There is no stopping Tom Cruise. He is, after all, with the help of his merry band of Scientologists, "the authorities". In a way I am glad he told us, because for years I just assumed the police were. According to The Cruiser, in a situation such as a car crash only a scientologist can be of help. He doesn't really give a reason - but when talking religion, reason is not really necessary. I will point out at this point that this is not a pop at Scientology - as religions go, it's definitely the most interesting. Make no mistakes - this is most definitely a pop at Tom Cruise. He annoyed me a long time before I had even heard of L. Ron Hubbard, thetans or Axioms. I would never openly question another faith; if you want to live your life with one eye on the finish line, then do it, but don't push your shit on other people, and other people won't question you. Personally, I will find you when, and if, I need you.
After all the bullshit is put to the side, all I am left with is a snivelling, closet dwelling, angry little man - Tom Cruise. I really, really don't like Top Gun - which I will make an example of - I really don't like any of his films, but I class this as the absolute worst he has to offer, and it completely baffles me - I could watch it over and over, and never see anything good about it. Maybe if I liked the taste of dick I would appreciate it more, but as it stands I don't like Tom Cruise, I don't like Top Gun, and I don't like the idea of finding out what dick tastes like.
Nicolas Cage, on the other hand, is a gloriously over the top action star - had he been in Top Gun, I would watch it every night, because he doesn't turn every film he is in into homo-erotica. Cage is the quintessential action hero - like Willis back in the day - one with which to relate. I imagine enjoying a drink and drug binge with him, and when I pass out, he would rob my wallet and watch, then try and set fire to my teeth, while Cruise, when presented a handsome, drunk and unconscious man such as myself, would go straight past the wallet and watch, and straight for the cock.
Nic Cage, I Salute you sir.
Tuesday 27 January 2009
Letter to The Guardian
I replied to a article in the guardian last week, as it seems they won't be printing it, i will post it here.
Why no-one else is mourning the ruined market.
Hann uses the word 'we' like he is on the council of cool cats in Camden; as if he speaks for his minions like some sort of overlord, whose job it is to look individual (like all the other individuals in Camden), listen to the new three-chord wonderband, and decide on a day-to-day basis which pub is cool to hang out in. In his hugely entertaining, yet unbelievably hypocritical tirade against Goths, cheap rubbish on stalls, wannabe indie kids on the look out for drugs, and, let's not forget, the "sedated cattle" remark, it is almost as if he thinks there is anything even remotely interesting about this place - there isn't really, unless you are trying to buy a rasta hat, thick rimmed sunglasses, or, of course, drugs. A lot of people in Camden want you to buy drugs.
So, Michael, the lovely little town you call home is the 'drug theme park' you mentioned, and it always will be, as long as the cool Camden-ites continue to flaunt their drug use publicly. In my experiences of Camden, it's a town full of wannabes (you included Mr. and Mrs. Hann), a sorry bunch of faux-bohemians desperately trying to cling onto what Camden once was - a place for artists, down-and-outs, and burnt-out hippies to hang out; no iPods, no forced image, just the vibe. Now, the closest thing you get to vibe in Camden is people sitting in their flats smoking grass, listening to Bob Marley, blissfully unaware of how tragically cliché they have become.
Sports and games
Big sporting events always grab the attention of the public. Every summer at this time, Wimbledon week, people go crazy, if you are a tennis player all year round, you dread this tournament because every posing asshole is out on court with their useless expensive equipment all desperately trying to hit a serve like federer, or wearing knee length shorts and tank top in an attempt to look like Nadal. Newsflash, even he looks like a tit, so what do you think you look like when you keep hitting the net, look at your strings all you want asshole, a little rubber shock absorber stuck to your ’Wilson’ racket won’t help your pathetic form. On the up side, at least these people are trying to play a decent game, but when the Golf Open comes around, every douche bag who ever went to their local Crazy Golf digs out their dads pringle gear and go about dressing like a prize cunt. Stripy polo shirts and waterproof tank tops don’t go, idiot, what made you think they did? I have never fully understood the attraction, or the point of watching golf, taking in a round is different, and sometimes enjoyable, but to stand around a golf course waiting for some guy to maybe stop near you to hit a ball, just seems like a massive waste of the time you have on this earth, its not like going to watch live football, or boxing or anything like that, you are literally standing in a field waiting for a guy to walk past you, and paying for it.
As you may have noticed sports kind of annoy me, more the fans and players than the actual sports, but there are rare exceptions, people who excel at their sport with true talent, not people like David Beckham, sure he can score free kicks occasionally, but when it comes to beating a man, the only time you can say he does that is when he is wanking off his ‘wife’. True sportsmen are those with the personality to match the skill, Muhammad Ali, Gazza, John McEnroe to name a few. Unless you are one of those people I don’t want to know your sporting achievements, because in everyday life, to us , the regular Joes, there is only one game that matters, one true sport, Pro Evo on the playstation 2. The closest any one of us will ever get to sporting great status is at this game. People, most of whom don’t know any better, or are terrorists, claim that Fifa is better, but as I say, that game is only played by idiots and terrorists.
