Sunday, 25 December 2011
Fuck Christmas
I hope all you got for Christmas was a dead rat in a box. I hope your Christmas turkey was riddled with listeria. I hope your house burnt down and all your possessions with it. Fuck Christmas and Fuck You.
Thursday, 22 December 2011
King Kong merrily on high
I was at the pub quiz last night and as it is close to Christ's Mass, it was a Christ's Mass themed spectacular. I'm normally above such base degradation, but in this instance each team had to sing Christ's Mass carols at the interval of every two questions. We were all given a song sheet with the lyrics on and we ended up with Once in Royal David's City. 'Fuck that!' we three said as one 'We'll do Tannenbaum. We'll do Tannenbaum, in German.' Nathan wrote out the words, since he'd spent the week learning them and when it was our turn we belted out the ditty.
It went rather well, except of the three of us, two had shaven Neo-Nazi style skinheads and I was wearing my Tiger Tank t-shirt. Added to this Nathan's Seig Heiling posturing and also adding the last line' The Fatherland will rise again!' to the song and it was like the Bürgerbräukeller Putsch and Kristalnacht all rolled into one!
The night ended with each of the teams having to sing a line from the Twelve Days of Christ's Mass. We had Twelve Drummer Drumming. I like this song as it has nothing to do with religion and you can belt out
Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive Gold Rings!!
As the the entire pub did, every time it came round...
I spent today in a blasting icy wind on a hill in Huddersfield trying to hold onto the archive, directing Nick where to put his survey rod and fighting off a hangover caused by too many Roosters.
We do what we want, and we do it with style...
It went rather well, except of the three of us, two had shaven Neo-Nazi style skinheads and I was wearing my Tiger Tank t-shirt. Added to this Nathan's Seig Heiling posturing and also adding the last line' The Fatherland will rise again!' to the song and it was like the Bürgerbräukeller Putsch and Kristalnacht all rolled into one!
C'mon Adolf! Sing louder!!
The night ended with each of the teams having to sing a line from the Twelve Days of Christ's Mass. We had Twelve Drummer Drumming. I like this song as it has nothing to do with religion and you can belt out
Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive Gold Rings!!
As the the entire pub did, every time it came round...
I spent today in a blasting icy wind on a hill in Huddersfield trying to hold onto the archive, directing Nick where to put his survey rod and fighting off a hangover caused by too many Roosters.
Monday, 19 December 2011
Thursday, 15 December 2011
Nail Him!!
So, there I was, up to my elbows in medieval riverside deposits trying to find a nonexistent revetted friary quayside, when my mother rung me. She said 'I've got something to ask, but you're going to go mad.' So I steeled myself and asked her what it was. She said 'me and your dad are going shopping and wanted to know if there was any DVDs or CDs you wanted for Christmas?' She is right, I did go mad. And why? Well, quieten the fuck down and let me explain.
This year for Christ's Mass I, like Greece, implemented austerity measures in the Sotheran household. I made everyone else sign up to the idea that we would only spend £25 on each other (give or take a few quid) and we were not allowed to ask one another what we wanted. We would each have to go out and buy presents for one another that we thought they would like or appreciate and the resulting presents would be a surprise. Why did I decide this?
Well last year everyone made lists of stuff they wanted and this was the result: Both myself and my brother bought the same fucking book for my mother. It cost the better part of £20 and my copy has been sitting unsold on EBay for the last year. My brother and my mother both bought me a CD which I already had (I'd forgotten this when I made the list). My brother bought me a DVD that was the wrong region for my player, so had to be sent back. It got farcical.
This is my major problem with Christ's Mass. I love winter, but I hate this build up to the conjectural birth date of a necromancing Iron Age cabinet maker. By eliminating the need to make lists for presents I wanted I had managed to eradicate the stress of the build up towards the BIG DAY!!! Also I'm not seven years old and don't get hyper excited about the prospect of whether I'll be getting a Scalextrix or a Lego castle set. It was getting more and more difficult to think of things I wanted for Christ's Mass than it was to buy things for the rest of the family. I can afford almost everything I want. It's just another day with a week off work, which is the best part of it. If anything, Christ's Mass should be about family and eating a fuck load of food to get you through the winter months, not who can spend the most amount of money on trinkets no one really wants.
