Jah Jah Dub

Loving that Boris Johnson's listening a lot to Goat's Head Soup nowadays. Unexpected.
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I am so tired.

I can barely rouse myself to write e-mails and read websites all afternoon.
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Interestingly, my liberal use of the "m-f" word does not mean I have foulest mouth in the office. That honour resides with my supervisor, who "turns the air blue" after every phone call.
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Between ten o'clock and one minute past last night I received two texts about Hell's Kitchen. Unfortunately I was out so I missed it. However, I appreciate it that people just assume I'll be watching it every day. That makes me happy.
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Football Related

Loving Mourinho.

Jose Mourinho is my new hero. I think if I could be anyone I'd be him. The suits, the arrogance, the speaking of five languages, the training under Bobby Robson,... I think part of the appeal comes from his lack of experience as a player (see also Benitez of Valencia, a former PE teacher) awakening those Fantasy Football/Championship Manager dreams in me.

Clive Tyldesley on Wednesday night, "Porto are going to find it tricky to replace this man..." Jan 2002 Porto are at their lowest ever league position (probably fourth but you know...) when Mourinho takes over. 2002-3 they win the League, Cup and Uefa Cup. 2003-4 Porto win the league and the European Cup final. Do you think so, Clive? Do you really think so? Expert analysis.
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Warning: Football related

I'm calling it now - next year's Premiership will be the most exciting in years. Arsenal are only going to get better, the boy Reyes will settle in, see you later time for dross like Wiltord and Kanu (urgh, Kanu...) and there may be a couple of new fellas coming aboard. There's also no way that Manchester United will be as poor as they were this season. Ronaldo is moving from show pony to showman and again, the squad will be strengthened. (Time for Djemba Djemba to show his class...) Chelsea... I was hoping for some Del Bosque figure who would wear a tracksuit, smoke fags and lazily perform some keepy-ups as he wandered around the training ground amongst a load of overpaid superstars nursing their hangovers. However, I'm completely converted. Instead it looks like they'll be a tightly controlled, ruthlessly efficient outfit under a manager who *already* has a feud with Ferguson and he hasn't even managed in England yet. I looking forward to them remorselessly eking out 1-0 wins over the other big teams and sticking 5 past the poorer ones. Liverpool might actually be half decent too, if they get the right coach (the right man is Benitez. Case closed.). Even that diabolical marriage of O'Leary and Aston Villa should consolidate and do well. So: a tight three (maybe four) horse race next seaon. And they could all do something in Europe too. A couple of inspired/funny signings - Carlos to Chelsea? would have been brilliant but not sure how it'd work under Mourinho - and we've got ourselves a golden year waiting to happen. And Beckham should stay at Madrid. Obviously.


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Because of a thing I am now sitting at work wearing a Sammy Davis Jnr t-shirt (the grey one on the right if you're interested), well-heeled capitalist foot soldier that I am.
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Wish I could take credit for this but big props to the M-Dogg for finding it. Check out Ivan Lendl's biggest fan. It's unexpected.
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No matter how I jigger and poke this test, I can't make it say I'll live until 100.

"...Well, I *could* take an aspirin every day..."
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Mediocre Celebrity Watch

Spotted in Mayfair ten minutes ago - Ben Shephard, spectacularly bland GMTV presenter.



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Ooh, just had a conversation with someone. A man just probed my doorbell.

- Hi there.
- (croaky)... h... he... hello.
- We're trying to track down all the BT customers in the area. I'm from Some Company. My name's Ian. What's your name?
- Hi, I'm Alistair.
- Right Alistair. You've probably seen our adverts on TV, yeah?
- Don't know. Maybe.
- The ones with the guys in the pub? They put their money in a box or something like that anyway, I can't quite remember.
- Yeah... yeah, I think I know.
- Pretty good, aren't they? Eh? Look at my encouraging and inclusive smile.
- Ummm... I don't know them actually. I'm sure they're great.
- Watch as my smile fades slightly. Ok, well you know the BT minimum something? With us you pay that and then there's some kind of different rate or something which will apparently make all the difference and mean you can have a diamond phone.
- I'm going to stop you there. We're all moving out really soon.
- Oh... when?
- Ummmm.... next month? Yeah, next month.... June. That's it, the end of June. Not the beginning, that's only next week, it would be a bit ridiculous of me to claim we were moving *then*.
- Ah. Ok. Not found anywhere to move to yet?
- Move? Oh yeah. No, looked at some places tonight but couldn't find anything.
- I don't know about you, but I think we should end this conversation here. Not only am I clearly not going to sell anything, but I'm finding this device of mixing truth and comment on what has happened increasingly tiresome.
- Agreed.
- Why don't you go back and watch the football? Or Hell's Kitchen: Extra Portions? That's on ITV 2 now.
- Yeah, might do. Bye then.
- Bye.
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I haven't had a face to face conversation with anyone who knows my name but who I don't work with since half past five yesterday. Nor am I likely to until tomorrow evening. Worried that I'm starting to go a little... odd.
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Porto... Monaco... Porto... Monaco... Porto... Monaco... Porto... Monaco...