As any real man will tell you, not much stings quite like finishing bottom of the league against your mates, you could be dumped by your girl, punched in the face, fired from your job or flicked in the nuts, but none of them destroy you in quite the same way as a heavy defeat at Pro Evo. It can truly break a man. It is quite simply the greatest sports game on the market, and if you don’t play it, for whatever reason, not owning the game, not owning a computer, not having friends, or maybe you are an idiot or a terrorist and you prefer Fifa, whatever, you have my sympathy, because its not just a game, its sitting with your mates getting wrecked, its deciding what team to go, its landing on Real Madrid on a random choice, its sticking one it the top bag from 30 yards, it’s the look on everyone’s face when they have been defeated, its going to your bed a champion, even if it is only known to your mates. Its when the hot curvy chick in the grey skirt suit is handing out medals/hand jobs to your team, when you can finally sit back and relax, the hours you just put in were worth it. There’s the feeling you want, and you are the only one in the room feeling it, everyone else is completely and utterly fucking depressed.
As you may have noticed sports kind of annoy me, more the fans and players than the actual sports, but there are rare exceptions, people who excel at their sport with true talent, not people like David Beckham, sure he can score free kicks occasionally, but when it comes to beating a man, the only time you can say he does that is when he is wanking off his ‘wife’. True sportsmen are those with the personality to match the skill, Muhammad Ali, Gazza, John McEnroe to name a few. Unless you are one of those people I don’t want to know your sporting achievements, because in everyday life, to us , the regular Joes, there is only one game that matters, one true sport, Pro Evo on the playstation 2. The closest any one of us will ever get to sporting great status is at this game. People, most of whom don’t know any better, or are terrorists, claim that Fifa is better, but as I say, that game is only played by idiots and terrorists.
As any real man will tell you, not much stings quite like finishing bottom of the league against your mates, you could be dumped by your girl, punched in the face, fired from your job or flicked in the nuts, but none of them destroy you in quite the same way as a heavy defeat at Pro Evo. It can truly break a man. It is quite simply the greatest sports game on the market, and if you don’t play it, for whatever reason, not owning the game, not owning a computer, not having friends, or maybe you are an idiot or a terrorist and you prefer Fifa, whatever, you have my sympathy, because its not just a game, its sitting with your mates getting wrecked, its deciding what team to go, its landing on Real Madrid on a random choice, its sticking one it the top bag from 30 yards, it’s the look on everyone’s face when they have been defeated, its going to your bed a champion, even if it is only known to your mates. Its when the hot curvy chick in the grey skirt suit is handing out medals/hand jobs to your team, when you can finally sit back and relax, the hours you just put in were worth it. There’s the feeling you want, and you are the only one in the room feeling it, everyone else is completely and utterly fucking depressed.
Monday 26 January 2009
Violence in your childrens face.
I found myself hiding in a doorway in the middle of Times Square in Manhattan. I have just killed alot of people, I needed to, well I didn't need to mow that last lot down with the car that was more of an accident, contrary to what my commitment to speed and accuracy would have you believe. I have half a clip left for my desert eagle that I stole from some fool I wasted, and around twenty bullets for my M4, the fully automatic jewel in my vicious crown. I have a knife aswell, but I doubt I will get close enough to use it. There is an enemy rounding the corner to my left, I'm hiding in what used to be the WWE store ( for anyone who remembers it) I'm on my own, all these clueless pedestrians are no help at all. There is an abandoned, slightly mangled car infront of me. "Fuck it" I shout as I confront the approaching enemy, blasting him in the chest with every bullet in my handgun before diving into the car and boosting out of there. In my haste to kill the guy I alerted the police, two minutes of excessive speeding in this fine automobile I stole and I had lost them, and was now focused on my next kill. After the evasive driving classic of four lefts, I ended up back in Times Square which was now a full on war zone. I still had no bullets, but I did have a car, so I went for them, slamming people into walls, throwing them into the air and putting their cars off the road. I bailed from my car, which was now in flames, luckily I walked straight into a cache of weapons, I now had an AK47 and I used it with precision, what followed was a scene of such graphic horror, pure rage, fear and excitement all in the space of a minute, it gets the blood flowing. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world. You see I am sitting on my mates couch, the city I am laying seige to is Liberty City. Home, for the time being, to the most ruthless and cold blooded killers on XBOX Live.
Grand Theft Auto is an incredible game, each one has been great, and each one has arrived with a barrage of disapproval from the more conservative voices, teachers, religious types, desperate polititions etc. "Violent games breed violent people" one such person said in The Daily Mail, a bastion of fearmongering among the British people. Maybe it does, I am not here to deny that, there is every chance that it does make angry young loners do crazy shit, the bottom line is that I don't care what effect it has on your children. I only care about me getting to play this game. My problem comes from the proposed banning of games such as Grand theft Auto, Manhunt or Bully, pretty much every Rockstar release. If you want these games banned then you had better do your homework and not just recite something some clueless pansy said in the news, and who has never set foot in Liberty City, Vice City or San Andreas. Unless you have sat and tried to play these games then you have no place even in the outskirts of the conversation about computer violence let alone dictating what people can and can't play. It would like me giving a seminar on Two Girls one Cup, sure I have heard about it, know what goes on, and have witnessed people reactions to it, but I haven't seen it, and quite frankly don't want to, but I certainly wouldn't involve myself in a conversation regarding the ins and outs of it.