So this is why I went mad earlier, because my parents were asking me to give them an idea for a CD or DVD or book that I wanted, that I could afford to pay for myself anyway if I really wanted it. The thing is I've not even given this shit a thought since I assumed we'd done away with the need to create lists for one another, so she was putting me on the spot. this year's 'celebrations' are only a week away but for next year I am seriously considering buying a bunch of cats and stockpiling weapons and living off the land like a survivalist. Fuck your society of greed.
This year for Christ's Mass I, like Greece, implemented austerity measures in the Sotheran household. I made everyone else sign up to the idea that we would only spend £25 on each other (give or take a few quid) and we were not allowed to ask one another what we wanted. We would each have to go out and buy presents for one another that we thought they would like or appreciate and the resulting presents would be a surprise. Why did I decide this?
Well last year everyone made lists of stuff they wanted and this was the result: Both myself and my brother bought the same fucking book for my mother. It cost the better part of £20 and my copy has been sitting unsold on EBay for the last year. My brother and my mother both bought me a CD which I already had (I'd forgotten this when I made the list). My brother bought me a DVD that was the wrong region for my player, so had to be sent back. It got farcical.
This is my major problem with Christ's Mass. I love winter, but I hate this build up to the conjectural birth date of a necromancing Iron Age cabinet maker. By eliminating the need to make lists for presents I wanted I had managed to eradicate the stress of the build up towards the BIG DAY!!! Also I'm not seven years old and don't get hyper excited about the prospect of whether I'll be getting a Scalextrix or a Lego castle set. It was getting more and more difficult to think of things I wanted for Christ's Mass than it was to buy things for the rest of the family. I can afford almost everything I want. It's just another day with a week off work, which is the best part of it. If anything, Christ's Mass should be about family and eating a fuck load of food to get you through the winter months, not who can spend the most amount of money on trinkets no one really wants.
So this is why I went mad earlier, because my parents were asking me to give them an idea for a CD or DVD or book that I wanted, that I could afford to pay for myself anyway if I really wanted it. The thing is I've not even given this shit a thought since I assumed we'd done away with the need to create lists for one another, so she was putting me on the spot. this year's 'celebrations' are only a week away but for next year I am seriously considering buying a bunch of cats and stockpiling weapons and living off the land like a survivalist. Fuck your society of greed.
I FUCKING HATE CHRISTMAS!!!!
My only Christ's Mass decoration
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
Cream of the Crap
OK, so I can say with alarming clarity that God does actually exist and the fucker totally hates me. How do I know? Well, 'twas on a Sunday morning that the Divine allowed His presence to be felt by guiding my clown shoe like feet to stamp on my spectacles. They were lying on the floor of my parent's spare bedroom where I had spent the night. 'Oh Flip!' said I, as I saw that the lens had come out and the ear branch was all askance. How did this come about that my glasses were on the floor of my parent's spare bedroom? Well, sit back and I shall tell thee.
I had travelled down to Nottingham on Friday night to see Mr McKibbin and Miss Lee in their new house. In fact the house is pretty much owned by Alix and Craig is just mooching off her, as he has done with me all the time I've known him. Thank God, I managed to get rid of him onto her. Anyway, their new place is in the middle of Little Beirut in Nottingham and I got stabbed three times between getting out of the car and going in their front door. We piled the furniture back up against the door and had a good old fashioned catch up as IEDs went off outside.
I was also there to break up the journey I was making to Birmingham for a day of lectures and presentations as decreed by my MA. And what a day it was. I was sitting there, listening to Gary Sheffield talking about the First World War, thinking 'I fucking love this! This is the best thing I've done in ages. Why can't everyday be like this?'
