless of all the other brilliant and excellent and wonderful bands I will see, this makes me stupidly happy. Even though other bands I will see will be better in so many ways, it doesn’t matter, because… just… Belvedere. Okay?


See you on Wednesday. Unless I see you earlier.

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What happens when you take ‘u’ out of drugs?

I saw something about drugs pop up in my usual newshounding today, so I thought I’d write something about that. Then, just before I started writing, I decided to go on Reddit where a video of Russell Brand talking about addiction was posted. On watching it, I realised it was far more eloquent and knowledgeable than anything I was going to write about the subject, even if it probably wasn’t particularly what I was going to talk about. So here it is – another reason I’m finding it hard to dislike Mr Brand:

Also, this makes it easier than writing while a few beers deep.

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I feel causes have caused me to stop caring as much. Alright, I still give a shit about things, but there’s just so much being thrown at you all the time it’s hard to care enough. And that’s not great.

It’s not just causes and things to get angry about, either. There’s Twitter with its constant “please RT missing person” things that I just see, barely register and move on to the next inane comedic photo to instead re-tweet to the world.

Well, my followers. Who aren’t my world. YOU ARE NOT.

The thousand and five emails a day I get from 38 Degrees or Avaaz that get glanced at and deleted. The billion causes popping up on social media every single day that get glanced at and ignored. The horribleness that they want to highlight – for good reasons, no doubt – that I just don’t want to trouble myself with.

And that’s the problem. It isn’t that I don’t care – though 38 Degrees seem to be working apace to make everyone in the world stop caring by sheer weight of emailing – it’s just that I have the choice as to whether or not I invest my time and attention in these things.

In a toss-up between aimlessly browsing funny and cute pictures/videos on Reddit for an hour or reading up on how another multinational corporation is in cahoots with the Tories to literally destroy a third-world nation (and by the way my friend’s gone missing), I’m going to go with the video of someone dropping ham on a cat’s face.

I feel like I should be sorry about this, but I’m not. I know I care. I know things matter. But it’s constant – it’s all the time. And that makes me retreat; makes me more selfish. It almost makes me stop caring.

Please RT to raise awareness.

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The can’t cannot club

Gather in an enclosed space to spend money on overpriced depressants so you don’t feel like yourself and so can talk to people you’d normally ignore on the street.

I danced a bit last night, mainly to oldish music. Dancefloor was empty bar us. Went for it, had fun. The rest of it? Nah. Not feeling it.

Sit in a dark corner, sip slowly, watch them doing the same shit you’ve been watching them do since you were 15 and started going to these places. Almost half my life sat in that corner – the locations change, but it’s always the same corner.

Bored of it. No joy in it. No other reason to go out beyond the music, and the music is shit everywhere in this town.

Of course there are other reasons to go out, but do they apply to me? Nah. “Why didn’t you just talk to her?” Seems a simple question. Seems a stupid question to me.

Can’t do it. Can’t talk. Can’t think. Can’t can’t can’t.

Can’t isn’t a word.


It’s not a sudden realisation. It’s not a sudden turnaround in my mood. It’s the same shit I’ve been (not) doing since I was 15 and started going to these places. Almost half my life can’t cannoting – the locations change, but I’m always can’t cannoting.

Whatever, on that count.

But I do wish somewhere would play music I actually liked around here. Don’t want to feel so much like I have to move home base just to get somewhere decent to sit in a dark corner can’t cannoting.

First person to attempt a “chin up” pep talk is first recipient of a brutal smackdown.

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War: it’s faaaantastic

To simply talk about it isn’t enough. If you weren’t there, you just don’t – can’t – know. They’ll tell stories, write books, maybe even film a movie or two, but they’ll never be able to truly know what it was like to be there, in the thick of it, boots on the ground, on April 20, 2012.

I was there and not even I can really put it across to you the horror, the heroism, the cowardice that I saw – and I’m only one man. I can only see so much. So much more will have passed me by; disappeared into the ether.

But I know one thing from my own war: I am a man. I am not afraid. I am unrelenting and brave. When it comes to it, I step up. I am the vanguard. I lead the charge. I inspire. I lead.

I wouldn’t say this lightly and if you know me you know I am modest to a fault. I wouldn’t even have cause to bring it up but, well – it was brought up for me. My efforts were rewarded and I think I’m right to be proud.

It was a hard war. A hard war we finished on the losing side of. Casualties were high. The dead will never be forgotten. But when the dust (and paint) had settled, they decided to give me a medal. Folks, I am The Ultimate Warrior:

Now sure, some might claim that maybe I was just given this because the guy running the place didn’t know who else to give it to. Sure it might have been because I got shot – at least visibly – more than other people did. Sure, it might be because I openly proclaimed to everyone “I got shot on the knob,” because I did. Sure, it might be because I’d actually shot this very guy even though he was a warden and only there to make sure people were abiding by the rules and not getting hurt. Sure, it might be that when he said “but you shot me!” I responded “you were in my way”.

Sure, some might claim all of those things, and they might claim that I don’t actually deserve this award, but… well, no, actually. They’d be right.

Still, I am The Ultimate Warrior. In your face, Jim Hellwig.

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A demonstration of my comedy excellence

It can be quite difficult coming up with hilarious comedy all the time. I know I make it look damn easy, but believe me – it’s not. It’s hard god damn work being this good. And consistent. We all know everything I write is hilarious.

As it is such a pain at times, I want to help everyone else in the world out by providing them with a few free-to-use punchlines they can do with as they please.

Well, as long as they’re not used in race-hate jokes or anything like that. Paedophilia jokes are fine, mind. They should fit most kinds of comedy and most situations, though, as I want to keep them unspecific and open for most anyone to use.

“But the problem with a loaf that size is it can’t be baked in a traditional oven!”

“Frankly, the sheer number of variables make it so this experiment just isn’t viable in the short term, but maybe if we could secure more funding it would be doable!”

“We’re sorry, your application to be King Of The World has been rejected!”

“It turned out wearing green trainers in the state of Wyoming wasn’t allowed on a Sunday, at least not in that particular building I was in at the time on that day at that time on that day!”

“The problem there being my name was Carlos and hers was Marina – and we all know what that means!”


I know it’s hard to believe just how malleable yet still hilarious I’ve managed to make these punchlines, but that’s because I’m amazing.

If you have any to add, please don’t – you’re just not as good at this as I am. I’m surprised I can even write this sentence through all the tears streaming from my face (the tears are from laughter, not because it makes me sad how brilliant I am).


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