Can't really get excited about this one. Porto, I guess.
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I have just had my hair cut. Startled by my resemblance to Frances De La Tour.



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Picture of the Day




Joe in Chicken Cottage. It was a good night.
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Picture of the Day



Why is this here? Joe. Looking lairy. I also like that you can see my extended camera arm in the reflection and that the angle really doesn't flatter me.
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I know I should be a bit distressed by all those arts going up in flames, but somehow I can't get that bothered about it. In fact, I find it strangely exhilirating, barbarian that I am. The conflagration is a bit of an art in itself - a comment on the disposability and ephemeral nature of today's creativity. Or something. I feel doubly guilty because Brian Sewell describes it as a tragedy, and he's never wrong.
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Picture of the Day





Home made crop circles in my garden. Such a nice day that even the nettles at the back look quite pretty.
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Picture of the Day




Name that misanthropic Smashing Pumpkins fan...
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Photo of the Day


And it's the one you've all been waiting for...

*OF COURSE* Susanna...


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I've just had some pictures developed... My word. So many possible photos of the day. Slightly concerned that I look so unremittingly cheeky in each one.
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Not wishing to flatter seventeen year old me, but I fancy myself as the belle of that particular ball.
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Picture of the Day




I can't for the life of me work out how to make these pictures smaller... Oh well...

Anyway, girl at the bottom left... She lived next door to my friends Craig and Glen. One summer we could see her sunbathing in her garden. We kept phoning her number, watching her walk inside then hanging up. When she came back and made herself comfortable we would do it again. This process was repeated maybe ten times.
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I forgot how dodgy the locks on these toilets are. Someone just walked in on me. Not wishing to go into detail, let's just say it could have been a lot worse.
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The hardest thing about giving up smoking is the fear that you might actually be successful.
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Spotted yesterday:

- Neil Tennant in Mayfair with a shopping bag and looking very old.

- Paul Ross in Brixton tube station, looking dapper.


I was obviously more impressed with the latter sighting.
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Return.. Of... The... Kings... Fixing up as one of the best ever episodes.
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Guess what... New series of Dirty Sanchez starts tonight.
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And you turn over to Challenge and Martin Amis, Clive Sinclair and Tony Cascarino are playing poker. How many times do I have to proclaim this as a Golden Age?
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You know what's fucking brilliant? Television (and my weekend, if you're asking). Hell's Kitchen. Gordan Ramsey + kitchen + Edwina Currie + Matt Goss + Belinda Carlisle + James Dreyfuss + Duane Chambers + Al Murray + Angus Deaton + Roger Cook falling off a chair + Jennifer Ellison = TV heaven. It's incredible. Absolutely incredible. Now watching Hell's Kitchen : Extra Portions on ITV2. Man alive, I love this.
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This story has certainly put a spring in my step this morning. All I needed was for my latent CJD paranoia to be reawoken. I particularly like that people in their twenties are the most at risk and that I ate a lot of "Economy" handburgers during the 1980s.
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Picture of the Day



Why do I like this photo so much? I suppose it is because it's Stefan. His slight self-consciousness at his own wackiness is delicious. I also enjoy Joe's barely concealed delight.
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Here's a Correct Opinion quiz. Follow this link or the one on the other site. Makes no odds.
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Note to self: always refer to The Odyssey as "Frasier to The Iliad's Cheers".
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For anyone who cares about my health, I seem to be shaking off this cold. God bless my ox-like constitution.

Oh, you know people who say, "the lurgy"? They sure can fuck off.
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And which song did I *need* to hear this morning? "Forever in Blue Jeans" by Neil Diamond. This may not surprise you, but it took me aback. I really fancy listening to it again now. Pounds to pennies it'll be pumping out of my room as soon as I return this evening.

"... Honey is sweet
But it ain’t nothing next to baby’s treat
And if you’ll pardon me
I’d like to say
We’ll do okay
Forever in blue jeans..."
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Time check. Just got in. Slept through my alarm. Bad boy.
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Picture of the Day


The Eighties Revival Started Here





This would have been, what, 1998? Back in the day. I was Andrew McCarthy, Ed was Judd Nelson and James was, I don't know, someone from Miami Vice or something. We requested the DJ play "Don't You Forget About Me" by Simple Minds. He didn't.


