That's Great, It Starts with an Earthquake

So there I was driving into work this morning when good old Radio 1 Newsbeat comes on to tell me what's happening in the world. Can you believe it's still called Newsbeat? They should go back to calling the station "The Nation's Favourite" too.

Anyway, Newsbeat starts and it made me laugh out loud - "And the top story this Wednesday morning, Britney Spears is to divorce. Other news includes the Democrats making huge gains in America's midterm elections."

I just love the fact that Britney's divorce was the first item. To the dogs, go we.

My Heart is Numb

My relationship with Take That is quite a complicated one. Or at least as complicated as a relationship between a grown-up boyband and a grown-up pen-pusher is possible to be. Actually, forget that, my relationship with Take That isn't complicated at all. In fact, I don't have a relationship with Take That.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say, in this hopelessly fumbling manner, is that when I was young and serious I hated Take That. These days, however, I'm old and glib, and I think they're brilliant.

Have you heard the new single? It's a cracker isn't it? I have a great big stupid grin on my face just thinking about it. Some people have said that it sounds like James Blunt. These people are wrong.

Apparently, at the recent Q Awards, Alex Turner from the Arctic Monkeys said something along the lines of "I don't know many of the bands here today so I'm not sure how many deserved their awards, but even I know Take That were bollocks." Of course, in a lot of ways, he's right. But to dislike Take That absolutely is to dislike pop music. You will notice, of course, that Alex Turner is young and serious.

I think a lot of the reasons I still love pop music are captured in the video for Patience. Look at their hair! And the geysers exploding behind them! And their scarves! Frankly, if Take That walking around the wastes of Iceland carrying their mic stands, before meeting up for the last chorus on the edge of a cliff to sing their little hearts out doesn't make you feel a little bit better then you're dead inside.

So watch it here, and feel a bit better.

How Terribly Strange To Be 70

So I'm approaching my 9 year anniversary at the company I work for. As for many people out there, it was never meant to go like this. I started here as a temp, they offered me the job on a permanent basis, I took it, and have been steadily and accidentally making my way higher and higher up the company ever since. It's peculiar. Every time I was nearing the end of my tether I'd either get promoted (in which case the extra money made me forget my dissatisfaction for a while) or I'd move into another department (and the novelty and new people would mask the dissatisfaction for a while.) I really am the classic Chandler worker. I've even been moved to Tulsa.

Having worked in the London office for 7 years and spent the 2 last years in the hinterland of our north west regional office I've started to realise, as my visits back to the London office have increased, just why it's so very, very different up here. It's all about time. The people in London never have any time. Not proper time anyway. They have meetings and occasionally pop back to their desk to check their email or have a bit of a chat. The days fly by and you have to stay late. No time. No thinking. There are no meetings up here. There are not enough people. So how do we fill our days? We need more work.

When you've worked for a company for as long as I have, you notice people growing older in a way that I can't say I've ever noticed with my friends. I mean, I know we all look older, we must do, but it doesn't register. On my last trip to London I saw a guy who I'd always pictured in rude health in a natty suit and designer specs like on the day we started. And he looked truly exhausted and, to be a little harsh, absolutely fucked. There's another guy who was something of a heartthrob when he started around the same time as me. I bet he can't even fit into the trousers he wore back then, such is his ever expanding girth.

Strangely, since I moved up here, people tell me I'm looking well. It must be the air.

The Friday Sitcom I

FADE IN ON

JOHNNY’S lounge. There’s a large sofa and two battered looking leather armchairs. A huge widescreen TV is in the corner along with other hi-tech stuff. JOHNNY, OLLY, DERMOT, JOANNE and HARRY are sitting watching TV, there’s a pizza box on the coffee table and occasionally someone picks up a slice. All continue to watch the TV as they talk.

JOHNNY
Do you think I should buy a cat?

OLLY
What do you want a cat for?

DERMOT
I like cats, we always had cats in our family.

OLLY
I’m not sure about them.

JOHNNY
They’re clever aren’t they?

OLLY
When did cats pick up this reputation for being clever?

JOHNNY
I don't know.

OLLY
Is it because they’re clean?

JOHNNY
Maybe. I’ve always liked them.

JOANNE
I like them too - I like animals that look critical.

OLLY
I think that clean stuff is a myth.

JOANNE
Why’s that?

OLLY
I mean, they just lick themselves all over don’t they?

JOHNNY
Yeah?

OLLY
Would you think a human being was clean if they licked themselves all over?

JOHNNY
No.

OLLY
No. You show me a clean cat and I’ll show you a cat covered in spit.

JOHNNY
That’s beautiful.

HARRY
I’m not sure about single men with cats – is that an image you’re comfortable with?

JOHNNY
I need a companion – Olly and Kev won’t be here forever.

OLLY
Why not?

JOHNNY
Well, you know......

OLLY
You want us to move out?

JOHNNY
No not at all. (PAUSE)
Well maybe Kev.

OLLY
Because if you want us out then just say you want us out.

JOHNNY
I don’t want you out.

OLLY
Just say: “I want you out.” Be a man.

JOHNNY
(exasperated)
I don’t want you out!

OLLY
(sulking)
Then you can go ahead and set up your single man and cat lifestyle.

JOHNNY
Just calm down.

DERMOT
(to JOHNNY)
So are you close to be giving up your Kung Fu?

JOHNNY
No way.
(makes some kind of Kung Fu move and yelp)

DERMOT
You know it takes, like, ten years before you can kick someone’s ass?