The way back to York was broken up with a stop over at my folk's house in Rotherham, which nicely coincided with a gig by Goatleaf. I haven't seen them play for over six months, so it was about time I went back gave them my support. It was like stepping back in time, however, as there was a bunch of folks there I hadn't seen for years. The 'Leaf were on top form as ever, with Mr Deveaux dancing around like bear on a hot plate. The support came from 6 Needles, who were shambolic but fucking ace as well. Their flyer tells you pretty much all you need to know about them:
Anyway, I succeeded in getting drunk and even finding a taxi to get me home. Everything was going well until the next morning when I stamped on the specs. I tell you, Karma is a bitch. I had set Sunday aside for working on an essay, but fate intervened and robbed me of all opportunity to do any work at all. I called down to the Rotherham branch of Specsavers to see if they could do anything about my lunettes. Thankfully I had my work glasses in my bag, but these are so badly scratched that looking through them is like wearing a Medieval stained glass window. I sat in the opticians for an hour while they hammered away at my glasses to no avail. They thought I would have better luck at the York branch, as they have an anvil and forge set up for such occasions, so I finally made it back up north and into town. The place was heaving with desperate shoppers trying to find toys and trinkets for nephew Tarquin and niece Tallulah, as there is ONLY THREE WEEKS UNTIL CHRIST'S MASS so I bravely fought my way to Specsavers, where a callow ginger haired youth tried to help me with my predicament. Again to no avail. This resulted in a new eyetest for me and new glasses, to the tune of nearly three hundred quid. The only good thing to come out of it was the woman who fitted my new glasses was smoking hot, I joked with her as I handed over the money that the kids wouldn't be getting any presents this year. But that, dear reader, is how to put the ultimate dampener on what had been until then, a good weekend.
Flipping Crumbs!
I had travelled down to Nottingham on Friday night to see Mr McKibbin and Miss Lee in their new house. In fact the house is pretty much owned by Alix and Craig is just mooching off her, as he has done with me all the time I've known him. Thank God, I managed to get rid of him onto her. Anyway, their new place is in the middle of Little Beirut in Nottingham and I got stabbed three times between getting out of the car and going in their front door. We piled the furniture back up against the door and had a good old fashioned catch up as IEDs went off outside.
'Yeah, just park it anywhere.'
I was also there to break up the journey I was making to Birmingham for a day of lectures and presentations as decreed by my MA. And what a day it was. I was sitting there, listening to Gary Sheffield talking about the First World War, thinking 'I fucking love this! This is the best thing I've done in ages. Why can't everyday be like this?'
FUCKING BRILLIANT!!!
The way back to York was broken up with a stop over at my folk's house in Rotherham, which nicely coincided with a gig by Goatleaf. I haven't seen them play for over six months, so it was about time I went back gave them my support. It was like stepping back in time, however, as there was a bunch of folks there I hadn't seen for years. The 'Leaf were on top form as ever, with Mr Deveaux dancing around like bear on a hot plate. The support came from 6 Needles, who were shambolic but fucking ace as well. Their flyer tells you pretty much all you need to know about them:
Anyway, I succeeded in getting drunk and even finding a taxi to get me home. Everything was going well until the next morning when I stamped on the specs. I tell you, Karma is a bitch. I had set Sunday aside for working on an essay, but fate intervened and robbed me of all opportunity to do any work at all. I called down to the Rotherham branch of Specsavers to see if they could do anything about my lunettes. Thankfully I had my work glasses in my bag, but these are so badly scratched that looking through them is like wearing a Medieval stained glass window. I sat in the opticians for an hour while they hammered away at my glasses to no avail. They thought I would have better luck at the York branch, as they have an anvil and forge set up for such occasions, so I finally made it back up north and into town. The place was heaving with desperate shoppers trying to find toys and trinkets for nephew Tarquin and niece Tallulah, as there is ONLY THREE WEEKS UNTIL CHRIST'S MASS so I bravely fought my way to Specsavers, where a callow ginger haired youth tried to help me with my predicament. Again to no avail. This resulted in a new eyetest for me and new glasses, to the tune of nearly three hundred quid. The only good thing to come out of it was the woman who fitted my new glasses was smoking hot, I joked with her as I handed over the money that the kids wouldn't be getting any presents this year. But that, dear reader, is how to put the ultimate dampener on what had been until then, a good weekend.
