Hate Songs in E Minor

On Monday I went to the cinema to see 127 Hours, it was OK, a bit like an extended pop video, just like all of Danny Boyle's films are,and if you know what the ending is already you are pretty much just waiting for it to happen. I thought it would have made a better documentary, given that Aron filmed himself as he was trapped. Anyway, being in the cinema got me thinking, I was surrounded by arseholes as usual. Cinemas seem to be full, these days, of cunts that don't know how to behave in cinemas. What do I mean? Well everyone that goes to the cinema seems intent on stuffing themselves so full of sweets and popcorn and nachos(!), it's fucking disgusting. Just because you've left your house to go and see a film doesn't mean that you have to ram as much sugar and saturated fat down your fucking mouth as possible. I don't sit at home watching telly whilst shovelling hand fulls of jelly tots in my gaping maw, do I? People always buy far too much as well, as I'm leaving the place I always see massive amounts of left over food all over people's seats. There's enough food left over from the average viewing to feed the five thousand. FUCKING EYES TOO BIG FOR YOUR BELLY! SAVE YOUR FUCKING MONEY NEXT TIME, YOU FUCKING ATROCIOUS REPTILE!!

I need more cake to get me through Avatar

Not only that but people sit through films discussing them, you're not BARRY FUCKING NORMAN, SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND LET THE REST OF THE CINEMA ENJOY THE FILM!!! Can't they keep their thoughts to themselves for two hours? Does the rest of the room have to endure their verbal diarrhea?

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!!

These things are not the only things that get me mad about the cinema at Centretainment. The ceiling lights in the picture house are off centre. I notice it every time I go. It makes me mad. Right, listen, the ceiling is made up of lots of what appear to be two foot by two foot square tiles. There are three rows of lights running from the back of the room to the front and these are embedded in the tiles. But they're not embedded in the centre of the tiles, rather they are haphazardly placed within the surface area of the tile. This begs the question, which came first the tiles or the lights? If the lights were there first it would explain why they are off centre from the tiles. But if that's the case, then what was there before the tiles? What held the lights up? And just why was whatever it was removed to make way for the tiles? If the tiles came first, you'd think that the electrician who put the lights in would have centred them in a tile, keeping an aesthetic within the confines of the movie theatre. Also, the lights are not even equally aligned down the ceiling. One of the rows is closer to the wall than it's opposite number. It's like the whole thing was designed by a gang of retarded monkeys with no hands. SERIOUSLY, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?? Is it all there just to try to fuck with my mind? Am I being toyed with by Centretainment, is this all just a massive psychological game to see how long I last before my mind shatters into a million pieces?

You are literally blowing my mind...

Berny and I were chatting on site the other day when he asked the question 'what's your favourite love song?' Given that Berny is a Punk and still thinks it's 1976, I would have thought his idea of a love song would be something along the lines of Bell-End Bop by GBH it quite surprised me when he said his favourite love song was 'Hello' by Lionel Ritchie. This was because a girl he once knew had given him the single as a sign of her affection. Being the little Rat Scabies punk he was he placed the disc upon the turntable, allowed the opening bars to begin then promptly threw the fucking thing out of the window. This song is not only hilarious for that reason, watch the video, at about three and half minutes through, Lionel, the protagonist calls the woman of his dreams. She's blind, not only does he call this vulnerable young woman in the middle of the night but he waits nearly five full seconds before saying anything. All she can hear is his heavy breathing down the line, then he bellows 'HELLO!' at her. The poor girl must be frightened out of her wits. He may as well be saying 'I'm outside your house and can see you. Get ready cos I'm coming in and I've got a knife!' Later about five minutes into the video she sculpts a clay head that is supposed to look like Lionel, it turns out more like one of the heads on Easter Island. But she is blind after all...

The crops are failing! Raise another statue for the Gods!!

Berny also asked me what my favourite Gay Anthem was, my vote is always in the YMCA camp (don't excuse the pun...). Berny's was something by Kylie. There was a silence for a while until Berny broke it by asking what my favourite heterosexual song was. I told him Sniper At The Fag Parade by Meat Shits.

Can I get this at my local HMV?

I'm moving to York tomorrow, the house doesn't have internets connection yet so there may not be any more postings for a wee while. We'll see how we get on.

Fuck you I won't listen to what you tell me

Last night I was going to write about my reactions to Rage Against the Machine's Christ's Mess win in the number one UK charts slot, but in the cold light of morning I can't be bothered as it has been covered so much elsewhere, it's just enough to say: IN YOUR FACE SIMON COWELL! So what I will do instead as we head speedily towards that inevitable festival of arguments, disappointing presents and burnt turkey is to offer up a few more pictures of gaudy light displays that have been spotted around my area.


This little beauty sits on the edge of a duel carriageway, there are frequent pile ups outside the house due to the distracting nature of the lights. You will notice a few features, one of which is the parachuting Santa on the wall. This is a now common theme of Christ's Mess light displays. When I was a child Saint Nick moved around the world in a reindeer pulled sleigh. This, it seems, has been superseded by a winter paramilitary operation not unsimilar to the French Foreign Legion paratroops dropping on Dien Bien Phu. A fully armed Father Christmas smashes into your rooftop throwing stun grenades to keep the children subdued whilst he distributes presents and drinks the sherry left out for him the previous night.


