Bass Porn

I'm having another bass guitar built for me, a homage to the Spyder bass John Entwhistle created before he came up with the Buzzard. Unfortunately the first body built revealed a blemish on sanding, so it had to be rebuilt from scratch. The luthier, Bob Johnson of Legra Guitars, wisely had the blemished body painted black, possibly in order to persuade me to buy both. He may well succeed. Take a look at the pics.

Remember, Remember...

I could not get to sleep last night, so I read a little and pottered about the house until God knows when. After finally getting off, I sleep in until half noon. Padding down to the kitchen, I make a ham and cheese toastie in the Foreman and grab an iced Cafe Latte cappucino. I'm planning on sitting down to munch my brunch and watch Deep Rising, my current selection from Lovefilm, but I can't find the disc. I call Booty who'll be on her lunch break to see if she knows where it is, but I get no answer.

I hear the post crash through the letterbox, so I investigate what we've got. It's mostly junk mail, but I do get series four of Peep Show from Play.com. I don't feel like watching it just now, so I check out what's on terrestrial (we don't get digital downstairs). I catch the beginning of a Tom Selleck TV movie on Channel 4, Monte Walsh. It's a flick about a Cowboy at the end of the nineteenth century, refusing to give up the old ways. Not frighteningly original it would seem. I expect to have it on as background while I eat my sandwich, but I end up really enjoying it and I watch the whole thing. I quite often enjoy the mid-afternoon movies Channel 4 show on the weekdays, I think it's because I take extra enjoyment from the feeling I'm supposed to be at work or school like all the other schlubs.

After the film I check it out on IMDB as I always clock the trivia section of every film I watch. Unsurprisingly, there's nothing posted. I check my e-mails and see Ofcompter can't make the suggested rehearsal, which throws out the demo we were hoping to record. I tidy up a little and do some washing up. It's not long until I hear the front door open, which signifies Bootylace's return from work. I'm a little gutted, not at the prospect of my wife getting home, but by the fact that her return means most of my day off is over. I give her a hug in the hallway, but act like a prick and play it little distant. Booty suggests I take a nap, so I head upstairs with no intention of doing so. Booty, star the she is brings up a couple of hot drinks, and I apologise for being miserable. She acts like she doesn't know what I'm on about, which is the sort of behaviour that makes me glad I married her.

We were planning on going out to catch the village fireworks display, so we chat about that. I ask if we have to pay to get in, which prompts Booty to suggest we just watch it from our garden for free. I think I'm being romantic by suggesting I cook dinner, which we could then eat outside on the decking while watching the fireworks, but B isn't down with it. We snuggle a little, then she falls asleep watching Airline while I update the blog.

Booty wakes up and I tell her we should think about making a move if we want to check out the fireworks. As I get up she takes the laptop off me so as to read the last few blog entries. As she reads she laughs every now and again and I bug her all the way through to tell me what she finds funny. We then wrap up warm and head down to the display, paying four quid each to get in. As soon as we get there it starts chucking it down and I realise I've just spent eight quid to stand in a field in the rain. After what seems an eternity they get the bonfire going and then it's fireworks time. I watch some of the display, but I take more pleasure in watching Booty enjoying the show, each burst of light illuminating her smile. We leave a little early, to avoid the crowd and so as not to have to eat too late. I feel glad we made the effort to go, and in a romantic mood, I put my arm around her as we walk home, two teenagers in love.

When we get back we go to the kitchen, I peel some spuds and BL steams the broccoli. I cook up a couple of rib-eye steaks in the pan, then mash the spuds with some cream cheese. We eat at the dinner table, but it's not as civilised as you might think as I watch the first episode of the latest season of Peep Show while Booty scours the internet for a piece of classical music they played during the fireworks display. I suggest it could be Rachmaninov, but it turns out to be Prokofiev's Montague and Capulet. I think I was pretty close as they are both Russian composers called Sergei. After dinner, B-Lace goes up to the bedroom to catch some Hell's Kitchen USA. I watch another two episodes, then jack it in to pack my bag for work, which is what I'm going to do now.

I'm a cockney, I'm a cockney...

The Job screws up my body clock, so I'm up at 06:30. I contemplate the ceiling for a while, before getting up for a slash, pain shooting through my foot with every step to the bathroom. I get back into bed, and realise my mouth tastes like ass, so I get up again to brush my teeth.