NB Yes, I know it's fuzzy. I'm not too hot with these "computers" and "internets" - it's just a medium.
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Man alive...

My cold's gone full blown today. Is rubbish. To add i. to i., I have to do some training today. No no no no, I'm not being trained, *I* have to train someone. Hilarious.
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Check out the time. I'm at work already. That's ungodly.
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Hmmm... a summer shoe...
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Would it be a good idea to buy a linen suit to coincide with these summer months? I don't have to dress "smartly" for work... Then again... a linen suit...
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I was going through some old photos yesterday and found many I would like to share with the world. For a while I'll be putting one a day up. Here's the first.


Photo of the day:




Does this need any explanation? The man in the foreground is called Karl (?). The frightened yet resigned looking girl is my sister. We were in Belgium. Karl (?) was pitched up in a neighbouring tent.
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An Alaskan Malamute is loping around my office. It just licked my hand. True.
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I realise this may diminish the power of the last post, but I'm watching this 100 Greatest Movie stars thing on Channel 4 and if Ben Affleck comes up above Gene Kelly then I'm throwing a chair through the TV screen.
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I could talk about how great my weekend was, but I think the personal detail would burst the magical bubble. I'll provide the warp and you can bring the weft.

Guide to a perfect weekend:

- Friday night, go to a late opening of the Roy Lichenstein exhibition at the Haywood. Temporarily refuse to give an opinion on the show for fear of being one of those pompous dullards who'll spout forth about something they know little about.

- Saturday morning - have breakfast in bed while watching Bowie videos.

- Saturday afternoon - go to Tooting Common and moon around. Lose phone. Don't care about the loss. Return from an afternoon in the sun and watch the Eurovision song contest. Drink Vino Verde and make a foolhardy prediction that the Bosnia Herzogovina entry, "In the Disco", will romp home in first place. Laugh as your housemate becomes slightly, and delightfully, bawdy as he drinks cans of Kronenburg.

- Sunday morning - rise early as the person sharing your bed has to go to work. Find an unexpected night guest sleeping on the sofa. Drink cups of tea, kick a football and listen to the Ash singles which soundtracked your sixth form years.

- Sunday afternoon - eat Sushi for the second time. Go to Lillywhites, note gloves and wonder once more about taking up boxing. Buy a picture frame. Go home and mow your overgrown lawn. Clean kitchen and hoover house. Receive call that informs you that your phone has been found. Go to the kindly person's house which is conveniently just around the corner. Walk into a scene from Coupling, full of friendly men and women a few years older than yourself. Feel your sense of the decency of people swell, even in this large city of yours. Go for a run even though you don't need to train for anything. Recognise with surprise that it's much easier than it used to be and you will probably have to increase your route. Vaguely think about capitalising on this new found athleticism by joining a gym. Finish reading the Birthday Letters. Feel emotionally drained but grateful that you are not involved in such a barbed-wire entaglement.

- Remember that you have work tomorrow and that you left some problems you should have sorted out on Friday afternoon. Look out the window and notice the sun. Realise that no matter what work can do, it cannot change the weather and it cannot take away the last forty eight hours. Have the revelation that present elation need not require a future balancing payment in sorrow or mediocrity. Think that this post could be a good and positive way of turning the lights off on Jah Jah Dub, but suspect that there will be more trivialities to share tomorrow. Know that this post does not sound as good as it does in your head and that you will be re-editing it again and again.

For this weekend you should cast as co-characters an extraordinary and excellent Physics teacher, a hungover, stop-out sibling and a cricket white buying Civil Servant. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
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Got my phone back. Remarkable.
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I've lost my phone. If you've tried to get through to me, that's why I haven't replied. E-mail your numbers please, I'll get a new one eventually.
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Earlier I felt like the Bruce of Dancing in the Dark (lyrics here). Now I feel like the Bruce of Rosalita (lyrics here). The transition from the former to the latter has been brought about in no small part by the listening to both at high volume in an empty house, the dancing around and the wearing of nothing but pants.
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Things I'm now bored of #3:

Booze.

# posted by Alistair : 11:50 AM

Two pints in the pub at lunchtime. So predictable I'm actually pained.
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Haha! Skydiver! Of *course* I'm a sky-diver.

That means you're open minded, extroverted, free-spirited, and independent. Chances are you're pretty liberal. You're like a magnet for love and affection. People adore you. And, thanks to that healthy dose of self-confidence, you're super-flexible.

Be foolish to argue with that... Then they make the ill-advised step into self-aggranizement and crazy predictions:

How do we know all this? How do we know you're a great leader at work? Or that you're a self-starter and will always volunteer to take on a job? How could we have divined that you're an excellent communicator and tend to spread your enthusiasm to others?

