The Big Freeze

I like that this spell of cold weather is being called 'The Big Freeze'. It sounds a bit like a book by Raymond Chandler. Perhaps one where Phillip Marlowe has to solve a problem of a diamond call the 'Snowflake', while someone's bank account has been frozen and its winter. There is a reason why Raymond Chandler wrote those books and not me. In fact there are lots of reasons, including the fact that I wasn't born till 1981 when the books had been out many years, and that he was a much better crime writer than I will ever be. Its amazing just how much news they've managed to get out of it being colder than it has been for 20 years. The articles on the news last night and this morning tended to go: Snow!; Snowy Road Death!; Heating Problems Snow Death!; Oh Yeah btw Our PM has been backstabbed and the cabinet is falling apart!; Lookatallthepeopleplayingthesnow!; Some People In Wales Aren't Happy About Their Sheep In the Snow!; Jonathon Ross Is Leaving the BBC!; Some pictures people have sent in of the snow!; Sports: Things are cancelled because of snow! You begin to wonder if a lot of people in the newsroom haven't been able to make it into work because of the snow and so the few that are left have abandoned all research and just hoped they could maintain credibility by showing images of people writing #snow on Twitter. There are only so many days they can keep this up before the news will have to resort to worrying about people's snowmen being kicked over and the warnings over yellow snow.


I can't say I mind to be fair. The UK is definitely a happier place. People pretend they are sad about not being able to get to work, but they're not really. Layla isn't at school today. Is she pining to be teaching 5 year olds maths and making sure they don't wee themselves? No. She's cosy in her PJs watching This Morning. Hooray for snow! I bet other news doesn't really happen in the snow. No one's going to murder anyone in the snow are they? Too cold I'd have though. Also people wear to many layers to stab/shoot through. No one's going to blow up any planes when its snowy are they? No, because the planes are grounded and no one's going anywhere. Yey for snow!


In terms of the tiny bits of other news, while I am not the biggest fan of Brown, surely Hoon and Hewitt must realise that by doing this they are jeopardizing Labour's chances of getting in even more? Way to go idiots! You've just made the party look even weaker than it is. People who were already toying with not voting for Labour anymore, will now see that they can't agree with their own dynamics let alone those of the country. This will of course lead to a higher possibility of a Tory government which in turn will lead to the NHS collapsing, coal mines being re-opened just so Cameron could close them again and the rich dancing in the streets legally being allowed to kick poor people in the face and letting them shine their shoes as they do it. Lets hope it keeps snowing and and then we'll all have to form our own tiny sub-communities as no one will be able to travel anywhere.


In terms of Jonathon Ross leaving the BBC, fair enough. I like him. I prefer him on the radio to his same-old same-old TV show interviewing, but I do like him. Saying that I don't like him enough to be devastated that he's leaving the Beeb. I'm not surprised that he didn't do it ages ago due to the Sachsgate scandal, or just because after he received his first paycheque for millions and millions, he could have just left and retired forever and ever. My only fear is that this will mean his vacuous detached siamese foetus of a talentless brother Paul Ross may get more televisual opportunities. Lets not let this happen. I want to start a campaign that says if Ross isn't on telly, then his brother can't be either. Its like if you go to a member's club and the person that's signed you in leaves, then you should leave to. Same applies with the Ross's.


I'm now going to do some work. So here for the penultimate time is a plug for tomorrow's show. Over half the tickets have now sold and I will be there despite the snow. Even if the venue has completely frozen and everyone is in blocks of ice, I will be there, doing my show. So please come and bring your thermals and join me:

http://www.etceteratheatre.com/page.php?pageID=2#show1


And now for your enjoyment, the story of my afternoon yesterday, in pictures:



Me getting ready to tackle the snow. I'm geared up like an Arctic mo' fo!



Highbury Fields in the snow. Doesn't it look pretty? Thats only because from this distance you can't see the frozen dog turds.



Nat gets ready to command the snow hordes, whilst Tom, in his shoes with plastic bags in them to stop his socks getting wet, rolls a bit of snow to make a snow poo.



Our snow deformity! Complete with its one snow boob/snoob and snowhican!



Me playing the role of tiny communist Russian. I have decided all snow deformities must be treated equally while at the same time I have wire tapped all of their snow homes incase they speak against our society.



Tom kicking the snow deformity in its sort of face. If only The Snowman had ended like this. @Andrew_Taylor on Twitter asked if Tom always kicks like a horse. I said yes. Tom however, said neigh.