Back in bed I fire up the laptop and check my mail. I've got a couple of alerts from Facebook, one from Vicki Sue-Bob, the Canadian wife of my mate Longneck who now lives over there (see earlier post of my visit). She mentions she thought of me after seeing a guy wearing sandals and black socks, (because I have voiced the belief that this is how Canadians dress on holiday) and asks if I saw the pic of Longneck dressed as The Hitcher from The Mighty Boosh. I had done and was particularly amused that the costume went down a storm even though no one has heard of The Boosh out there. I send her a reply, then go downstairs to find some headphones so I can watch a downloaded episode of Long Way Down without disturbing the still-sleeping Bootylace.

I put on the first ep', and reignite my hetero-love affair with Ewan McGregor. Sorry Charley! When it finishes, I do the dutiful husband thing and go and make Booty some breakfast. I cook some eggy bread/French toast and hit on the idea of frying it in maple syrup. I would have added some bananas, but we don't have any. I take the meal upstairs with a cuppa and rouse the missus. Being a big fatty I didn't make any for myself, although I do accept a taste and it's sensational, even if I do say so myself. The breakfast stimulates a convo about how food triggers nostalgic memories, and B-lace tells me that eggy bread was a cheap meal her mum would serve up for tea, which Booty would then draw a face on in Ketchup before smearing over the whole slice. I reminisce about the Campbell's meatballs and Smash my grandparents would feed me in their static caravan.

We have the day together for once, so I suggest we go out and do something. Short on ideas, I check out what's on at the Cineworld at Ashford but nothing really appeals. Booty half-heartedly suggests a shopping trip but as we're both skint, that's not really an option. I take a shower and then watch 28 Weeks Later's special features while Booty is in the bathroom. When she comes in she really starts getting into the special features, which is pretty weird as she hates all special features and any kind of gore or horror movie. We lounge in bed for a bit enjoying the extras, until we decide to do some food shopping.

Bootsy drives us out to Ashford to the Tescos Extra and we listen to Radio 1 pretty much in silence, just exchanging the odd eye roll and tut over DJ Sarah Cox's annoying comments. On arrival a guy asks if we want the car washed and Booty instinctively turns it down, much to my annoyance as it's filthy, but my foot is hurting to such a degree that I can't face walking any further than I need to, so I don't go and get the guy back. This kicks off a bickering sesh which continues on and off for pretty much the whole shopping trip. On the way home we pass an accident involving three cars, there's a kid in the road and a woman in a blanket. The kid seems okay though and we consider stopping, but there doesn't seem to be much point as there are plenty of other people already there. The bickering goes on until we unload the shopping and I reach boiling point and Booty gets in a strop because of my temper. I know it might seem that it would be more interesting if I were to relay the specific details of what are arguments are about, but I guarantee you it wouldn't, and anyway, I can't honestly remember what it was all about anyway.

I eat lunch while watching a Family Guy commentary wondering how are people who produce such funny shows able to be so dull? Then I kick into some Halo 3 matchmaking. There's a general thaw between the missus and I when she needs me to extract a giant wasp from the kitchen. It's October, and we have wasps in the house - this is probably because Booty has the heating so fucking high that the insects think Summer has come early. I go back into the lounge to resume my game and Bootz lays on the floor in front of me with some sweeties and draws a big picture of a minotaur. I'm mildly amused by her carrying out such as childlike activity, but I don't say anything for fear of further reprisal. She offers me some marshmallows and I proffer some Kola Kubes. We each decline the other's offer, but politely. I rank up a level then switch off the Xbox and head upstairs to write the blog. Bootylace joins me and watches Airline.

When it's over we drive over to the Monk House on the Isle of Thanet to have Sunday dinner with Booty's parents, her brother Filly-Willip and his girlfriend Sharpie. Before the meal, while B's parents are preparing it, the rest of us shoot the shit in the lounge, while catching the end of The Empire Strikes Back. It's not long before the food's ready and there's always a good spread on at the House of Monk. Tonight it's a choice of beef or pork, Yorkshire puds, awesomely roasted spuds, cauliflower cheese, carrots and kale. This I wash down with a refreshing lager shandy, followed by cherry pie and custard. After the meal, most of us (Mummy Monk has work to do) sit down to the second episode of Long Way Down. I thrilled to see I've been to virtually all the places featured in the episode. As Booty has to get up early for work tomorrow, we leave pretty much as soon as the credits roll. I'm feeling pretty tired at this point, so Booty drives and we listen to Late Night Love on the wireless. Not the most appropriate title for one of the most depressing radio shows I've ever heard, tonight themed on uncontrollable debt. I can't help nodding off, but Booty keeps waking me up, concerned about me sleeping with my contacts in.