GTA4 is a masterpiece, nothing short, as are the Call of Duty franchise. As a child of the 80's I grew up on shitty 2d platforms, and watched gaming evolve into all out, realistic war. Rockstar games gave us that. What have it's critics given us? Leading the charge was NY GOV Eliot Spitzer, a man of morals, who fulfilled the office of New York Governer with pride. Oh, wait. No he didn't, he resigned over an incident with a hooker. I guess paying for sex is good, and violent video games are bad. Although prostitution is illegal and violent games are not, so I don't really know, maybe we should ask Spitzers wife and kids, they should know the details
Grand Theft Auto is an incredible game, each one has been great, and each one has arrived with a barrage of disapproval from the more conservative voices, teachers, religious types, desperate polititions etc. "Violent games breed violent people" one such person said in The Daily Mail, a bastion of fearmongering among the British people. Maybe it does, I am not here to deny that, there is every chance that it does make angry young loners do crazy shit, the bottom line is that I don't care what effect it has on your children. I only care about me getting to play this game. My problem comes from the proposed banning of games such as Grand theft Auto, Manhunt or Bully, pretty much every Rockstar release. If you want these games banned then you had better do your homework and not just recite something some clueless pansy said in the news, and who has never set foot in Liberty City, Vice City or San Andreas. Unless you have sat and tried to play these games then you have no place even in the outskirts of the conversation about computer violence let alone dictating what people can and can't play. It would like me giving a seminar on Two Girls one Cup, sure I have heard about it, know what goes on, and have witnessed people reactions to it, but I haven't seen it, and quite frankly don't want to, but I certainly wouldn't involve myself in a conversation regarding the ins and outs of it.
GTA4 is a masterpiece, nothing short, as are the Call of Duty franchise. As a child of the 80's I grew up on shitty 2d platforms, and watched gaming evolve into all out, realistic war. Rockstar games gave us that. What have it's critics given us? Leading the charge was NY GOV Eliot Spitzer, a man of morals, who fulfilled the office of New York Governer with pride. Oh, wait. No he didn't, he resigned over an incident with a hooker. I guess paying for sex is good, and violent video games are bad. Although prostitution is illegal and violent games are not, so I don't really know, maybe we should ask Spitzers wife and kids, they should know the details
Sunday 25 January 2009
Sucioperro tour diary november 08.
Friday 14th November 2008, I arrived at a flat in Ayrs high street, around 10:20, ten minutes earlier than planned. I woke up the three fools staying there, Fergus (the drummer), Max (the sound guy) and Stu (the bass player). After hanging around a while, watching TV, we gathered all the makings and and packed the van. One more to pick up, some might say the most important part, well, he might say it, John (the guitar/vox) he greets us with a smoke in one hand and an excellent looking bacon roll in the other. After re-packing the van and a stop at Carlindas on Ayrs main street for her excellent hot dogs and stovies, we are off. First stop Sunderland, the venue is called the Independant, it turns out we have been there before. The trip down was lively, the chat ranging from cheeseburgers to bukakke, via double anal double vaginal fisting, and why not.
Lack of a sat nav means we must rely on Iphones, which gets us there eventually, but not without trouble. When we finally got there was when I realised we had been here before, most cities and towns end up looking like each other after a few tours, anyone who has been to The Independant in Sunderland will know that it's a fucking hellish load in/out, straight up stairs, it's in my top 3 worst places to load, along with the Louisiana in Bristol and upstairs at The Garage in London, where you have to load in through a hole in a wall. Badly thought out each and everyone of them. Despite the poor turn out at Sunderland the night went well, Sucioperro dominated the stage. The crowd, which seemed to be mainly made up of girls of questionable age in ridiculously small outfits, danced the night away. After a flawless load out, and a trip to Greggs, which we were pleased to find out was open until four in the morning, we were on the road en route to a Travelodge somewhere.
A sad thing happened to the country a few months ago when smoking was banned. Travelodge decided, in their infinate wisdom, to make all rooms non smoking, and our room was no where near the front door. Some action had to be taken. There is an old trick, sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't, but it is always worth a shot. All you need is a pair of socks and some electrical tape. You pull both socks over the smoke detector and fasten them to the ceiling with the tape, hey presto - a smoking room. It sounds illegal, and it most likely is, but when we checked in we were informed that there was a prowler on the loose flashing his cock at anyone who would be unfortunate enough to bump into him. If the choices are breaking the law by interfering with a smoke alarm and smoking in a non smoking building, or hanging around out in the cold fearing a flashing, there is no question. It may have been cold outside, but hell, I wanted to see this infamous cock. I jest, indoors always wins, but we were confronted by the fuzz when hanging out the window smoking, it was a close one, but I think they were more worried about meeting the flasher. That night finished with us watching quiz call and wondering how the hell they can get away with all the obscure answers.
