"T'rific"

You basically cannot get any more Cockney than Mike Reid's character Frank Butcher from Eastenders. It's against the Laws of Engerland....

Famous for, among other things, these "classics";

"What do you think I am, some kind of pilchard?"

"You get smart with me pal, I'll come down there and give you a dry slap"

OK, taken out of context, it's not exactly Shakespeare... but you just can't get better than Mike; he started out as a comedian (first appearing on "The Comedians", which at the time was fairly cutting edge stuff, but today looks incredibly dated with its' mother-in-law jokes and "blue material") and TV Show Host (my childhood memories consist of Mike bellowing out "Run Araaahhhnnd"

Most people know & Love him as Frank Butcher from Eastenders; But he's also done some other quality, heavier parts, in my opinion, most notably in the tragically unknown "underworld" in which he plays a murderous Taxi Driver. absolute classic performance.

It's widely assumed that our friends over the water haven't got a fucking clue what we're talking about most of the time. Films like "Snatch" & "The Long Good Friday" are often met with frowns associated with foreign language films, which I suppose they are, (it's not unknown for the US Audience to use subtitles. what you really need is some kind of babel fish! ) this handy translator should help theidiots from now on, and here's a useful list if you're ever up in town, use these words as often as possible in order that you "blend in" and you don't draw unnecessary attention to yourself;

• Brass = Broke No Money (also "easy lady")
• Blower = Phone
• Yard or Manor = Home
• Filth, Copper,Old Bill, Pigs, Fuzz, Rozzers = Police
• Gash, Pum Pum, Wifey = Girlfriend
• Grass or Snake = An informer
• Hookie, Sucked, Jacked = Stolen Items
• Jack Jones = to be alone
• Iron or Iron Hoof = Homosexual

Yes - we love stereo types, or at least, I do: Eel Pie & Mash, Isle of Dogs, Pearly Kings & Queens, Greyhound Racing, Alf Garnett,
gangalnd shootings -

There is nothing, nothing better in life, than a proper fucking Cockney - "Boiled Onions"

• Steptoe & Son
• Max Bygraves
• Sir Michael "bleedin" Caine
• The "Chelsea Smile" Kray Brothers
• Tommy Steele
• & of course, Mr Mike Reid

• ...."Two Old Chairs in the back of the Van Ee Eye Ee Eye Oh, "

"I Can Assure You Officer, I've Only Had a Few Ales"

"Jesus H Fucking Christ, I feel Minge...." That hideous feeling of pig shit in your brains, dry mouthedness, bloodshot eyes that can only see from behind inch thick sunglasses, Slight wooziness to everything. Hangovers s-u-c-k.

My bad, and on a school night as well, tsk tsk....damn it all to hell - why can't I just go out, get arse holed, and then wake up without any of the downside. WHY? it's not bloody fair I tell you. My liver is 37 years old, surely, by now it must know better that to keep on quivering like a half dead Salmon.

I'm reading "Smoking in Bed: Conversations with Bruce Robinson" creator of Withnail, Screenwriter of "The Killing Fields"; utter genius & raconteur. My favourite quote so far:

"I can't blame (her) for my alcoholism, I can only blame wine & my mouth for that"

Quite so Bruce, you beautiful man, quite so

"Damn, I'm Hungry!"

soooooo, it's been a while, sorry - I've been out of town: just a few things I wanted to show:

• Get me a God damn Burger!
• This is cool!
• Bush: Idiot Savant? or just.plain.stoopid?
• Remember Manimal?...... I've always wanted to be a wolf!
• We are all doomed!
• never owe rent to this bitch!
• The Japanese are crazy aren't they?
• Germs + Women = genius commentary
• Tiger Woods must have started this way
• A flood tide of filth is engulfing our country!

I promise to be back with avengence....

The Dude Abides

Gervais; ok, your a bit fat, but damn you're funny!


The Dude Abides#links

"What shall we do now Mark?.....

Build a tent in the living room and eat Dairy lea? Is that what you want? 'Cos that's what's gonna happen!"

-Jeremy: Peep Show, Series 2

Hussah! Peep Show returns to UK screens on Friday 13th April for series 4. Prepare to laugh until you're a bit sick on yourself....

All 3 previous series are up on my tube right now: They've also set up a myspace page with video and pic's and stuff. It really is one of the best shows on on UK telly.
YOU MUST WATCH: If you don't know who "Super Hans" is.....

"that Crack really is moorish...."

Charlie Brooker
Monday February 26, 2007
The Guardian:

Abridged Version: You can read the whole article here

You know how sometimes you develop an obsession with a writer's work, and decide to seek out their entire oeuvre and inhale their every word, even if you don't really know what an "oeuvre" is or what it looks like? Well, I do that for masochistic reasons. I actively enjoy reading people I can't stand. When they write something particularly horrid, a wave of nausea surges through me and my pulse quickens. I am hooked on it, like a base jumper compelled to leap off chimney stacks for the adrenaline rush. Consider it a sickness.


Previous obsessions have included Liz Jones of the London Evening Standard (specialist subjects: new age spa treatments and marital despair), and the Barefoot Doctor, who used to write for the Observer.
The latter took over my life for several months. Everything he said incensed me. He gushed a wild river of bullshit, which I swam through open-mouthed, savouring the taste. I even bought one of his books - a "guide to urban survival"; an incredible how-to manual apparently designed to help shallow, cosseted airheads become even more self-obsessed, justifying their unhinged narcissism as spiritual development.