We get back to the old homestead, and I take out the bins ready for the morning collection (garden waste). I pop out my contacts, while Booty brushes her teeth. Booty gets into bed and I finish off the blog, planning to join her when I'm finished, which is what I'm going to do now.

Some of the Humdrum

The Job wraps up around 06:30am, but I've still got around two hours travelling ahead of me before I can get to bed. I'm tired and my foot is killing me for some reason. Although as usual I'm the last one to get on the bus, I'm not too worried as there were plenty of seats on the way out. That would have been fine were it not for the fact that the morning bus is a fair few seats short of the night coach. I walk up the aisle past all the fuckers pretending to be asleep; their bags blocking the seat next to them. I'm reminded of that scene in Forrest Gump - "You can't sit he-ya". Eventually, I spy the amiable Jazzman who asked me for a shift swap earlier, so is therefore a good candidate for a bit of seat-sharing. His bag is where my feet should go, and although he offers to move it without resentment, I tell not to bother just to spite myself. He tells me he no longer needs the swap.

When the bus comes to a halt on the train, I'm in two minds whether on not to go and sit on the floor of the carriage and read my book. I spy Lovepole getting up from where he plonked himself next to one of the fake kippers, so I opt to join him behind the bus.

Lovepole is one of those people who makes going to work a bit more bearable, he's an interesting guy; funny, laid-back and a consummate piss-taker (obligatory for being in the job). Despite the fact we're both packing novels, not a word is read. We talk about the only thing guys ever seem to end up talking about, shagging and shitting. I lay a shameful yet personal tale on The Pole which has him creased over. While involved in a marathon Halo 3 session, I deemed it too great an ordeal to trek upstairs to take a much-needed leak. Spotting a handy (large) Ribena bottle, I opted to use that instead, filling a paltry quarter of the bottle before popping the lid back on. Gaming for hours at a time can make you really thirsty and this, coupled with a terrible short-term memory can lead to knocking back a huge gulp of your own piss. Although it was a bit of a shock, it wasn't nearly half as bad I'd imagined, just a bit like salty water. I have I believe, learnt my lesson.

We chat on until the train arrives back in the UK, Lovepole having me in stitches with a couple of things I regret I can't recall now. As always Lovepole and I talk about how we always say we should meet up outside of work sometime but never manage it, and we get back on the bus for the trip back to the car park.

I get in the Leon and whack up the heated seat control and some Goldie Looking Chain. In a tiredness induced trance I somehow make it home by 08:30. I dump my stuff by the door and make for the kitchen, pouring myself a pint of my current tipple, Welch's white grape and pear juice. I'm pretty hungry too, so I plan on demolishing the last piece of Dime torte in the fridge. After a couple of bites I feel a pang of guilt at previously scoffing half the whole pie and decide the final piece should go to my beloved wife, so I put the ravaged tarta back.

I get undressed and slide into bed next to Bootylace. It's weird, I always go to sleep next to her at night, but after a night shift I just want the bed to myself. I have trouble drifting off, so I read a little until, sweetheart that she is, Booty gets up to let me sleep. She's also got to get going in order meet her mum and then go for a meal with her Grandparents followed by some shopping at Westwood Cross in Thanet.

My left foot has been hurting all morning and prevents me from sleeping. I spray it with deep heat and finally nod off. I sleep fitfully, waking every now and again, not fully compus mentis until about 15:30, when I'm woken by the fella who mows our lawn, Lunk. He's mowing our lawn.

I call Booty to ask her to get some cash out to pay the guy and she reminds me to transfer across some cash to pay for my car tax. £165 for the year! It's overdue a service as well.

