What's this site all about then?

Moving on upmoving-truck

Well it's finally happening, I'll be leaving my palace in North Wales (I'm Welsh royalty don't you know) to move to a...umm...what's the correct term for it?...bijou apartment just outside of London.

It'll also means a big change in terms of how much free time I have on my hands as I'll be working a lot and doing more things socially than I normally do. Trust me that last one isn't hard; a blind hermit that lives in a cave has a better social life than me.

So this is just a bit of a warning, I won't be updating until at least next Tuesday (30th of July) and will be updating slightly more sporadically than usual. My passion is definitely still there it's just that I have to start incorporating other things into my life now.

I still love you guys! What? You doubt me? Fine, if you're ever in or around London email me and I'll treat you to a Chinese. See how generous I am?!



Theatre Darling!sweet-bird-of-youth

Look at me being all cultural and stuff. I went to the Old Vic. In London. To see a play! Not just any old play though, Sweet Bird Of Youth by Tennessee Williams. I know what you're thinking, "How could a play where nobody throws a pie or fucks a horse before stabbing it's eyes out be any good?" Well this one is.

First, for those new to this show, I'll explain the storyline (and I'll try to keep it brief). Arrogant young dude (Seth Numrich) struts around hotel room half naked while making various stupid phone calls all the while being subtly threatened by the local doc. Faded egomaniacal actress character (Kim Cattrall) wakes up more hung over than Charlie Sheen on an average Wednesday.

Said actress and dude then proceed to pyschologically dance around one another in such a crazy fashion that the audience is left in no doubt as to who they are: a washed up, drug addicted star who can't let go of her past glories who is sharing a room and a car with a hopelessly naive wannabe playboy with big ambitions (and an equally large sex drive) who also can't seem to let go of his past.

We then follow the young playboy as he tries, in vain, to impress everyone in his home town and win back his one true love by using money and trinkets manipulated out of the actress. He acquired these items by engaging that well known technique of shagging someone relentlessly until they give you what you want.

What he doesn't realise is everyone in the town now either hates him or considers him to be a joke. Cue various scenes featuring political rallies, drunken boasting, attacks, racist rants and allegations that the young playboy gave the love of his life womb rot when he was last in town (and her).

The show ends with the actress and playboy in the hotel room having switched places. He's now the drunk, drug addled loser who is so reviled in his home town that a gang are trying to track him down and cut off his winkie. She is now clear headed and reinvigorated when word of the success of her most recent film reaches her via telephonic communication.

As a parting gift the actress shows her first moment of humanity by offering to smuggle the playboy out of town before he gets the extreme eunuch treatment. Stupidly he declines because he's basically given up on life and become everything he didn't want to be; the embodiment of juvenile dreams that never had any solid foundation in reality.

So that's the story, now for the production. The scenery is quite simple with neo-classic pillars aplenty and gigantic, palatial windows. The architecture reflects the characters personalities in that it's desperately trying to portray a different time and in doing so imbue itself with some of the period's glory. The music is quite mournful yet subtle and clean, with no hint of vibrato or intense emotion. It behaves as little more than a framing device for the hollowness of the main characters and, in doing so, doesn't distract you from the dazzling performances.

Cattrall is completely captivating. She has the kind of stage presence that you can't teach, you either have it or you don't and this woman has it in droves. Any doubts critics might have had about her acting ability before the show are quickly steamrollered by the intensity and believability of her performance.

To his credit Seth Numrich keeps up with Cattrall every step of the way and holds the show together with subtle hints at his character's misplaced swagger and thinly repressed insecurities. He anchors the entire piece without once coming across as a caricature. The rest of the performances range from good to excellent, particularly Owen Roe who plays racist southern politician 'Boss' Finley with 'General' Midwinter levels of malevolence and Louise Dylan who's version of Heavenly Finley is so etherial and wisp-like she might as well be a bloody ghost.

As for the experience all I can say is it was a bit of a treat. I mean picture me; a simple Welsh boy watching a fantastic production in the world famous Old Vic Theatre. That I got to see such a well put together production (directed by the awesome Marianne Elliot) while everyone else was suffering through the misery of scorching summer temperatures made it all the better. Fuck you Britain! I got to see a great play while you suffered! mwhahahahaaaaaa!



Now this is a great idea!christmas-shop-truro

Holy merciful God it's hot. Way too hot. It's so hot I felt like dunking my head in a deep fat fryer just to cool down.

These kind of temperatures make everything you do a chore and usually lead to people making decisions they wouldn't normally consider if it weren't baking.

For example, you'd never see someone lying down on the pavement in the middle of a high street if it was winter. You also probably wouldn't see groups of ginger people sticking to shaded areas like vampires in the winter.

On top of that type of madness we get to experience the added bonus of heat that seems to be far worse than foreign countries because we are much more concerned with appearing sweaty in public than we do when we're on holiday.