The next morning started with a bang, everyone being woken up by the noise of a plastic water bottle being squeezed within an inch of it's life, emptying it's contents into the mouth of a very parched drummer. There was no point trying to get back to sleep at that time, well I got another hour, but it was pointless. After overpriced coffee from the services, we were packed, checked and on the road by one o'clock. The journey which followed was one of victory for this writer as he demolished the three other people who were awake, at the movie game. Someone names an actor, or actress and then you have to name the films they have starred in, which sounds easy, and it is, but it passes the time and I won, and thats all that counts. We made a quick pit stop for pissing, when we saw the first hitchhiker of the tour, his sign said south, just south. We saw him at the next services aswell, which was south of the last one, and I realised that this guy probably had nowhere in particular to go, just south. It's doubtful that he was heading to see his wife and kids in his fancy house, because he looked like he would have murdered them and burnt the house down if they existed, needless to say we did not offer him a lift. The next stop was Tunbridge Wells, home of the famous Max Dighton, AKA The Commodore, AKA Sucioperros sound guy. The venue there is called The Forum, and it is famous on the toilet tour due to it being a former public toilet, in certain corners it still smells like one. There were more people at this show than the last, and there was even an older lady, the mother of one the support acts, with her fingers placed firmly in her ears fr the duration of sucios set, which is a great advert for a rock band if ever I have seen one. After the show we headed back to Casa De Max, where what can only be described debauchery took place, ending in the early hours, with music ranging from Oceansize to Hall and Oats providing the entertainment, when it could be heard over the snoring beast in the next room, known as the Spider, I would have found it funny but I had to sleep next to the bastard. Sunday afternoon arrived to no applause, with The Dragon utterly regreting his decision to drink Jaegermeister and scotch until seven in the morning, demanding bacon and a coffin before scuttling back to the couch he chose to die on. Spider made up for the snoring by braving the elements and hiking to Ye Olde Sainsburys, and bringing forth a bounty of meats and produce to be fried and consumed by the ravenous knights around the rectangular table. Once fed and washed, we were once again on the move, heading for London's Kentish Town, The Bull and Gate, where you enter the venue through the gents. Not knowing this, I went in to scope the sitch when we arrived and the landlord told me where the entrance to the venue was, as if entering through the gents was so obvious, either that, or I misread his matter-of-fact attitude for pure hatred of me, and anyone who isn't coming into his pub to buy drink. Either way, there is a venue where you enter through the gents. The strangest thing happened at this show, I very rarely enjoy London shows, It's a tough City. This time was different, being a merch guy has it's advantages, the main advantage is getting to watch your favourite band play every night, and it gets better on a night like this because the crowd got their moneys worth with Sucioperro playing the best show so far on this tour, ripping London a new one, so to speak. It was a lesson in live music, and the 50 people lucky enough to be witness to it realised it was pretty special. So, for once I didn't want to leave London. Don't get me wrong, I still hate the place, but on this night I would be willing to stay. Unfortunately we had a long drive, a few hours north, tomorrow was Edinburgh, we drove half way and stopped at a travelodge. On the way we watched Raiders of the Lost Ark, then argued about the ranking of the other Indiana Jones movies, it got heated. We checked in, did the old sock on the smoke detector trick, settled in for the night and watched quiz call, still wondering how the hell they get a way with such obscure answers, until we all crashed out. Well, we didn't all crash out, certain lead singer/guitarists couldn't sleep, and didn't want everyone else to. Monday started with a scare, my alarm went off at the arranged time of 11am, however, somehow I had managed to set it to a volume level usually only found on an old persons TV set. This was the moment I came closest to shitting myself on this tour. I regained my composure and got myself together and went to the services for a coffee. I was joined by Stu and Max, the other two took another 100 hours to get out to the van, they eventually showed and we tooled up and took off, but not before I had to go and salvage a pillow stolen from the previous travelodge and accidentally left in this one. If I have learned anything while on tour it's that Travelodge staff don't give a fuck, it's what set them apart from the other places, they are really cool and don't mind if you party until 8 in the AM, unlike Holiday Inn, which is a company of dicks, the Adolf Hitler of the cheap hotel world. The next leg of the drive is a 5 hour slog, we passed some of the time with a few rounds of 'movie game', which I ruled at, again, pretty unbeatable, feel free to challenge me. We also nailed alot of brasseye, which is always good. Arrival in Edinburgh was a quiet affair, we were all happy to be back in Scotland, Irn Bru in every bar, and our money isn't denied in every shop. Set up took a while, there were some complications of sorts. Laid back people being the main complication. The night went great, a very sweaty affair, and before we knew it the night was over and we were piled into the van, dropping various friends at various places in Edinburgh and heading back to Ayr, chatting about the tour, drinking the last of the jaeger, doing the punishing final load out, a hell of a vibe at that time of day. Then we said our goodbyes, until we would see each other again, 12 hours later, but still, tradition is tradition, hug it out and get tae fuck. We will do it again some other time, no doubt. Come see the band, come say hello, I'll be the guy with the handsome face standing behind the merch table.
Lack of a sat nav means we must rely on Iphones, which gets us there eventually, but not without trouble. When we finally got there was when I realised we had been here before, most cities and towns end up looking like each other after a few tours, anyone who has been to The Independant in Sunderland will know that it's a fucking hellish load in/out, straight up stairs, it's in my top 3 worst places to load, along with the Louisiana in Bristol and upstairs at The Garage in London, where you have to load in through a hole in a wall. Badly thought out each and everyone of them. Despite the poor turn out at Sunderland the night went well, Sucioperro dominated the stage. The crowd, which seemed to be mainly made up of girls of questionable age in ridiculously small outfits, danced the night away. After a flawless load out, and a trip to Greggs, which we were pleased to find out was open until four in the morning, we were on the road en route to a Travelodge somewhere.