I use the facilities, then make my way downstairs to find 28 Weeks Later on the doormat courtesy of Lovefilm. I make some cheese on toast with a little Worcestershire sauce and take it upstairs with a glass of milk as an accompaniment to the flick. The movie is good, not great, but I'm glad they kept the awesome score from the first film, although obviously this doesn't have the same impact second time around. A question for those of you who've seen it: Does this mean David Bowie is immune to infection? Booty comes home halfway through the movie, but doesn't stick around due to her dislike of gore and predilection for nightmares.

After the film, I make my way back downstairs where Booty is working on her laptop, I give her a hug and a kiss and talk a little about her day. She moans that the £90 boots she was gunning for as a Christmas present have sold out in her size, and I worry that she might think I've already bought her some, what with all the hints.

I call Muzz about arranging a band rehearsal, (he's the guitarist and singer) and e-mail Ofcomputer (drummer) about potential dates (one of the proposed dates I subsequently realise is during Theatre Week reunion). I then play a little Halo 3 and Bootylace goes upstairs to watch digital trash. I soon get bored as none of my friends are online, so I decide it's about time to make dinner. I'm never really hungry at dinnertime (what with cheese on toast at quarter to four) but I'm sure Booty will be, so I crack on, and hey, I can eat, y'know. I come up with turkey escalopes, pasta and corn on the cob. We eat while watching The Culture Show, Bootylace bitching all the while cos she wants to watch X Factor. I crack open the bottle of Ice wine Booty's Ma brought back from Canada, and despite the fact Booty has given up drinking so it's all mine, it's gone in minutes. I tell Booty what a cunt I think Mark Kermode is, and we end up bickering some more about the choice of TV show. I get myself a Ben & Jerry's 'Wich, setting off Booty again as I didn't get her any dessert. I offer her half of the 'wich, but she stubbornly pretends she doesn't want any. Eventually she relents and takes a bite. Bootylace suggests we watch something we'll both enjoy, but my foot is bothering me so I decide to take a bath, and read a book while soaking. I invite B-lace to sit on the toilet and chat to me but she respectfully declines.

After I'm finished in the tub, I grab us some cold drinks and then start writing the blog while Boots finishes watching X Factor on ITV2 (ugh), and the seemingly endless CSI. She asks if I'd like a hot drink, and then tells me to make her one while I'm at it. I warn her that all this is going in the blog, so she tells me to mention how lazy I am. She then sets out to make the drinks anyway, but I stop her and tell her I'll do it, which makes her go all soppy eyed and cutie voiced. That's what I'm going to do now - an Amaretto-laced Tim Hortons for me, a tea for the now tea-total Bootylace.

Michael Palin's Excruciatingly Dull Europe

One thing that is often said about Michael Palin is that he is a national treasure - I would have been inclined to agree, until I saw his new TV series, that is.

I am a massive fan of his original travel show "Around The World In 80 Days" and was really interested to learn about Eastern European countries, something I know very little about , but Fuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccckkkkkk me! How bloody boring is this programme? Palin himself, at 63, is showing his age and comes across as a dull stick in the mud. The series in shot in HD, presumably to show off the cinematic delights such as Palin chatting to an old woman while walking down a corridor, or wow! The thrills and spills of the host chatting with an elderly man in an office!

Balls to the Wall

I really haven't felt like blogging for some time now. This blog began as an insane loop of logic in order to force myself to do something so I could write about it, but the upshot is that perhaps it's working and I've been really busy of late. I'm not saying I haven't had time to blog, but I just haven't been inclined to go on about my thoughts or actions in written form. It's probably down to laziness.

It's weird, looking at my friend's blogs and how they differ:

The Troubadour blogs fairly sporadically, mostly about his thoughts and feelings and those odd things he MUST tell us about. His poetic style sometimes makes me cringe, but on the flip-side, the courageousness of his writing often displays the flashes of genius we all know he is capable of.

Urban Cowboy seems to blog EVERYTHING, almost down to a catalogue of his bowel movements. I find myself skim-reading his posts more than the others, but strangely, rather than finding it all rather mundane, I find it extremely fascinating; reading my brother-in-law's take on life, a guy who I thought I knew fairly well, but who still surprises me on a regular basis.

In contrast Ofcomputer is probably the least prolific blogger of us all, and whose focus is somewhat of a mixed bag, although she's often motivated by injustice. She's always been a bit of an enigma to me, her personality I mean, and I probably read her posts more closely than the others in order to gain an insight into her blurry character. Perhaps it's the Silent Bob effect - frequent silence lends a profundity to the few words uttered.