It outlined concepts such as "people-surfing" - which seemed to involve deliberately developing superficial relationships for personal gain - and "visualisation". If you wanted a new laptop, he said, you should picture yourself throwing a magic lasso around it, and before long it would be yours in real life (assuming you walked into a shop and bought it at some point).

And now I have a new obsession, this time with a blogger. Not just any old blogger, mind - this one's a showbiz journalist with a celebrity girlfriend. He is called Joe Mott and he writes for the Daily Star. His blog, archived at dailystar.co.uk/blog , is the single most dazzling body of work I have encountered in years. I urge you to read it yourself. It heaves with demented beauty.

At the top of the page squats a photo of our hero, grinning like a man who has just found £10,000 up his arse, beside the legend "Joe Mott's HOT". The word "HOT" appears to be made of gold. Over this, a little textual strap informs us that Joe Mott's HOT is "AWARD-WINNING". Sadly it is not clear what sort of award it was. Perhaps he entered a competition to see who could devise the most infuriating byline imaginable. If so, he deserved to win.

The byline on its own is enough to trigger my coveted puke-surge, but beneath it, thrillingly, Mott has actually written several hundred words about his incredible life. Within seconds he is describing a rowdy night out with some "fellow journos" and bragging about getting a Lotus Europa ("it's small, fast and arousing"). Slightly annoying, but this is Mott Lite. Scroll further down and you strike gold.

Mott recounts his night at the Baftas. He starts by ticking off "charmless man" Daniel Craig, who "had less charisma than the spotty youth who took my ticket on the way in ... come on son, you're James Bond ... you could have larged it at the parties afterwards ... sort it out."

This, and other meaty Brooker archived gems(?) can be found at the Guradian Unlimited

"Lobsterisimus bumakissimus"

"Worst job I ever 'ad?, was errr, picking lobsters out of Jayne Mansfields bum!!!! Lobsterisimus bumakissimus"

It takes a lot of mental strength to not actually piss myself from laughing when I think of Derek & Clive: (or Peter Cooke & Dudley Moore) And of course, much has been said of these two, once "Friends" and loyal companions; much has been debated on their complex relationship, the bitter power struggles, the bullying.... yes. Lot's of people have taken it upon themselves to espouse their ideas as to what the hell happened.

And now they're both dead as Dodo's......

But let's not dwell on the tragedy, no!, let's guffaw!: this dialogue is taken from the wincingly uncomfortable TV/Doc/Comedy/Sketch/nightmare that was "Derek & Clive Get The Horn" :

Clive: I tell you one thing I can't stand.

Derek: Tell me.

Clive: About Russia, is the dead bodies in your hotel room.

Derek: Oh, Blimey, yeah.

Clive: Because I booked into, you know, a second class hotel, second class hotel, two stars. And, er, I asked, er, room service, erm, you know, for a light meal because I was going sight seeing the next morning. And I said I'd like some chips and, er, steak, medium rare and,er, banana fritter, you know, and this bloke come up to the room and frankly it wasn't what I ordered. He brought up, er, three thousand dissidents.

Derek: Oh, God.

Clive: With their testicles attached to electrodes. And I said call this fucking room service? Not room service, I said. I asked for chips, steak and banana fritters. I get three thousand fucking dissidents on a tray.

Derek: What are they trying to pull, eh? They think we're cunts.

Clive: I said, if you're expecting a tip, mate, if you're expecting a tip, you can get the fuck out of my hotel room.

Derek: Yeah.

Clive: Anyway, they just dumped them down on the floor. All these dissidents. I got talking to them, some nice blokes, actually. There's Sergia, er, Wolankov. Sergia Wolankov.

Derek: Oh, Wolankov, yeah.

Clive: He wrote some poetry, he wrote the poem saying, er, the Soviet Union is a khazi, Mr Breznev is a cunt, and, er, er, I want my freedom, you see. And he published that in a dissident newspaper.

Derek: I'd rather be room serviced than in prison. Clive: I'll say one thing for Russia, the health service is tremendous.

Derek: Oh, yeah.

Clive: As soon as you're ill, they kill you

R.I.P you beautiful Men!

"What will I be when I grow up?"

Sorry for the crappy posts the last couple of days, my evil twin brother got hold of my not-so-secret, secret password and posted banality. I’ve had to kill him off, (pillow over the face , after a weekend bender: never fails) and am now part of the Clifton Hill Witness Protection Plan.

I’m disguised as a mid 30’s “London Media Type” who’s just relocated from Bedfordshire down to Brighton. My new “fake” wife (Geraldine) is a Graphic Designer who works from home, she also writes copy for an obscure American Band fanzine; we read the “Telegraph”, we’re extremely involved in local politics, and are concerned about the community, Green Issues and Resident Allocated Parking Spaces. OH. MY. FUCKING. CHRIST: Whoa there!, what just happened?.

I think I’m on the turn… turning into…..something……hideous……..must, reverse, the feelings of inertia and impending property price rises…..must, do, something pointless and expensive. Must escape inevitable black hole. Fight it, fight it, fight it!