A sad thing happened to the country a few months ago when smoking was banned. Travelodge decided, in their infinate wisdom, to make all rooms non smoking, and our room was no where near the front door. Some action had to be taken. There is an old trick, sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't, but it is always worth a shot. All you need is a pair of socks and some electrical tape. You pull both socks over the smoke detector and fasten them to the ceiling with the tape, hey presto - a smoking room. It sounds illegal, and it most likely is, but when we checked in we were informed that there was a prowler on the loose flashing his cock at anyone who would be unfortunate enough to bump into him. If the choices are breaking the law by interfering with a smoke alarm and smoking in a non smoking building, or hanging around out in the cold fearing a flashing, there is no question. It may have been cold outside, but hell, I wanted to see this infamous cock. I jest, indoors always wins, but we were confronted by the fuzz when hanging out the window smoking, it was a close one, but I think they were more worried about meeting the flasher. That night finished with us watching quiz call and wondering how the hell they can get away with all the obscure answers.
The next morning started with a bang, everyone being woken up by the noise of a plastic water bottle being squeezed within an inch of it's life, emptying it's contents into the mouth of a very parched drummer. There was no point trying to get back to sleep at that time, well I got another hour, but it was pointless. After overpriced coffee from the services, we were packed, checked and on the road by one o'clock. The journey which followed was one of victory for this writer as he demolished the three other people who were awake, at the movie game. Someone names an actor, or actress and then you have to name the films they have starred in, which sounds easy, and it is, but it passes the time and I won, and thats all that counts. We made a quick pit stop for pissing, when we saw the first hitchhiker of the tour, his sign said south, just south. We saw him at the next services aswell, which was south of the last one, and I realised that this guy probably had nowhere in particular to go, just south. It's doubtful that he was heading to see his wife and kids in his fancy house, because he looked like he would have murdered them and burnt the house down if they existed, needless to say we did not offer him a lift. The next stop was Tunbridge Wells, home of the famous Max Dighton, AKA The Commodore, AKA Sucioperros sound guy. The venue there is called The Forum, and it is famous on the toilet tour due to it being a former public toilet, in certain corners it still smells like one. There were more people at this show than the last, and there was even an older lady, the mother of one the support acts, with her fingers placed firmly in her ears fr the duration of sucios set, which is a great advert for a rock band if ever I have seen one. After the show we headed back to Casa De Max, where what can only be described debauchery took place, ending in the early hours, with music ranging from Oceansize to Hall and Oats providing the entertainment, when it could be heard over the snoring beast in the next room, known as the Spider, I would have found it funny but I had to sleep next to the bastard. Sunday afternoon arrived to no applause, with The Dragon utterly regreting his decision to drink Jaegermeister and scotch until seven in the morning, demanding bacon and a coffin before scuttling back to the couch he chose to die on. Spider made up for the snoring by braving the elements and hiking to Ye Olde Sainsburys, and bringing forth a bounty of meats and produce to be fried and consumed by the ravenous knights around the rectangular table. Once fed and washed, we were once again on the move, heading for London's Kentish Town, The Bull and Gate, where you enter the venue through the gents. Not knowing this, I went in to scope the sitch when we arrived and the landlord told me where the entrance to the venue was, as if entering through the gents was so obvious, either that, or I misread his matter-of-fact attitude for pure hatred of me, and anyone who isn't coming into his pub to buy drink. Either way, there is a venue where you enter through the gents. The strangest thing happened at this show, I very rarely enjoy London shows, It's a tough City. This time was different, being a merch guy has it's advantages, the main advantage is getting to watch your favourite band play every night, and it gets better on a night like this because the crowd got their moneys worth with Sucioperro playing the best show so far on this tour, ripping London a new one, so to speak. It was a lesson in live music, and the 50 people lucky enough to be witness to it realised it was pretty special. So, for once I didn't want to leave London. Don't get me wrong, I still hate the place, but on this night I would be willing to stay. Unfortunately we had a long drive, a few hours north, tomorrow was Edinburgh, we drove half way and stopped at a travelodge. On the way we watched Raiders of the Lost Ark, then argued about the ranking of the other Indiana Jones movies, it got heated. We checked in, did the old sock on the smoke detector trick, settled in for the night and watched quiz call, still wondering how the hell they get a way with such obscure answers, until we all crashed out. Well, we didn't all crash out, certain lead singer/guitarists couldn't sleep, and didn't want everyone else to. Monday started with a scare, my alarm went off at the arranged time of 11am, however, somehow I had managed to set it to a volume level usually only found on an old persons TV set. This was the moment I came closest to shitting myself on this tour. I regained my composure and got myself together and went to the services for a coffee. I was joined by Stu and Max, the other two took another 100 hours to get out to the van, they eventually showed and we tooled up and took off, but not before I had to go and salvage a pillow stolen from the previous travelodge and accidentally left in this one. If I have learned anything while on tour it's that Travelodge staff don't give a fuck, it's what set them apart from the other places, they are really cool and don't mind if you party until 8 in the AM, unlike Holiday Inn, which is a company of dicks, the Adolf Hitler of the cheap hotel world. The next leg of the drive is a 5 hour slog, we passed some of the time with a few rounds of 'movie game', which I ruled at, again, pretty unbeatable, feel free to challenge me. We also nailed alot of brasseye, which is always good. Arrival in Edinburgh was a quiet affair, we were all happy to be back in Scotland, Irn Bru in every bar, and our money isn't denied in every shop. Set up took a while, there were some complications of sorts. Laid back people being the main complication. The night went great, a very sweaty affair, and before we knew it the night was over and we were piled into the van, dropping various friends at various places in Edinburgh and heading back to Ayr, chatting about the tour, drinking the last of the jaeger, doing the punishing final load out, a hell of a vibe at that time of day. Then we said our goodbyes, until we would see each other again, 12 hours later, but still, tradition is tradition, hug it out and get tae fuck. We will do it again some other time, no doubt. Come see the band, come say hello, I'll be the guy with the handsome face standing behind the merch table.