After these pictures, Nat had to make a phonecall and while she did me and Tom spent 5 minutes giving each other different ways to reduce Snowsan Boyle to mere snowdust. There are no pictures of the ensuing violence as I got too excited karate chopping its face.

Snow Business Like Snow Business Like Snow Business

I have, on several previous occasions on this here very blog, complained about the snow. This is usually because I have had to travel in it, or its not proper snow, just sludgy wet horror or because kids on my street are throwing snowballs with knives and bombs in them. Well today I don't have to do anything except go and make snowmen and throw snowballs and wear a snow beard and rub snow in dogs eyes and kick snow at old people and ....Ok, not the last few. But I can go have snow fun. Which sounds like no fun, but it is fun so that makes it even more fun. Snow snow snow snow snow snow! Can you tell I'm excited? Part of this excitement stems from not still being stranded on the M3. The news today is saying its on of the worst motorways you could be on in this snow crazy, but you know what? I drove down it and back up it again and despite skidding all over Winchester, and then having to be damn careful I made it all the way home in an hour 45. Then, when I got to our road, I did a parallel park into a small space in 3 inches of settled snow. Just call me Snowdaddy McSnow the Snow King. Call me Jon Snow. Call me Barry Manisnow. Call me John McEnsnow. Call me Snow White. No, don't call me Snow White.


Thing is, there were bits that were scary, but I really enjoyed the mad journey back. I'd packed some biscuits and water for sustenance and extra layers should I have been trapped in my car overnight. I then cranked the heat up to a level that made my car some sort of dog euthanasia clinic and I even haven't shaved in order to make my face look more beardy and arctic explorer like. I'd told myself that I was a survivor and I'd keep on surviving and then I did that little dance Beyonce does, and managed to make the car skid more than normal. The sad truth is however that if I had been stranded for any reason I wouldn't have survived. I like to pretend that I'm bloody good with all these sort of things and in my head I am McGuyver crossed with Indiana Jones, but without the horrible combination of a mullet with a trilby. But I'm not like either of those things at all. I'd have spent 10 minutes sitting in the cold before crying a lot and then considering starting my life anew in Winchester until the ice age had stopped, eventually being found on the side of the road by some police who slowly defrost me only to do it too quickly and I'd die. But just before my last breath I'd make out I nearly killed a bear or did something brave just to make sure they didn't think I was a weakface.


Way back in 2007 when I did the one advert I've ever done, there was a stuntman on set playing our bodyguard. He was telling us about the time he got scared of dying doing an underwater scene, the time he fell out of a helicopter and then how he got run over in National Treasure 2. My response to this was 'that is awesome. I'd love to do something like that.' As those words left my mouth, my immediate thought was that I hoped no one that could make that happen had heard me say that. I wouldn't want to do that. Ever. I'd prefer to do a scene where the biggest risk was getting a tea stain on my laptop. I'd be terrified of all of those things. I don't like most rollercoasters. Or heights. Or spiders. Or being near anything that could at any point get set on fire. But still I insisted on saying that I have some sort of fondness for danger. One day this will backfire.


I am now going to eat porridge because I'm that kind of guy. Yeah the sort of guy that eats porridge. Maybe I am badass. I won't put salt in it though, thats for mentals. Porridge then snow mania. Although I might slip and break my face so maybe I should just stay in doors. What am I saying? I can handle this snow crazy. I'm gonna kick some snowy arse. I'm gonna build a snowman and punch it! It is pretty cold though. And slippy. Hmmm.


Before I go, upon request here's another new Dave comic strip. More to come and soon there will be a whole page on my website for them all.



And, yes I will plug it again, tickets still left for this on Friday. If its snowy we'll just light a fire and tell stories. Well for 10 minutes anyway, then we'd have to evacuate as the smoke alarm would go off. When I asked if people would come if I did this show again lots of people on FB and Twitter said they would. Please don't all be liars or your pants will set alight and I won't be to blame. Even if you think you saw me with a lighter and a can of petrol near your underwear draw:

http://www.etceteratheatre.com/page.php?pageID=2#show1

Arty Farty

I've started doing loads of drawing again, which I really enjoy. Ever since I was very tiny I've enjoyed doing art type things. You may say a starting point was when my mum walked into the living room one day to find I'd stuck all her sanitary towels to the wall. When she gasped in shock, I merely pointed at them and said 'collage'. I then spent a lot of the next years of my life doodling, drawing, painting and generally ruining walls, paper, carpets and other things that I would deem as domestic graffiti. Art type things had to stop when I realised that if I took Drama and Art at A Levels, I would definitely never ever earn any money in my life ever. So one had to go, and the one that went was art. But I've started again. Not that you can necessarily call my scribbles art, but if a urinal hanging on a wall can be called art or a messy bed or Paul Simon's musical partner, then my drawings can too.