Big volunteer and self-starter, me. Jeez, these tests are rubbish. Jeez, I'm bored.
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Just did a rushed IQ test. It's that Tickle one if you're interested. Of *course* I'm not going to reveal my score.

Your Intellectual Type is Word Warrior. This means you have exceptional verbal skills. You can easily make sense of complex issues and take an unusually creative approach to solving problems. Your strengths also make you a visionary. Even without trying you're able to come up with lots of new and creative ideas.

So that's all copacetic and gnarly then.
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Things I'm now bored of #4:

Convincing myself that I'm stricken with melancholia. Time to turn that frown upside down!
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Things I'm now bored of #3:

Booze.
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Things I'm now bored of #2:

The internet.


Yes, readers, it's that time again. The grinding down to a halt as I can't think of anything to write which will be in any way interesting, and every word I type seems like an excruciating, frustrating and frankly embarrassing chore. I'd imagine there may be a period of inactivity coming up followed by a brief wheel-reinvention and flurry of posts until the shine wears off and I slowly drift back into the usual tired observations and humdrum banalities.
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Things I'm now bored of #1:

Bread.
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The average length of published novels is 60-100,000 words. I've written 56,000 here in the last almost year. And what a novel it is. My favourite chapter might be the list of the ten most try hard animals.
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Hope you were all watching that Beneath the Halo, Nelson Mandela thing last night. I knew that the N.M. - not as good as you think opinion was out there waiting to be discovered.
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Glad to see that The Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps musical episode was still funny when I wasn't wasted.
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Not knowing dick about aftershaves and having a palatte ravaged by years of smoking, can anyone recommend a scent? I would be far too ashamed to ask the counter staff for something, "clean and fruity", but that about covers what I'd want. Nothing like a perfume either, thanks.
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Is it just me or do you sometimes get the feeling that everyone is playing at being grown-ups?
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Unlikely me-lookalike #458:

Prince.
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“Come on Alistair, it’s your turn for a funny story…”

Now, I don’t do jokes. Most things that happen which I find funny I think you have to know me to appreciate. I was dreading the long anecdote followed by the stony silence and a, “that’s just harsh, actually.” Had I had a couple more glasses of Rosé, of course Rosé, this is what I would have said:


"So, it was my 21st birthday and I was in Thailand. Actually, it was my 20th. My 21st I was in a strip club in Tijuana. So, I’m on a Thai island. Our hotel, me and my friend Ed this is, was half way between two towns, I forget the names. The World Cup was on, so it was 1998. We’d been watching one of the games in a club. We got talking to a couple of English girls. One of them was ok, I got on quite well with her, Ed called her “Square Head”. She was alright though. Ed and I always disagree on all women, ever. Actually, I remember this Bangkok waitress he gave a flower to, she was shocking - I have photos - but that’s another story. Anyway, I’m well pissed and Ed decides to go home. I decide to stay on for a while. It’s gone 2am by this stage. By the time I’m fixing to split, gone 4am now, there’re no taxis. So I’m stumbling back to the hotel – bear in mind it’s over 3 miles back to the hotel – and some “woman” on a moped starts circling around me saying, “you want blow job? You want blow job?” and grabbing my crotch. Actually, I remember I put my hand on her breasts, saying, “You can't do that! See how you like it?” “Just fine.” “Oh, right.” So she’s all like, “I’ll take you to the beach and give you a blow job…” *I’m* thinking, “it is a long way back and the beach is on the way…” So I get on the back of the moped. “She” may have big hands, but “she” does have transport… So she drives me to the beach, two minutes from where I’m staying, and starts coming on strong. So I’m all like, “you know, I’ve changed my mind. Thanks for the offer and everything, but I’ve decided not to have the blow job after all.” “She” gets angry, I walk away, and ten minutes later I’m in bed. Peach."

I didn’t tell this story. But it was close. And it would have been better than any that I heard.

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This lunchtime:

"Can anyone think of a day out we can have in the summer?"
"Monkey World!"

Didn't go down as well as I'd hoped.
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Two hour lunch break. Pissed. Brilliant.
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Can any other al fresco lunchtime diners confirm my thesis that construction workers seem to be partial to jazz cigarettes on their breaks?
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They're giving me wine to drink as I work. Brilliant.
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Hilariously I've managed to completely fuck up my "'blog" template. I'll try and replace links as and when.
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Ronnie update: "I might play a season left-handed... to improve my game." i.e. for shits and giggles. Truly this man is the son of God.
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Ahhh... Ronnie wins the snooker and Leeds go down. A glorious weekend, as if sport was ran by me.
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