Everyone in massproduced.
This is a piece I wrote for an online fashion magazine, needless to say they didn't accept it, saying that this piece "is against everything we believe in". To this point the best review I have had.
I'm somewhat new to the fashion world. Sure I have a fine collection of clothes, but I have never seen it as anything other than stuff I put on in order to fit into certain occasions. I realise that wearing a football top to a wedding is a no no, and believe me, I have seen it happen. I also know that dressing like everyone else is not being fashionable. Shops that sell cheap shitty clothes, kitting out entire cross sections of people in identical clobber to the point it becomes like mini gangs in 4 pound jeans. If you can buy a pack of underpants for less than you could probably get for the ones you are wearing, it's probably not that good of a deal.
Expolitation rears its ugly head around this company, and many like them, crazy hippy friends are always trying to get me from going there, crying on about people being exploited in the making of these garments, the fact that you could buy a suit for 30 pounds would make that a fairly obvious assumption. At least they are getting paid, right? They could be unemployed, trying to steal for dinner, or pimping themselves out to the cats with the jobs. All in the name of fashion, however. No right minded person could pass on cheap clothes, the chance to look good for a night out on budget, not being fussed that it warps shape after one wear, let alone wash, you can always buy another one. Everyone in massproduced. The constant stream of individuals through pub doors, all working individualy to look exactly the same as each other, uniformed conformity. These unwitty 'witty' tee shirts with badly coined phrases printed on the chest for the more doucheir male. 'Just add beer' a personal favourite of mine, completely ridiculous to me, yet completely genius humour to another, the fashion equivelant of someone disliking The Naked Gun but finding Bridgette Jones Diary utterly hilarious. Nightclubs are the battlegrounds where these fashion wars are fought, where guys and girls in sweatshop ensembles dance the dance, drinkin too much, too much, and try their very best to lay claim to a member of the opposite sex for the night (next few minutes), which is probably a bigger deal for the boys in the place, they have mates to impress, each of them in a different tee shirt complete with witty one liner, these people have no chat of their own, which is why they excel in the nightclubs, anyone with anything to say, or a decent dress sense lose out to these charlatans on a regular basis because the women in nightclubs are so slutty and blinkered towards guys who look like footballers because they might have fancy cars to go along with the diamond ear stud, strangely this look that the club guy has cultivated this century would be seen as homosexual in any other time in history, the only difference is that the modern day metrosexuals are horribly boring people, too much lager, not enough education.
Could the fashion world be in jeopardy? Could we be heading towards a time where price and convienience overshadow quality and style? I believe we are already there, I myself own over 15 black work shirts, because sometimes I forget to do a washing and I need one last minute for work, and at three pounds for a shirt, one can't really resist. I guess we are all guilty at some point for something.
Society has always been image concious, and the music industry has always been at the fore front, The Beatles constant reinvention, the punk movement in the 70's the new romantics in the 80's, the madchester, parkers and pills, movement in the early nineties, even today we have people like Amy Winehouse rocking retro zombie- chic, Posh spice always trying her hardest to remain relevant in a world moving out of her weak malnourished grasp, a relic from the nineties whose fame is largely thanks to her choice in men, and partly because there is nothing to her, a sad example of women who need to be match stick thing to gain the attention of men, me personally, I like them bigger, there is nothing better than a bit of a curve on a woman, they feel great. Sadly I am a minority, or at least that's how it feels to me, the fan of the bigger woman is like the man who championed beta-max, everyone knows it was a better format; it just didn't catch the breaks VHS did. Sophie Dahl was a great example of sexy curvaceous woman, sadly she must have taken up the cocaine diet because she is now a rake, well she was the last time I googled her, in a quick one-two knock out move, she shed all her curves and started dating pop dwarf Jamie Cullem, I’m still waiting for the punch line regarding that relationship. This argument over weight, size zero and all that is, like most things, a double edged sword. Some people take things too far, they get over excited and say something totally ridiculous. Beth Ditto is the singer, a term I use very loosely, for a band called The Gossip, many newspapers and magazines, the NME being the worst for it, heralded Ditto as a renegade against the size zero models that young girls aspire to be, as if she chose to be bigger just to stick it to the skinny girls, when it's just a simple case of overeating. So, ladies and gentlemen, by their reckoning your daughter is either going to be a stick thin supermodel whose diet consists mainly of cocaine and semen, or the singer in an awful band, whose diet clearly isn't working for her. It is not really a tough decision when put like that, where would you rather be? A fashion show, surrounded by the famous, glamorous people, or a Gossip gig, surrounded by people waiting for that one song they had. At the same time putting up with Beth Ditto trying her hardest to wrestle her way out of her tight fitting formerly designer clothes, just to remind us she is fat and proud, which was plainly obvious before she stripped. I would be looking for middle ground; quite literally, I would mathematically work out the exact middle point between the two events and go stand there and look at pictures of Beyonce and Rhianna until it’s all over.