If only there was a place we could go to take our minds of the unrelenting heat wave that's currently roasting the entire nation. An all encompassing environment that makes you forget where you are and what you're doing. A destination that takes you to another place in time that's hopefully less annoying than the "It's A Small World" ride.

Sizzling summer temperatures will not stop the opening of a Christmas shop.

The shop, in the heart of Truro's shopping centre in Cornwall, is stocked with advent calendars, cards and nativity sets.

It is hoped that customers will snap up the festive items despite the hot weather - and five month wait until Christmas.

The shop is leased by Truro Cathedral and will be opened later by The Dean of Truro, The Very Reverend Roger Bush.

He insisted that the message of Christmas should be shared "for the whole year".

"Some people will find this a difficult decision to understand," the Dean said. "But the cathedral has to generate profits from its commercial arm, the shop and the restaurant, in order to help finance its core activities of worship, education and outreach and to help keep this beautiful building open.

"The positive way in which the Christmas Shop in the Cathedral has been received in the past five years leads us to believe there is a genuine demand for these quality religious products.

"There is nothing about our Christmas shop that is exploitative in any way and our products speak directly to our Christian faith. The message of Christmas - that God was made man in the person of Jesus Christ - is a message for the whole year and one that we want to share."

Yes great you're spreading the word of God and helping boost funds for the Cathedral and all that Jazz, that's great, few questions though: does it have snow? Is the shop cold all year round? Are there merry folk dressed as elves, reindeer and jolly old St. Nick? Because if the answer is yes to all of those then I'm going to sublet a section of the shop floor all year round and just bask in it's cold glory. I'll be a great addition to the place; the permanently smiling ginger snowman.


Source: pa.press.net


What the fuck happened?!futurama-mad-hatter

I promised you an explanation as to what's been going on for the last week and here it is: everything.

I can't quite remember it all since my memory is so crap and so much has happened but the major events were,

1. I got a tax rebate which was very timely since I was about to become less well off than that homeless guy you see who hasn't got the energy to beg for food, he just sort of makes zombie noises until you run away terrified.

2. The people renting my apartment decided to move out, leaving me in the position of having an earning potential of £0 a month.

3. That potentially disastrous situation was averted by one of my relatives taking the opportunity to move into my place for a short period of time.

4. Cool Edit Pro became an unreliable bitch and slowed the editing of Broken Pencils Episode 5 down to a crawl. I'll have it finished soon hopefully.

5. After that piece of good news I got the extra bonus of a job interview, which I aced, of course. I'm just so damn charismatic and convincing that they were under my spell within seconds of talking to me, plus I'm handsome...and I begged a lot, boy did I ever beg. It was kind of pathetic really.

As a result of that last one I'll be moving, so the website might be a little up in the air for a while. Please bear with me while I move into a tiny apartment that will allow me to save up money for a mortgage and possibly a better laptop. Believe me all this messing about is for the greater good (the greater good).



Inconsiderate Travellers #33: The Sweatbox Editioninconsiderate-travellers-book-cover-simon-pegg-autobiography-coca-cola

So it's been a pretty insane week where lots of things I've taken for granted changing. There have been dizzying highs and pretty bloody annoying lows but all in all my life has changed for the better.

The details of the various elements of my life that have been shifting around will be outlined in tomorrow's update but now back to the main attraction.

It was a warm, sunny day when I was on my way back to North Wales from London. I probably should have been wearing something more appropriate, but I thought I was going to be ok in smart trousers and a long sleeve shirt because all trains these days have air conditioning. Well, they're supposed to at least.

I was fine until I got on my Arriva connection at Birmingham International which, at 3 hours, was the longest leg of my entire journey. When the train from Aberystwyth pulled into the platform people fell out of it in a state of undress that you usually only see at illegal raves. One old woman had to be helped to a bench. Even a blind cyclops would have seen the warning signs.

Sure enough when I got on the carriage I was immediately hit but the unmistakable stench of body odor and 100 degree heat. Apparently the onboard air con had blown a fuse and the little openings at the top of every other window were doing virtually nothing to remedy the situation.

So me and a full compliment of travellers had to suffer through hours of scorching onboard temperatures that reached higher peaks than the very summery weather outside. There were various attempts to fix the problem at major stations, all of which failed and just delayed the journey even more, prolonging our sweaty agony.

In the end I resorted to tearing the front off the book I was reading (Simon Pegg's autobiography Nerd Do Well) and using it as a fan. I tried to keep hydrated but the trolley had run out of water by the time it reached me, so I had to buy the last Coke which was so warm it might as well have been fizzy sulfuric acid.

Basically I had a thoroughly miserable journey, all thanks to Arriva's useless line of train carriages that seem to have more faults and problems than any other major company. The only saving grace was that I managed to amuse myself for hours by giving Simon Pegg Mickey Mouse ears using my ridiculously oversized Kanye West style sunglasses. Maybe I was laughing so much because I had sun stroke, who knows, whatever the case that shit was funny at the time.