JOHNNY
I’ve never felt better.

JOANNE
It’s killing you isn’t it?

JOHNNY
(admitting)
I can’t get out of bed the morning after the class – it’s brutal. But I’m nearly there – she will be mine.

KEV enters. He’s smoking a pipe (a big Sherlock Holmes one) and is wearing a deerstalker. He has a huge university scarf around his neck. Everyone looks at him but no one says anything. KEV walks past everyone and goes to the kitchen.

KEV
(annoyed)
The weather in this country. The only reason people fight at football matches in England is to keep warm.

KEV comes back into the room with a beer and sits in the spare chair, he hasn’t taken the deerstalker or the scarf off and everyone has followed him with their eyes. He puffs on his pipe a couple of times.

KEV (con'td)
(to everyone)
Alright?

JOANNE
You know Kev, you’ve got to get a job.

CREDITS

Out Of The Question

We had half an idea to go and see Mumm-ra in Manchester this evening. Obviously we didn't. We're far too old.

But the single is very good indeed and I'm not yet too old to secretly listen to it. Listen to it yourself here.

In The Drunk Tank

So, the most wonderful time of the year approaches with the hurtling inevitability of a Michael Owen injury. Sorry Michael. But I love almost everything about it. Buying a tree, the lights on the high street, the freezing cold day you take off work to try and find presents for people like your sister-in-law's boyfriend and end up getting him one of those tiny bottles of vodka with a scorpion in it from Selfridges. I even love the Christmas songs - my specially made CD will be going into the car pretty soon. Track one - Driving Home For Christmas. Fantastic.

But the one part of Christmas I just cannot get on board with is the office Christmas party. And tickets for my one can be picked up from today. God help us. This will be my 8th Christmas at the company, and I'm rather proud of the fact that my attendance at this annual monument to the incontrovertable colleagues+booze=humilation equation still stands at zero.

My workplace used to have a summer party as well as the Christmas one. I went to the final one before it was scrapped for "budgetary reasaons" (ie to stop people getting drunk and fighting and/or crying.) I was young, I didn't know any better. But I learnt my lesson, and all reports from each Christmas do I've missed suggest that I made a wise choice.

I just don't understand how it can happen every year. Every year; a fight over a girl, the toilets getting closed to clean up sick, a fight over a bloke, someone trying to walk home despite the fact that they live in Kent, a fight for no reason at all, an improbable couple snogging who will never speak again such is their shame, a manager who needs to be reminded of what he did by colleagues when he finally makes it back into work a few days later.

I mean, surely in this day and age we should be beyond this sort of nonsense? We've all seen The Office. Soon, magazines and newspapers will be full of their annual "what not to do at your Christmas party" articles. I've even heard one person say that all the roistering is faintly ironic these days. No it's not. What starts as an opportunity for everyone to get a little more acquainted always decends into an easy way for factional office warfare to come right to the surface, while people who's responsibilities normally preclude this kind of evening stumble helplessly around the hall with blood coming out of the corner of their eyes.

So I won't be getting my ticket and I won't be going. Scrooge was spot on with this one. Humbug.

Anyone Home?

So it's been a bit quiet round here lately. I won't bore anyone with the details. But I'm going to have another go. So what you can expect is ill-conceived and barely thought through vignettes on films I've seen, TV I've watched, things I've thought, music I've listened to, and other self-indulgent ruminations on the quiet desperation of modern life. Sounds like a laugh, yes?

Anyway, there may be a few nuggets of insight here and there, and the occassional good joke I've stolen, but more often than not, it'll be rubbish. So why not stick around?

Such has been my sheltered life, I've only ever been to the cinema for free once. I used to write for my university newspaper and was sent to review the Sean Penn-Susan Sarandon knockabout, laugh-a-minute death row hootathon Dead Man Walking. I recall that I was a little over-earnest in my praise.

But the best thing wasn't the film, it was watching it in the private review theatre of the film company's amazing offices off Oxford Street. It was the comfiest, most lovely cinema I've ever been to - it must have had space for about 20 people tops, the seats were virtually lay-z-boys, the screen was enormous and the sound perfect, plus there was free booze. Unfortunately, it was 9.30am, and I've never really got to grips with drinking in the morning. That's probably a good thing. But I should have known then I wasn't cut out for the journalists life.

I suppose, looking back, I should have used the event as an opportunity to do a bit of networking. I remember when I signed my name on the - is it a guest list at the pictures? - that the list of attendees contained NMEs and Empires and what have you. But I'm the world's worst networker, so I sidled in and slinked out.

Anyway! I went to the cinema for free again this weekend. The Cornerhouse in Manchester were having a preview showing of a new French film - The Page Turner. The film's premise is extremely simple - a gifted young pianist has her hopes of entry to an elite school crushed by the thoughtless behaviour of the woman (a famous pianist herself) overseeing her examination. Many years later she attempts to have her revenge.

And that's it. You've got to hand it to the French sometimes haven't you? Such is the (pretend) sophistication of the film-watchers mind, I was constantly trying to second guess where the story was going, what the twist would be, whether it was all a red herring and we were being led down a blind alley. But nope.

Young girl fails exam. Blames examiner. Gets job with examiner years later. Plots to ruin examiner's life. As this is a mystery of sorts (in that we don't know what the conclusion will be) I'll spare anyone unfortunate enough to still be reading this any further expansion on the plot.

Enough to say, it's a very good film. And the music in it is brilliant. I am the worst film reviewer ever.