I'm somewhat new to the fashion world. Sure I have a fine collection of clothes, but I have never seen it as anything other than stuff I put on in order to fit into certain occasions. I realise that wearing a football top to a wedding is a no no, and believe me, I have seen it happen. I also know that dressing like everyone else is not being fashionable. Shops that sell cheap shitty clothes, kitting out entire cross sections of people in identical clobber to the point it becomes like mini gangs in 4 pound jeans. If you can buy a pack of underpants for less than you could probably get for the ones you are wearing, it's probably not that good of a deal.
Expolitation rears its ugly head around this company, and many like them, crazy hippy friends are always trying to get me from going there, crying on about people being exploited in the making of these garments, the fact that you could buy a suit for 30 pounds would make that a fairly obvious assumption. At least they are getting paid, right? They could be unemployed, trying to steal for dinner, or pimping themselves out to the cats with the jobs. All in the name of fashion, however. No right minded person could pass on cheap clothes, the chance to look good for a night out on budget, not being fussed that it warps shape after one wear, let alone wash, you can always buy another one. Everyone in massproduced. The constant stream of individuals through pub doors, all working individualy to look exactly the same as each other, uniformed conformity. These unwitty 'witty' tee shirts with badly coined phrases printed on the chest for the more doucheir male. 'Just add beer' a personal favourite of mine, completely ridiculous to me, yet completely genius humour to another, the fashion equivelant of someone disliking The Naked Gun but finding Bridgette Jones Diary utterly hilarious. Nightclubs are the battlegrounds where these fashion wars are fought, where guys and girls in sweatshop ensembles dance the dance, drinkin too much, too much, and try their very best to lay claim to a member of the opposite sex for the night (next few minutes), which is probably a bigger deal for the boys in the place, they have mates to impress, each of them in a different tee shirt complete with witty one liner, these people have no chat of their own, which is why they excel in the nightclubs, anyone with anything to say, or a decent dress sense lose out to these charlatans on a regular basis because the women in nightclubs are so slutty and blinkered towards guys who look like footballers because they might have fancy cars to go along with the diamond ear stud, strangely this look that the club guy has cultivated this century would be seen as homosexual in any other time in history, the only difference is that the modern day metrosexuals are horribly boring people, too much lager, not enough education.
Could the fashion world be in jeopardy? Could we be heading towards a time where price and convienience overshadow quality and style? I believe we are already there, I myself own over 15 black work shirts, because sometimes I forget to do a washing and I need one last minute for work, and at three pounds for a shirt, one can't really resist. I guess we are all guilty at some point for something.
Society has always been image concious, and the music industry has always been at the fore front, The Beatles constant reinvention, the punk movement in the 70's the new romantics in the 80's, the madchester, parkers and pills, movement in the early nineties, even today we have people like Amy Winehouse rocking retro zombie- chic, Posh spice always trying her hardest to remain relevant in a world moving out of her weak malnourished grasp, a relic from the nineties whose fame is largely thanks to her choice in men, and partly because there is nothing to her, a sad example of women who need to be match stick thing to gain the attention of men, me personally, I like them bigger, there is nothing better than a bit of a curve on a woman, they feel great. Sadly I am a minority, or at least that's how it feels to me, the fan of the bigger woman is like the man who championed beta-max, everyone knows it was a better format; it just didn't catch the breaks VHS did. Sophie Dahl was a great example of sexy curvaceous woman, sadly she must have taken up the cocaine diet because she is now a rake, well she was the last time I googled her, in a quick one-two knock out move, she shed all her curves and started dating pop dwarf Jamie Cullem, I’m still waiting for the punch line regarding that relationship. This argument over weight, size zero and all that is, like most things, a double edged sword. Some people take things too far, they get over excited and say something totally ridiculous. Beth Ditto is the singer, a term I use very loosely, for a band called The Gossip, many newspapers and magazines, the NME being the worst for it, heralded Ditto as a renegade against the size zero models that young girls aspire to be, as if she chose to be bigger just to stick it to the skinny girls, when it's just a simple case of overeating. So, ladies and gentlemen, by their reckoning your daughter is either going to be a stick thin supermodel whose diet consists mainly of cocaine and semen, or the singer in an awful band, whose diet clearly isn't working for her. It is not really a tough decision when put like that, where would you rather be? A fashion show, surrounded by the famous, glamorous people, or a Gossip gig, surrounded by people waiting for that one song they had. At the same time putting up with Beth Ditto trying her hardest to wrestle her way out of her tight fitting formerly designer clothes, just to remind us she is fat and proud, which was plainly obvious before she stripped. I would be looking for middle ground; quite literally, I would mathematically work out the exact middle point between the two events and go stand there and look at pictures of Beyonce and Rhianna until it’s all over.
Anticipation.