You heartless bastardthe-ring-scary-ghost-climbs-through-tv

I'm always quite suspicious of practical jokers, it's ok playing the odd joke on people once in a while but the kind of folk who make it their goal in life to fuck with those closest to them really do seem to have some deep routed problems.

Personally I just don't have the time or the energy to plan a massive prank. I have multiple hobbies, work and other things I'd choose to do over setting someone up for a Jackass style humiliation, I suspect just about everyone else over the age of 18 does to.

So when you think about it, the kind of effort that has to go into an elaborate practical joke is not that dissimilar to planning a murder.

Just a word of warning: if you know someone who likes these kind of practical jokes who then confesses to you that their new hobby is shooting stray dogs you might want to watch them a bit more closely from now on.

Anyway, dark predictions of potential serial killers aside, here's a video of a guy scaring the living shit out of his girlfriend by making her believe a ghostly figure is coming out of her TV screen. Presumably he did this because they watched The Ring together, she got scared, and he noted her reaction as good material for a future prank. Sick fuck.



The SnowPisser SnowPiercer is heresos-snow-man-pissing-piss

So it's film time again and this time I'm staying in the realm of Summer Blockbuster madness but looking at a film with a substantially smaller budget (just $39 million) and an interesting premise.

The world is fucked, only not zombie apocalypse fucked, we're talking major climate disaster fucked. Amazingly some people survived because they were on a train (that, I assume, had some sort of super insulation) at the time and have now set up a fully functioning society within the confines of the rattling steel beastie.

From what I can tell by watching the trailer it's kind of like Les Miserables meets The Source Code, or maybe Upstairs Downstairs meets Under Siege 2...or maybe Animal House meets Sex In The City 2, I dunno really.

All I can tell you is the class division thing seems hilariously ham-fisted, the budget was well managed by sticking the whole film on a train (a stroke of genius) and it's got John Hurt in it. What more could you want?! More? Ok people punch each other a lot, sold yet?



I wonder what the first date was like?woman-marries-bridge

Australian Artist Marries Bridge. That's the sort of headline I dream about finding when I sit down to write these things.

Not only does it give me carte blanche to go as weird as I want with theories as to how these two met (MamaCassDoublesWhoFancyBridges.com maybe?) but I also get to make fun of the most ridiculous part of that sentence: Australian Artist.

Good vibrations led one smitten woman to marry a bridge.

Jodi Rose, an Australian artist who travels the world recording the vibrations of bridge cables for her “Singing Bridges” music project, knew it was true love the first time she laid eyes on Le Pont du Diable, a 600-year-old bridge in Southern France.

On June 17, the intimate affair was held at the entrance of her groom with 14 guests in attendance, including the mayor of Saint-Jean-de-Fos, a neighboring town. The beaming bride kept it traditional on her not-so-traditional wedding day, wearing a floor-length ivory dress and carrying a beautiful bouquet, Oddity Central reported.

Though their union is not legally recognized in France, Rose said it's just as strong as any other marriage.

“While I respect those whose romantic and sexual feelings are oriented towards objects, mine is a symbolic affair, a pagan / animist view of the spiritual vibration in everything,” she wrote on her blog, Bridgeland “He understands that I love other bridges — and men — ours is a love that embraces the vagaries of life, as materialized in the swirling currents of the river that flows beneath his magnificent body.”

Their love certainly has a strong foundation, but let's hope the bridge feels the same about the open relationship.

The article has taken enough pot shots at this crazy load of bullshit already but let me just point out one or two strange things they seem to have ignored:

1. How is it that this woman can afford to travel around the world recording the sound of bridges? That could be the very definition of a complete waste of money.

2. How many net curtains were stolen from the town to make that wedding dress? It's the height of summer, those poor people won't be able to block the light out any more thanks to her.

3. Her assertion that their love is symbolic, pagan and animist (whatever the hell that is) is immediately undermined by her admitting that as soon as this attention seeking exercise is over she's going to seek out the nearest penis she can find to satisfy her none symbolic urges. She'd better hope she finds someone with poor eyesight, because her brick and mortar husband might not mind the hairy arm pits but I doubt any of the local men will find it sexy. Then again she is in France.


Source: The Huff Post


Flying rat bastardschris-brown-seagull-attack

Anyone out there who isn't blinded by their hatred for the right wing red tops will tell you that it can be a bit of a chore reading The Guardian.

The news items they focus on can sometimes feel like an excuse for a rant on a random topic that's been brewing in the minds of the frustrated novelist hacks they loosely describe as journalists.

As a result of this type of journalism The Guardian's team of scribes (apart from Charlie Brooker who is one of the greatest satirists of all time) often come across as pseudo intellectual snobs that are only paying lip service to the difficult stories they're covering.