I've got loads of work to do today including doing more of these and other writingy stuff, before heading to Winchester in the snow to battle the elements and do a gig as well. Sometimes I think this is job is more akin to Ray Mears than Eddie Izzard, although only if Ray finally lost it and started doing stand-up routines to the wilderness. I would watch that. I think a lot of people would watch that. It would have to be hidden camera and we could just enjoy his descent until he's running around snowy forests naked shouting 'just like that' at squirrels. I'll get writing a proposal for Channel 4. Anyway, busy busy busy so read the comic strip and join me again tomorrow for more witterings.

Jogging the Memory

I was so planning to go jogging this morning. It was going to be step 1 in my 'get healthy' plan. Its not really a plan, more something I put in this blog and have said a few times to a few people until I myself would believe I. But that's enough that meant I had fully got into my head that I would get up nice and early (for me) and do a jog around some places till I ran out of breath and keeled over, having to crawl back to my flat and sit down. I reckoned I would last at least 10 minutes. So the alarm was set, my tracksuit bottoms were put out ready. I'd spent ages working out where to put my keys and iPod while jogging. Certain pockets would have a danger of said items falling out, others would cause discomfort, there were even some that I was sure existed but didn't which threw off certain plans. Then I woke up this morning, expecting to be all fresh, vibrant and excited about my new found want for health mania and instead I had a headache. Not just a weeny one either, that may well go away after a bout of exercise or fresh air. No, it's one of those dirty, behind the eyes, makes you feel a bit sick, headaches, the sort that was possibly first conceived by Dante and drawn as the 8th circle of hell where a tiny devil man stabs a little trident into your head. One of those where it feels like your brain has fully and utterly decided to not go along with your days plans and wants to scupper you doing anything but sitting still with your eyes closed and occasionally mumbling words like 'fuck', 'ow' and occasionally 'headaches are stupid heads' to yourself. So, ultimately, no jogging.


I am wondering if perhaps this is my head's rebellion against jogging. The aim shall be that I'll go tomorrow, and if I wake up with a headache again I'll decide that maybe jogging shouldn't happen. It could of course have nothing to do with the jogging notion and may be everything to do with a cold, brain damage, a tiny man with a trident stabbing my head or any other number of things, but I'm not taking any chances. I have started already with some sort of health thing by vowing to only eat healthy type food today. So far so good, but there is half a pannetonne sitting on our kitchen counter looking at me with a certain look of needing to be devoured. I'm not sure how cakes give this look but I have a feeling its further revolutionary tactics by my brain to continue down the cholesterol filled path. Actually I don't think it is my brain that's doing these things but perhaps my second brain:

http://www.ananova.com/news/story/sm_105441.html

I was sent that link by @welshracer on the Twitternet, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. I think it explains rather a lot, and I have some slight worries that my 'second brain' is far more dominant than my first. Initially I spent some time thinking that skinny healthy people have a stupid second brain. I have since realised that I can't work on that being true (although it probably is) and s I shall have to work on ways to suppress it. Maybe if I start drinking or eating things with mind control drugs in it? Or eat pictures of Derren Brown so I can slowly try and control it?


So now today is not filled with recovering from jogging, I will spend it seeing my tiny nan and doing some work. Despite the fact that epiphany (bless you. Oh god I can't resist that joke even when I type the word. There is something so wrong with me) isn't till Wednesday, I've decided Christmas is over. Layla took down the Christmas tree last night, knowing full well that if she left it to me I'd spill something or break something or cover all the walls in tree. All the baubles have gone too and the cats are left with having to occasionally attack a bag for life that for some reason is hung on the radiator in our living room. I doubt it will be for life. So far it's lasted a day or two but the cats are starting to suss exactly how to smack it up. And now Christmas is definitely over it means back to work and life and all those other bits. Which is exactly why I got up at 10am, and watched This Morning for a bit before looking at Facebook. Ah, reality. How I've missed you.