Be Righteous To Your Momma

It's Mother's day, so treat your mother right.

I Am Bovvered

Sorry if I'm getting too formal and political here, but I have to say that Tony Blair is a massive cock-knocker. Here is a little dialogue I've come up with to show what I think may have gone on recently at number 10.




Spin Doctor: Prime Minister, it would seem that there is a rising concern amongst the public that not enough is being done by the UK government to stop death and disease throughout the world.

Blair: Really? I did just start that standing order for Help the Aged.

Spin Doctor: Well, I was thinking we need to send out a clear message that we are serious about stopping poverty in the developing nations.

Blair: Oh no, Kevin, you're not going to suggest we cancel some third world debt are you? We're still paying off that bloody millennium dome.

Spin Doctor: Hah, very good Prime Minister. No, I was thinking of something with a bit more glitz than that.

Blair: So what do you suggest?

Spin Doctor: Well I...

Blair: Wait! Will it make me look like an okay guy and down with the kids?

Spin Doctor: Oh definitely Prime Minister.

Blair: Groovy. How much is it going to cost us?

Spin Doctor: Well, nothing. The Comic relief people have asked us if you would be willing to appear in a sketch for their TV appeal.

Blair: Wicked. But won't that seem a little bit hypocritical?

Spin: How so Prime Minister?

Blair: Well, that we only usually make token efforts at alleviating poverty, but we're willing to show support for an organisation that been set up because we're not doing enough?

Spin Doctor: Er.. nah, it'll look like you're willing to sacrifice a bit of dignity in order to stop African babies dying or some shit, but the best thing is it won't actually cost us a penny.

Blair: Bangin! Maybe I could crack the my axe as well.

Spin Doctor: Prime Minister?

Blair: Get with it, Kevin. I mean I could get out my guitar.

Spin Doctor: I think it's best that you don't.

The B Team

Something has been bothering me for some time now, and it's time to spark some debate; if a film was made of the A-Team today, who would star in it? B.A. is by far the hardest so I'll leave him until last. Here is my first crack at a cast list:

Col. John "Hannibal" Smith:- The Hoff
Lt. Templeton "Faceman" Peck:- Ben Affleck
Capt. "Howlin' Mad" Murdoch:- Jim Carrey
Sgt. Bosco Albert "B.A." Baracus:- LL Cool J

The other option would be to go down the reverse-a-race route and have the following:
Hannibal:- Ice T
Faceman:- Will Smith
Murdoch:- Chris Rock
B.A:- Stephen Fry

"I absolutely refuse to board that aeroplane, imbecile!"
Okay, maybe not.

I've got tickets!

Canada, Eh?

I've not written my blog for some time and that's not because I haven't had things to write, it's because I feel I can't write anything until I've written an account of my trip to Canada with Bootylace, but I haven't been able to so far because the idea exhausts me. So, what I am going to do is show you some pics, give a very brief description of events and assure you that it was all fuckin' awesome. This is what I did:

Bootylace enjoyed it all so much she is looking into moving to Canada - seriously, she has forms!

H & S Gone Rickkadiculous

I went skating the other day. Well, I put some ice skates on and pulled myself around the side of an ice rink until my fingernails fell off. I wasn't massively surprised to see this ridiculous example of health and safety. It's like a packet of dry roasted with "may contain traces of nuts" written on it. You'd bloody hope so.

The Ultimate Endearment

Guy: I was thinking about you earlier.

Girl: Really?

Guy: Yeah, I was watching some donkey porn.

I'm a poet but not gay

I thought I might try and write something about my friends - the term poetry might be stretching it a little bit. These are more like limericks. Here's the first couple of attempts:

What a friend indeed is Caroline Mead!
About the Sis of Chris, I must insist:
She's the nicest person you could know,
so not dissimilar to her big Bro.

Does Olivia use Nivea?
Her face is less stressed than years ago,
and smiles now sit where frowns would go.
The furrowed brow has left the head,
was the product the cause
or has she just chilled out instead?

Update on Waist of Shoelace!

Livva and Onions

There is no reason for me displaying this picture other than the fact that I believe it requires greater coverage. If you have a Blog or Website I urge you to display it there also. Do it now.