Sunday, 27 November 2011
Gods and Monsters
This week has been characterised by a Medieval-deal-breaking growth* on my back. I went to a walk-in clinic to find out what was wrong with me and started explaining the situation to the nurse and said it would be easier if he just looked, so pulled my shirt up and the nurse went' ooooh!' I retorted 'don't say that! You're supposed to make me feel better!' He even went and got a second opinion and when she saw it she also said 'ooooh!' I went there to get better, not to be treated like a circus freak. Anyway, it was an abscess that finally burst on Friday night after I had two days off work because of lack of sleep from the pain.
It did mean that I got to go to Becky's party on Saturday to say goodbye as she heads off into the sunset of Canadia. It was a good party despite not being able to drink. It also meant that I went along to the Movie Buff's fair at the Royal York Hotel on Sunday afternoon, in the company of Logan and Mrs Josh and Nathan. To call it a 'Movie Buff' fair was a little (ahem) unfair (ahem), it was more like a Star Wars car boot sale. It would appear that the only movies ever made were Star Wars and Doctor Who judging by what was being sold. There was also York's premier Captain Jack Sparrow look-a-like on hand, along with the Riddler, fat Superman and a female superhero I am unfamiliar with, but from the tightness of her costume I guessed her name was Camel Toe. I think they had been provided by Hullywood Entertainment, it took about an hour before the name made sense... I actually bought two LPs, the Taxi Driver and Ran soundtracks, so I came away with something.
Logan was busy stuffing his little bag full of movie related trinkets, and I was with him as he made a purchase of a Katee Sackhoff photo (she's from Battlestar Galactica, he's obsessed with her). The chap who's stall it was, was also offering a 'One time only and unique' opportunity of purchasing, for the amazing price of £120, Sian Lloyd's ACTUAL HAT from her time on I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. Really, why would you want that? Maybe except to sniff the headband and pretend that you have actually touched a woman, rather than face the grim reality of your virginal life spent living in your parent's basement surrounded by original packaging Star Wars figures.
I digress. Josh and I were chatting about him (Josh) putting a bid on Jet from Gladiators' leotard on EBay when the stall owner's ears tuned in and he slid over to us. He introduced himself by saying 'have I talked to you before?' We were stunned, but he continued by describing how the pictures he was selling had all been gathered by himself and he'd met all the people who's signature he was selling and had pictures of himself and the signatory to prove it. These were being paraded as some form of provenance for the signatures. This explanation went on for about five minutes and started to get uncomfortable, especially given that in all of these 'provenence' photos the guy had the exact same stance and expression on his face. Photoshop is a wonderful thing... Josh handed his money over for the picture and the transaction dragged on even longer when the guy started talking about the guarantee of authenticity he had printed up. He told us he had to design new ones because the old ones had his address on and he would have to change them if he moved house. This begged the question, how often does he move house and for what reason? Are the stars who's signatures he's selling after him? What crimes against Hollywood stars had this man committed? Again he gave us the provenance spiel and told Josh he would email him the picture of himself and Sackhoff to prove he met her and it was her signature, despite not taking Josh's email address. He then finished the transaction by telling Josh the picture he was buying had actually been bought from a separate dealer and in fact the signature hadn't even been gathered by himself anyway... We finally extracted ourselves from his grip and went to the York Tap for a debriefing and a de-nerd session.