Oh and before I forget, two quick things:

1) I did go rambling yesterday, which slightly makes up for not jogging today. Tara Flynn brought her dog Oscar who made all proceedings more fun by his insistance to run after a ball and then not give it back and his attempts at picking up sticks bigger than him and carrying them with a waddle that made him look camp. I have decided rambling is rather fun and I didn't fall over or get kidnapped by a bear or anything.

2) I told you I'd plug this constantly. I've actually sold a few tickets which is nice, but I'd really like to sell more. So if you are about on Friday, would like me to talk at you for an hour with funny type things then please come along:

http://www.etceteratheatre.com/page.php?pageID=2#show1

Stockings for Cats? What's that all about?

I had the most horrible dream about an epic scale zombie attack last night. Before I carry on, I'd like to point out that I am not one to witter on about dreams. I tend to have an automatic switch in my head that plays elevator music and drifts off when people engage me in a conversation that starts with 'last night I dreamt I was a frog with no eyes and I was dancing in Peru' or some similar lunacy. If you have those sort of dreams and you are seeking for a meaning for them, it generally means you will one day wake up as a frog with no eyes dancing in Peru. Either that or you need to stop banging your head against walls. My dream last night, whilst I'm fairly sure, and I hope it doesn't signify a large scale zombie attack, was pretty scary. When I was doing my Edinburgh show and reading lots of zombie based literature, then I was dreaming about zombie attacks pretty often. What I'm always impressed with is that 'dream me' always follows the code from the Zombie Survival Guide and tends to survive while everyone else around me is bitten and turns or just dies. Last night's dream was definitely deserving of being filmed. My favourite bit was when I spent ages getting up a flight of zombie infested stairs to reach my Nan's house, only to then go back out again to get some shopping for her because she hadn't been able to make it to her local supermarket. I am a caring zombie killer.


I'm not sure what spurned zombie thoughts last night as yesterday was spent going through my old material and generally realising that 6 years ago I was really really unfunny. Its not a nice realisation turning the pages of well worn notepads to find pages on pages of non-jokes about the Chapman brothers artwork, and other thoughts that are just that, thoughts. There was one bit where I had simply written 'Stockings for cats? What's that all about?' I really really hope I was doing that as a self-joke knowing that in years to come it would disappoint me. If not, I would like to disown the 2003 me. He was clearly a prick. I did find a few good things including some long forgotten notes which I think I can now make into some decent gags, and some old comic strips that I will redraw and post up at some point. And there was also this:





Politically correct people you can be disgusted elsewhere. This was sent to me in 2005, and made me laugh pretty hard for quite a while. I still don't know who sent it to me, though I do have a few ideas, but either way, it was damn funny and still is. Whoever sent that was funnier in 2005 than I was in 2003.


Going on a mass ramble today with Layla, Helen Arney and several members of the comedy fraternity. I haven't been on a ramble for many years and I'm looking forward to stomping about in some woods for a bit. I have a feeling this excitement will disappear within 10 minutes when I get cold, lost and start remembering the Blair Witch Project and my dream from last night, until I run back to the car screaming and have to sit by myself for 2 hours while everyone else finishes the walk. Yey ramble!

The Doctor vs Beyonce vs Someone from Hollyoaks vs Your Dad

I'm sitting on my sofa watching in sheer disgust, a program called Beyonce vs Rihanna. So far, neither of them have actually appeared live, let alone bludgeon each other to death with large weapons. If you call a show 'something VS something' then I expect violence. Instead they are showing their music videos while two ex Hollyoakers who clearly haven't been able to find work since due to their lack of acting ability, skills to read an autocue or any charm at all are now subject to being stuck on T4 presenting a show that says it has fighting in it but doesn't. I think its T4's attempt at making a new Ant and Dec, as these two played a double act in Hollyoaks, some commisioning person must have decided that comedy timing isn't integral for these sort of things. And then the lack of fighting between the divas. I'm truly outraged by the whole thing. I wish this was the sort of thing Daily Mail readers got upset by, then I wouldn't loathe them so much. If the paper was filled with articles saying 'Beyonce and Rihanna no show fight shocker!' with small headers such as 'Um-ber-hell-a' and then comments from members of the public saying things like:


'I'd gone out of my way to invite all my friends round and bought popcorn and everything. We were all hoping Beyonce would use a spiked mace. Rihanna's quicker so would have used a series of knives and perhaps a crossbow. I was so excited until I saw bland and bland presenting and I knew we'd been lied to.'