I apologise for the blurred nature of this photo, but when I lifted the viewfinder to my face the blinking lights gave me an epileptic fit like when playing on a Nintendo for too long. When I came to, the sun had risen and I couldn't get another photo of the GLORY OF CHRIST'S BIRTH DEMONSTRATED THROUGH THE MEDIUM OF GLARING LIGHT. You can just see it, but this one has several figures in the garden; angels and Santa's parade around and stand to attention like some winter themed dwarf Nuremberg Rally. The light from this display was so bright and focused that it actually burnt a scar onto the face of the moon when it was first turned on.

There is always one that outshines the rest, please, don't excuse the pun, and this one is it. Not only is the house bedecked with intense lights, but they have spilled out onto the roof of the garage. Every available spot is taken up by a glittering display of non-existent wealth. This display burns brighter than Betelgeuse and is now classified as a Class O stellar body. No human eye can withstand the intensity of the light. Even standing within 100 yards of this house can result in massive tissue damage through third degree burns.

This is the kind of Christmas Light Display I like...

It's also this time of year that we get the hackneyed literature themed Great War Christmas truce stories wheeled out. My friend sent me the following passage from a memoir he'd just finished reading, the date for 25th Dec. 1914 reads like this:

'We awoke to the sounds of carols coming from the German trenches, we recognised Silent Night, and we were reminded of the day as the songs drifted across the cold fields. The Hun shouted to us, 'Hey Tommy, sing with us!' Of course, they shot the bloody hell out of us the day before, so our boys replied with a heavy barrage of rifle fire. Hostilities continued for the rest of the day.'

Happy Christ's Mess

Ego Sum Lux Mundi

Last night was the traditional turning on of the Christmas lights in the village, that along with the traditional burning the effigy of Baby Jesus in a giant Wickerman. Since nailing the fucker to a cross didn't work and he rose from the dead, the village committee decided it would be better to ritually burn him. But only after a load of naked Maypole dancing and Drawing Down the Moon of course... We're nothing if not proudly Pagan here in South Yorkshire.

O, Lord! O, Jesus Christ!

We duly trudged through the six feet of snow to the village centre along with what seemed like the entire population of the village and awaited the light up. As we were waiting Whiston Brass Band entertained us with their renditions of what sounded like Christ's Mess tunes. But with the smashing noise from all the bottles flying at them it was difficult to pick out any particular tune. Mind you the mosh pit that kicked off down the front seemed pretty fierce. Gypsies had gathered on the outskirts of the crowd and were fleecing people like there was no tomorrow with rat poisoned candy floss and cuddly toys stuffed with knives. Then Seven O'clock rolled round and the Methodist church up the road smugly lit up their crucifix while the organisers faffed around trying to find a socket for the plugs in the centre of the village. With the sockets located the lights came on and the crowd released a community 'Ooooh!'. Myself and the family beat a hasty retreat to the local pub to celebrate Festivus before the crowd turned ugly and the whole thing descended into a drunken orgy of violence as it does every year. The rest of the night is pretty blurred, the one thing I do remember is doing a multicolour yawn into the toilet at some ungodly hour, so I must have had fun I guess...

Whiston before the lights... Very Dull...


Whiston after the lights... Still Dull...

Speaking of Christ's Mess and lights, it appears to be that time of year that the great unwashed, terminally unemployed and assorted peasantry decide to try to kid you into thinking they have money that they don't have with vulgar displays of material wealth. Here are a couple of examples from around my area. I shall try to find more to show you as the Season to be Jolly rolls on...


This is as close as I could get to this one, but the glare is still apparent through the trees. The garden was full of lights as was the three walls of the house.


As shown here, this is the front of the same house. The lights from this house were so bright, as I drove towards it I had to avoid a four car pile up that had been caused by the glare from these lights.


This house was over the road from the previous two photos and if there was a neighbourly competition going on, then, boy, these guys were losing it. As I was taking this picture a man appeared from the house next door and aggressively asked me why I was taking pictures of his house. The unemployed and down trodden obviously have a lot to hide. I told him I was taking pictures of the lights cos I liked them and this seemed to sway his anger. So never say I don't risk my life for your entertainment. It was just like combat photography, I tell thi. I think it must have been what Robert Capa was going through on the Normandy Beaches.

Closer to home I found these beauties:


Yes, even in a fairly affluent area people still feel the need to show off their material wealth. When the owner of this little display turns on the power the lights of Sheffield dim for a second. The National Grid records a flicker not unlike when people turn on the kettle during the advert break of X Factor.


Note the tasteful placing of the Santa statue in this cornucopia of Christmas themes. Nothing says how much you like Jesus' Birthday more than a fucking eight foot plastic Santa. The lights burning in the bedroom window will ensure these people don't get a wink of sleep during the entire Festive period.

And finally, here is the Motherlode:


The light from this display was so bright that I burned an image of it permanently onto my retina when I looked through the view finder of my camera. It is like staring into the centre of the sun. The light from this house confuses aeroplanes attempting to land at Leeds/Bradford Airport. Along with the Great Wall of China it is the only other human structure that can be seen from space. I have shown this house before in an older blog I used to write, but it appears that it gets bigger and brighter with every passing year. The trumpeting angel is a new, and some may say, tasteful, addition to the display. It really brings home the true story of Christ's Mess. Nothing truly says JESUS like a massive electricity bill come January.