Then again, they sometimes write stories about seagulls going ape shit in a way that Alfred Hitchcock so chillingly predicted in The Birds.

The Royal Mail has halted deliveries on one Cornish street because of gull attacks on postmen. But with the birds thriving in urban areas, we can only expect more such stories involving these heavily armed birds.

It's no joke, being attacked by a seagull. Pensioners have been hospitalised, blood gushing from cut heads. Others have been knocked to the ground, breaking bones. Small dogs have bled to death, children's lips been sliced open, and an elderly man died of a heart attack following a particularly vicious assault in his back garden (3). News that the Royal Mail has temporarily halted deliveries to an otherwise peaceful Cornish Cul-de-sac because of the danger should come as no big surprise; it's happened before.

A diving herring gull is a missile: special attack talon on the heel, razor-sharp two-inch beak, 1.4-metre wingspan, more than a kilo of angry bird travelling at 65kph. No wonder there's blood. And there are more and more of them, at least in built-up areas: Britain's urban gull population – thriving on takeaway scraps, open-topped litter bins and landfill sites to scavenge from, and wide ledges and flat rooftops to nest on – is growing by 20% a year. Seagulls can live for up to 40 years, and their survival rate in cities is 95%.

65 kilometers per hour huh? Wow, I wonder how fast that is in miles per hour, you know, the standard unit of measurement for velocity in the UK. Fucking Guardian. The rest of those statistics would seem pretty intimidating if it weren't for the fact that, at the end of the day, they're only bleeding birds.

Just to be clear I'm not advocating animal cruelty, merely Evolutionary muscle flexing. I live in a town that's blighted by seagulls; they pinch peoples food, harass the elderly and take advantage of moronic tourists who feed them, which is the wildlife equivalent of pouring cooking oil on a fire.

I have a solution, you're probably not going to like it but it's worked for me in the past: fight back. When I was 20 I had food snatched out of my hand by a seagull in the middle of the street, the cheeky bastard even had the gull gall to eat my previously delicious sandwich in front of me. Did I cry? Did I act shocked and appalled? Did I bemoan the Council's lack of control of the situation? No. I punted the grey and white shit 6 feet in the air. Guess what? It immediately flew away from the high street.

More recently I went for a romantic walk around a park only to be stalked by a male goose and his harem of ladies (apparently all geese are Mormon). This went on for 90 minutes until we decided to leave the park in search of some grub, only to be confronted by the big bollocked goose king. The awkward sod wouldn't move out of the way of the exit because he'd decided that scaring us was the best way to protect his ladies. This went on for 5 minutes until, seeing my girlfriend move behind me out of fear, he decided to charge us.

Again do you think I flinched? Ran away screaming? Flung my date in his path so I could escape? Nope. In a rare moment of bravery on my part I charged full force at the goose and chased it off. I had every intention of kicking it's head in.

Just because these sods are protected by various foundations, trusts and Royal chef's doesn't mean we should sit back and let them attack us. If an aggressive animal (that is a direct descendant of a vicious type of dinosaur) is threatening you with actual bodily harm show it who's boss. There's a reason we are the dominant living creature on the planet other than the fact that we have opposable thumbs and the ability to gossip: we kick arse when it needs to be kicked. Darwin's got your back and so do I.


Source: The Guardian


Yay! Movie Time!hell-baby-poster

So today I saw World War Z which was perfectly serviceable entertainment with the added perk of Brad Pitt killing zombies. I know a lot of people have said it wasn't as good as it could have been but I tend to ignore their opinions most of the time because they're the same dickheads that complained about Man of Steel.

People, I cannot stress this enough: if you reach a certain age and still allow your hopes to be built up every time a summer blockbuster gets massive hype then you deserve to be disappointed over and over again. You know why? Because you're a fucking mug.

Anyway back to my original point. After watching World War Z I'm now in a film mood (unlike Thor who is never in a gaming mood so I would imagine he's not much of a film fan either) and not just any old film, oh no, some sort of weird combination that I will enjoy immensely in spite of of what critics and idiots might say.

So I've decided to feature a trailer for Hell Baby, a horror comedy which has a few things going for it.

1. It's produced in part by Darko Productions, famous for cult classic Donnie Darko (and absolutely nothing else).

2. It features the people behind the massively underrated Reno 911.

3. It has the coolest movie poster I've seen in years.

If that isn't enough reasons for you to see this then I don't know what else I can do to convince you to see it. Ummm...I'll be your best friend forever if you watch it? Still not enough? Fine, I'll spring for a takeaway. Happy now you awkward bastard?


Because there's more to life than hyperbole, picking sides and charging someone £50 to email a person solely to find out if they'll vouch for them or not. Why don't Estate Agents trust people anymore?!
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