All I'm saying Channel 4, is that you need to up the odds. I miss Celebrity Death Match, so why not, in the teentie twenty tenties, where celebrity culture needs to be extinguished, pit stars against each other in a head to head battle of survival? Whats that? Health and Safety restrictions? Its political correctness gone reasonable I tell you.


I enjoyed television for the first time in ages last night. In some sort of attempt to start 2010 by turning over a new leaf, and commencing yesterday's aim of getting healthy and beginning afresh, me and Layla got a curry just in time to stay indoors and watch Doctor Who die. And it was good. Most of it. I'll be honest I wasn't expecting much and for the most part I was left wondering exactly what was going on. It felt a bit like a story a seven year old might have written:


' Then everyone's the baddy but then the Doctor goes to space, but then the Timelords who were dead aren't dead and a lady who appears in places cries but no one knows who she is, then the Doctor makes them all go away then he gets radiated and then he doesn't die for ages and ages and ages so there can be a very tenous goodbye sequence worse than the one in LOTR Return of the King.'


Ok so the last bit wasn't very 7 year oldy but its right. So there. I won't go on about it too much as Michael Legge has already written a lovely blog about it here. This is not to say I didn't enjoy it. I really did. Bernard Cribbin is amazing in everything he does, and I'm very excited about the next season of the Doctor, even if Matt Smith did start his bit by saying 'Geranimo'. The whole show was a bit like when you eat cake and the cake's really good but then you spill some cake on your new trousers and the stain never comes out and later you have a heart attack due to the cholesterol from the cake but still you remember that was a pretty good cake and you'll probably buy it again. After the show I did spend a considerable amount of time trying to gain access to Doctor Who type geek blogs in order to find spoilers and also find out just who that woman was. I didn't managed to do either but I did catch the preview of next season which I wish I'd found online before having to watch five minutes of Eastenders first. Really BBC, couldn't you have just put it after the Doctor Who episode? Eastenders is the televisual equivalent of hanging around a hospital ward full of terminally ill patients after reading the news about the end of the world being rather nigh. The only difference is you don't know any of them and most of them are so irritating or unable to die with any decent acting conviction that you don't really care.


So next year, good Doctor Who scripts please, celebrity fighting shows and something with bears and sharks in it. Are you listening TV? You should be.


I will be plugging this all week so thought why not start with a plug right here. This will continue to be posted constantly everywhere until it becomes reverse PR and everyone stops following me on Twitter, unbefriends me on Facebook, blocks me from their email list and even shoots my carrier pigeon if it flies nearby. Unless of course you all buy tickets now and sell it out in which case, I'll stop. Till then, let it begin:

PLEASE COME TO MY SHOW PLEASE COME TO MY SHOW PLEASE COME TO MY SHOW


PPS today's blog didn't have a single spelling mistake according to the spellcheck. If you find that it did I will write a letter to the blogspot people and cuss their dads down.

Start As You Mean To Go On

'Start as you mean to go on' is a phrase that people seem to continually use on the first day of a new year. Its a stupid phrase and doesn't really apply to many things. For example a triathlon. If you started with swimming and then tried to swim through the cycling and running events, you'd fail. If space rockets carried on using all the fuel they used to exit the planet's orbit all the way until they reached their destination, they'd never return. I once started to use an electric hand whisk that kept giving me electric shocks when I pressed the button. I have since stopped using it. If I'd carried on, I'd have got electrocuted. And today I started 2010 by waking up much later than I meant to and tucking into leftover pizza for breakfast. Let's hope that phrase is a stupid phrase and not some sort of indicator for the rest of my year. Otherwise it would seem I'm going to go back to being a student. Saying that, it was Waitrose pizza.


Layla and me had a lovely night last night, scoffing things, staying warm and flicking between terrible programs. The decade ended with television deciding to cram its screens with the worst television available, as though to make us realise that noughties celebrity culture did indeed ruin entertainment. The worst was the show about the best shows of the last 10 years. All of which were voted for by the public, which meant Top Gear was number one. Proof once again that the public are a bunch of fucking idiots. Clarkson, May and Stupid Broken Head are amongst the most obnoxious humans on the planet who insist on wanking each other off with right-wing diatribe while driving cars. Does this mean there's a market for this crap? Should I submit proposals for a show where David Cameron, AA Gill and Nick Griffin regurgitate food on a series of different yachts? How on earth The Wire wasn't even in the top 20 I will never know. It worries me that the best thing on was a show looking at other shows. Is this really how badly the idea factory has died? Will this imagination drought continue until I find myself in 2019 watching a show about shows about shows? I really hope the tenties, twentytens, teenies or whatever they're called bring a new level of televisual intellect with them.