On the way home I saw this homeless Stormtrooper, reduced to begging after the Rebellion destroyed the Death Star and his livelihood:
*Becky's words, not mine
It did mean that I got to go to Becky's party on Saturday to say goodbye as she heads off into the sunset of Canadia. It was a good party despite not being able to drink. It also meant that I went along to the Movie Buff's fair at the Royal York Hotel on Sunday afternoon, in the company of Logan and Mrs Josh and Nathan. To call it a 'Movie Buff' fair was a little (ahem) unfair (ahem), it was more like a Star Wars car boot sale. It would appear that the only movies ever made were Star Wars and Doctor Who judging by what was being sold. There was also York's premier Captain Jack Sparrow look-a-like on hand, along with the Riddler, fat Superman and a female superhero I am unfamiliar with, but from the tightness of her costume I guessed her name was Camel Toe. I think they had been provided by Hullywood Entertainment, it took about an hour before the name made sense... I actually bought two LPs, the Taxi Driver and Ran soundtracks, so I came away with something.
Logan and Mrs Josh roll into town...
I arrive in style...
Logan was busy stuffing his little bag full of movie related trinkets, and I was with him as he made a purchase of a Katee Sackhoff photo (she's from Battlestar Galactica, he's obsessed with her). The chap who's stall it was, was also offering a 'One time only and unique' opportunity of purchasing, for the amazing price of £120, Sian Lloyd's ACTUAL HAT from her time on I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. Really, why would you want that? Maybe except to sniff the headband and pretend that you have actually touched a woman, rather than face the grim reality of your virginal life spent living in your parent's basement surrounded by original packaging Star Wars figures.
'Hooray!! I can get out of the basement for the day and meet like minded people and buy celebrity sweat infused items for my collection!'
I digress. Josh and I were chatting about him (Josh) putting a bid on Jet from Gladiators' leotard on EBay when the stall owner's ears tuned in and he slid over to us. He introduced himself by saying 'have I talked to you before?' We were stunned, but he continued by describing how the pictures he was selling had all been gathered by himself and he'd met all the people who's signature he was selling and had pictures of himself and the signatory to prove it. These were being paraded as some form of provenance for the signatures. This explanation went on for about five minutes and started to get uncomfortable, especially given that in all of these 'provenence' photos the guy had the exact same stance and expression on his face. Photoshop is a wonderful thing... Josh handed his money over for the picture and the transaction dragged on even longer when the guy started talking about the guarantee of authenticity he had printed up. He told us he had to design new ones because the old ones had his address on and he would have to change them if he moved house. This begged the question, how often does he move house and for what reason? Are the stars who's signatures he's selling after him? What crimes against Hollywood stars had this man committed? Again he gave us the provenance spiel and told Josh he would email him the picture of himself and Sackhoff to prove he met her and it was her signature, despite not taking Josh's email address. He then finished the transaction by telling Josh the picture he was buying had actually been bought from a separate dealer and in fact the signature hadn't even been gathered by himself anyway... We finally extracted ourselves from his grip and went to the York Tap for a debriefing and a de-nerd session.
Trophies of the hunt...
On the way home I saw this homeless Stormtrooper, reduced to begging after the Rebellion destroyed the Death Star and his livelihood:
*Becky's words, not mine
Monday, 21 November 2011
Freakspotting
Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suit on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would they want to do a thing like that? They chose not to choose life. They chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got Cosplay?
Yes, Cosplay, the biggest threat to the country since Hitler and his sharply dressed army. But, unlike the Nazis, this lot know nothing of discipline. In fact a good dose of National Service would sort them out. If you have no idea what I am talking about, let me explain. Cosplay is the attempt by people with nothing to wake up for in the morning to dress up as their favourite characters out of comics or TV series. It probably all began with Trekkies dressing up like General Kirk or Doctor Spock, but has gotten all out of control with people dressing up as minor characters in the Legend of Zilda or E.T. The Extra Testicle. It gives them a sense of being, a belonging in a world that hates them. They gather together and perform strange little rituals, usually at comic conventions. Which is where I gazed into the face of madness. I was attending Thought Bubble, 'an annual celebration of sequential art in all its forms' (LOL. Just call them comics!) Ninjasaurus Rex had brought it to my attention and he was desperate to get to a Japanese restaurant in Leeds again, so this seemed like a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. If only we'd killed one hundred Cosplayers with the same stone we would have come home happy men.