Standing in a huge line at a hotel reception with a massive dose of the fear, dying to get into a bed. Sitting in a taxi with a girl I am dying to sleep with, hoping she gets out at mine. Mentally counting down the days until a new GTA comes out. Knowing that there are my aunties home made sausages straight from Italy in the fridge, that will be dinner some day soon. The two years it took to finally have sex with one of my exes, while she was in a long term relationship, The fifteen years before I lost my virginity, the fourteen years before I got head, the eighteen years before I came on a girls face, and the twenty years before I got my wings. I seem to have spent my life anticipating things. I am a habitual anticipater, if you will. As we all are I guess. So, with all those big things waited for and got, what do I have to anticipate these days, well it changes weekly, mostly involving sex or movies, but with such experience in both I have fairly outlandish expectations. This week I was lucky enough to get a shot of Pro Evo 2009 on the PS3, it blew my mind. The game is exactly the same, but there is a new feature called Become A Legend, and it is incredible, like the first time you saw tits, its a whole new world. Fifa have ofcourse got their own version, which I have been assured is also great, but as my mum always says, 'you can put diamonds in shit, but at the end of the day all you have is shitty diamonds'. She is a wise woman, my mother. So, Pro evo 09 is out on PS3 and xbox. Fifa is out on all formats. Now, I only have a PS2, so do I bow to the heavy anticipation building up in my brain and buy fifa, losing me my friends and masculinity, or do I wait it out, untill this friday, which from now is less than a week. I have chosen to wait, and I think my head is going to explode. In Become A Legend you create your own character, then you start your career, trying to get signed for big teams, score big goals, and maybe win big tournaments. Basically it is the perfect thing for people like me, who used to think they were amazing at football but never caught the breaks, roughly translated as wisnae gid enough. So come friday I will get this game, lock myself in my flat,or, more importantly lock out my flatmates. Fire up the big screen and Become A Legend, and until then the anticipation will subdue my hatred of the fact it has taken 3 extra weeks for the bastards that make the game to release it on PS2. I suppose I have to come to terms with the fact I own a soon to be obsolete format, I should have traded up when Call Of Duty 4 was not released on PS2. But I held out. If there is one kind of person I truly hate, its people who think it's cool to use retro machines, and I am quickly becoming one, standing by a machine that went out with good resin. It's a money thing, if I could afford a ps3 or xbox, I would certainly buy one. Untill then I have a ps2, which I love, which maybe has something to do with the wall projector I play it through.
I started writing this on Monday of this week, it is now Thursday and I have less than 24 hours untill I get my copy, and I couldn't be more excited, those things listed at the beginning were probably more important, and in most cases, they were certainly more fun than a football game, but that was then, just now it is all I have, my life has come to this, writing about being excited about football games, which, by the way I really suck at. I should have mentioned that early on. I really truly suck at sports games on station, I excel at shooting fools in the head in games such as call of duty, or GTA, but when it comes to sports I am awful. Just last night i finished a 3 man league last, with one point, that's like admitting you don't like eating meat. It will change your peers opinions of you.
There is no contacting me this friday night, sure I should maybe go out and try and meet people, maybe get my fuck on, but only one girl could pull me away from my game, and her name is Megan Fox, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't have my number.
It has been months since the game was released, the world is disaray, businesses are shutting down left right and center, no one is safe from the dreaded credit crunch, except they are. Thats the funny thing, the credit crunch didn't seem to affect the spending over christmas and new year, and then the post festive sales have been mobbed aswell. Go figure. My Become a Legend career has flourished, having moved around alot from clubs such as Newcastle, Torino, Lazio, ManU, and finished up at AC Milan, which is where i am just now. I have been capped for Italy, and collected many prizes for my general awesomeness on the field. The only problem now is that I have managed to break my copy of Pro Evo 9, after dropping my playstation with the game on and playing. So, I guess I will have to settle for Call Of Duty Final Fronts instead.
I started writing this on Monday of this week, it is now Thursday and I have less than 24 hours untill I get my copy, and I couldn't be more excited, those things listed at the beginning were probably more important, and in most cases, they were certainly more fun than a football game, but that was then, just now it is all I have, my life has come to this, writing about being excited about football games, which, by the way I really suck at. I should have mentioned that early on. I really truly suck at sports games on station, I excel at shooting fools in the head in games such as call of duty, or GTA, but when it comes to sports I am awful. Just last night i finished a 3 man league last, with one point, that's like admitting you don't like eating meat. It will change your peers opinions of you.
There is no contacting me this friday night, sure I should maybe go out and try and meet people, maybe get my fuck on, but only one girl could pull me away from my game, and her name is Megan Fox, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't have my number.
It has been months since the game was released, the world is disaray, businesses are shutting down left right and center, no one is safe from the dreaded credit crunch, except they are. Thats the funny thing, the credit crunch didn't seem to affect the spending over christmas and new year, and then the post festive sales have been mobbed aswell. Go figure. My Become a Legend career has flourished, having moved around alot from clubs such as Newcastle, Torino, Lazio, ManU, and finished up at AC Milan, which is where i am just now. I have been capped for Italy, and collected many prizes for my general awesomeness on the field. The only problem now is that I have managed to break my copy of Pro Evo 9, after dropping my playstation with the game on and playing. So, I guess I will have to settle for Call Of Duty Final Fronts instead.
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