We watched BBC1 at midnight, voyeuristically watching Myleene Klass get so cold her brain stopped working and she had to resort to talking to other members of the public who had been standing in the cold for 6 hours and so could only respond with one word answers. The entire decade was summed up by the BBC deciding that Susan Boyle being a mantramp who could warble was one of the highlights of the last few years and glossing over the Iraq War as though it was a good thing. I recalled how awful it was in 2002/2003 when the NYE fireworks went off in Central London and at the same time Baghdad was bombed with similar lighting effect. Yet no-one seemed to notice how horrible the juxtapostioning of it all was. Myleene commented on how it would take her ages to get home, she muddled up words and then told us to look out for a rainbow even though it was dark. I worry she was carried away afterwards in a straightjacket. She did of course mean a fireworks rainbow. I looked out for it, via our telly. Either the cameraman was having a fag break or it was just a non event, but I didn't see the shapes or Zippy, Bungle or George in any of it. Disappointment. I then also grumbled how all the fireworks were paid for by tax payers money and had to stop myself before I picked up a Daily Mail and shouted at an immigrant. Not good.


So, 2010. I haven't got any New Years Resolutions as such. Though I do have one NY resolution gag that I will bring back for the next two months until people in the audience shout that it is not a new year anymore and its definitely not happy so I should shut up. I do however have some aims for the next year. These are not aims as in targets that I would like to throw things at. Otherwise it be rather long and I'd give away too many clues leading to my arrest before I got to carry any of them out. Anyway, here are my few aims:


1. To get healthier. I know many people do this, but I really need to. This time 10 years ago, I was stupidly skinnier, after having worked at kids summer camp and then started uni and joining the gym. Then over the next four years I consistently did various sports including kickboxing and breakdancing (seriously) before then getting a day job in 2004, being put on the wrong type of insulin and eating myself wider. While I have been mostly not bothered by this, the other night during the Impro I managed to put myself out of breath for 15 minutes by doing a 'shepherd dance'. I would like to 'shepherd dance' more. Layla is doing a cycle ride from London to Paris in July. I can't cycle without falling on my face (and that is a long distance to fall on my face) so I've decided I will jog with her when she trains. I must get healthier. I shall start tomorrow. Or Monday. Or Wednesday.


2. I want to do a second solo show at the Edinburgh festival. I've got an idea, I've written for it, I know where I'd like to do it and what to call it. What I don't have is the £7k + to pay for it. Or the £2k to pay off last years. So over the next few months I need to find some sponsorship, get enough work so I earn the money, win the lottery or steal all the blueprints of all the top banks so that I can work out a foolproof robbery scheme. Or perhaps like the banks I should sell off my debt then ask the government to bail me out. If any of you have any better ideas, please let me know.


3. To do more writing, drawing, acting, impro, as well as all the stand-up. Essentially what will happen is I'll buy Mass Effect 2 when it comes out for the Xbox at the end of January and none of this will happen.

4. Have more will power. This is primarily so that when Mass Effect 2 comes out, I won't spend my entire life playing it.

5. Buy Mass Effect 2 for the Xbox.

6. Not fall down any holes.

7. Don't get attacked by bison.

8. Defy the process of aging. I'm not sure how I'll do this, but I'm going to try.

9. Find a way to stop Derren Brown before he destroys the Earth.

10. Start the campaign I mentioned in my blog here: http://tiernandouieb.blogspot.com/2009/12/year-of-bloggery.html

11. Fight for my right to party. I still don't really know what this is.

12. See Rage Against the Machine live. And Tom Waits live. Not at the same time. Although that would be awesome.

13. Write more political material.

14. Actually understand what politics are so I can write material about them.

15. Stop sniggering when I say politics thinking that its a type of mints for parrots.

16. Keep writing this stupidy blog.

That's it for now, though I'm willing to undertake any reasonable suggestions too. Please note the word 'reasonable'.


Last David Tennant Doctor Who tonight! I'm betting that he dies after reading the ridiculous script that had been given to him by Russell T Davies and then decides to choke himself rather than say any of it.