This was without doubt the best thing we saw all day and was well worth the ten pounds admission fee alone, but was nothing to do with the Comic Con. Which, frankly, was just loads and loads and loads of comics for sale. But then, what else did I expect it to be? Ninjasaurus saw some of his friends from the dark world of comic publishing and I bumped into the Big O, who rather kindly gave us a free comic each!
Outside, the swirling mass of madness was gathering it's momentum and here are a few pictures to illustrate just what we saw. I beg you, gentle reader, do not allow your eyes to linger too long on these images...
Electra's arse and Mario and Luigi. The mind boggles...
Is that a lightsaber or a lipstick?
Interviewer: So what is missing in your life?
We retreated into the Armouries to look at real weapons, rather than over sized foam hammers and realised that we had a vantage point over the assembled freaks. After a few minutes of playing 'spot the tard' we both said in unison 'I wish I had a rifle.'
We finished the afternoon off by a visit to this authentic U-Boat which had surfaced in the docks.
Yes, Cosplay, the biggest threat to the country since Hitler and his sharply dressed army. But, unlike the Nazis, this lot know nothing of discipline. In fact a good dose of National Service would sort them out. If you have no idea what I am talking about, let me explain. Cosplay is the attempt by people with nothing to wake up for in the morning to dress up as their favourite characters out of comics or TV series. It probably all began with Trekkies dressing up like General Kirk or Doctor Spock, but has gotten all out of control with people dressing up as minor characters in the Legend of Zilda or E.T. The Extra Testicle. It gives them a sense of being, a belonging in a world that hates them. They gather together and perform strange little rituals, usually at comic conventions. Which is where I gazed into the face of madness. I was attending Thought Bubble, 'an annual celebration of sequential art in all its forms' (LOL. Just call them comics!) Ninjasaurus Rex had brought it to my attention and he was desperate to get to a Japanese restaurant in Leeds again, so this seemed like a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. If only we'd killed one hundred Cosplayers with the same stone we would have come home happy men.
I arrived at the plaza between the Royal Armouries and the new Savile Building and gazed on what looked like a scene from the Fourth Circle of Hell. The avaricious with their cossetted material possessions danced about to the tuneless horns of Mars. Dressed as Manga characters. I panicked and telephoned Ninjasaurus who had been struck immobile by the scene of human degradation. Seeking comfort in numbers we banded together quickly and watched one anothers backs like hawks. Our fear was soon dissipated by the sight of the very chair SIR JIMMY SAVILE sat in:
Not only his Chair, but his car as well!! This was a man who was living the dream!
This was without doubt the best thing we saw all day and was well worth the ten pounds admission fee alone, but was nothing to do with the Comic Con. Which, frankly, was just loads and loads and loads of comics for sale. But then, what else did I expect it to be? Ninjasaurus saw some of his friends from the dark world of comic publishing and I bumped into the Big O, who rather kindly gave us a free comic each!
Cheers big man!!
Outside, the swirling mass of madness was gathering it's momentum and here are a few pictures to illustrate just what we saw. I beg you, gentle reader, do not allow your eyes to linger too long on these images...
Aren't you a little shit to be a Stormtrooper?
I wanted a photo, not a pose...
Electra's arse and Mario and Luigi. The mind boggles...
Is that a lightsaber or a lipstick?
Wrap up warm, love...
Interviewer: So what is missing in your life?
We retreated into the Armouries to look at real weapons, rather than over sized foam hammers and realised that we had a vantage point over the assembled freaks. After a few minutes of playing 'spot the tard' we both said in unison 'I wish I had a rifle.'
Sargent, three rounds rapid!
I was going to run up to him shouting 'Help! Help! Judge, I've just been raped in the Armouries toilets!' to see if he'd help, but I bottled it at the last minute.
We finished the afternoon off by a visit to this authentic U-Boat which had surfaced in the docks.
It was captained by this fellow:
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