Given that my daughters went past the CBeebies stage some years ago, I haven't watched the channel since the glory days of Balamory, The Shiny Show, Where's Boo? and The Story Makers... honest.
I've been reading today that a bunch of parents (a vocal minority, no doubt) have got their knickers in a twist about this fun, educational and genteel channel. But what could be the source of this chagrin? Not another outcry about childlike language used by The Teletubbies? The Fimbles haven't been caught having a fumble, have they? No, it's neither of these.
I hope you're sitting down... because... shock, horror... they've only gone and employed actor CerrieBurnell as a presenter. Still perplexed? You might be forgiven for not knowing this young lady's name. She's not a murderer and she's not child "botherer". No... the problem seems to be that Burnell was born with one full arm. The fuss has been caused by a number of complaints made to the BBC by "angry" parents claiming that Burnell is (I shit you not) scaring their children. One fucking twat has even gone as far to say he wants to ban his daughter from the channel because she may "suffer nightmares".
So, rather than going down the proactive route and taking the opportunity to educate their children about how... yeah... it's a big, wide world made up of loads of different kind of folk, these imbeciles just want the scary, one-armed wifie off their telly, away from the sensitive eyes of Jocasta, Jack and Ollie. I am utterly sickened by this attitude.
To their eternal credit, the BBC have said, "We think that in time all mums and dads and children will love her as much as we do." And that's really all that matters.
It's hard to imagine that only a fortnight ago, the whole country (ie London, mainly) came to a snowbound standstill.
Today is what "one" might describe as mild; there are some green shoots poking through the soil in the garden and the sun is beating down. From the inside of the house looking out, this morning has all the hallmarks of a lovely (if still a little "fresh") spring day.
What with the extended daylight in the morning and evening creeping in, it feels like it's time to emerge from hibernation. And with only 34 days until the clocks go forward, things are starting to look up.
Thanks to Alexis Petridis out of The Guardian, you too can dress like pop's comedy parp-parp music [TM C. Brooker] trumpet producer/remixer, Mark Ronson. Let's face it, who doesn't yearn to resemble music's mumble-voiced Mr Personality? I know I do. And now Petridis has shown me the way.
It seems all you need is a porkpie hat and a stupid checked coat like Big John's out of Big John, Little John. Watch this voyage of discovery right here.
It's one of those sure fire signs of getting on a bit when you start to rail against such an everyday thing as fashion.
But... I'm going to anyway. His
Wide-necked, button-up cardigans: Ultra-thin knitwear the best (ie worst) of which has some kind of hideous horizontal stripe "detail". Allegedly all the rage because such (ahem) icons as David Beckham and Mark Ronson (yeah, really) have been spotted in them. Well, what better endorsement could we wish for?
Tank tops/jumpers with fake shirts/t-shirts sewn in: Sartorial redundancy and the ultimate in laziness. Matthew Rudd wrote a good piece on this sort of stuff a while back.
T-shirts with multiple, purposefully distressed logos and random scribbles all superimposed over the top of each other: They don't mean anything. They're just ugly blotches. Looks like the result of a bukkake party for t-shirt fetishists. Probably smells like it too.
Scarves worn without jackets: So, your body says "Hot", but your neck says "Not", right? You're out in your t-shirt, but you've put a scarf on in case your neck gets cold? Horribly affected and (unfortunately) tiresomely ubiquitous.
Hooded tops with 1980s style graphic prints: You might believe that you look rather fetching in that top resembling a Q*Bert pyramid, but I'd rather remove my irises with a corkscrew than look at another one of those abominations. Those cartoon strip ones are even fucking worse.
Pretend vintage T-shirts with intentionally faded designs of 1970s/80s TV shows and films: Self explanatory, although if you're after examples, try The A-Team (groan), My Little Pony, Wonderwoman, Thundercats, He-Man, Battle Of The Planets, Back To The Future and Wait Till Your Father Gets Home (actually, I made that last one up - come to think of it, I probably would buy one of those!).
Her's
Odd, Limahl-like hairdos: Dual-toned, assymetrical monstrosities usually sported by hairdressers and/or their close friends. These munter-cuts (if ever a spoonerism could be more appropriate!) make the wearer look like Denise Don't-Mess-With-My-Toot-Toot LaSalle or similar.
Weird footwear where the heel is moulded into the main part of the shoe: Freaky. They look like Blockaboots.
Big Yasser Arafat scarves: You're not the leader of the PLO and neither is this the 1980s. That said, these scarves do make you look like Dawn French in Girls On Top.
Rock chick t-shirts: Seriously, I'll wager the majority of those sporting this kind of garb probably haven't even heard a Motorhead record, never mind own one.
Come on, fellow curmudgeons! Tell us what fashions are getting on your tits.
And from one complete cock to another... and his wife.
I've no idea why Paul Daniels and Debbie McGee are even bothering to "ape" the Beckhams (nor do I care), but this is utterly shite and more than a little bit disturbing.
I just can't stop watching that clip from Noel's HQ. It's this week's equivalent of the Todd Carty Dancing On Ice clip.
Noel's straight-to-camera rant about the officialdom of Wealdon Council in denying ex-marine Joe Townsend (now confined to a wheelchair having lost both legs in Afghanistan) a purpose-built bungalow has generated quite a bit of comment on t'internet. His extraordinary tirade has been rightly described as (Alan) Partridge-esque just about everywhere, and I have to agree. A bare-footed drive to Dundee with a glove compartment full of Crunchies is surely only a heartbeat away.
Edmonds is clearly passionate about the subject, but the more I watch the clip, the more I get the sense that he's more pissed about Wealdon Council's press officer, Jim Van Der Bos, who refused to talk to "entertainment" shows like his, than their actual treatment of Townsend.
Whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, Edmonds' er... performance makes for strangely addictive viewing and I guarantee, this one will be included in all Top 1000 Car Crash TV Moments rundowns for decades to come.
Here's Vic and Bob doing Noel's Addicts. The DLT bit is the best.
"The smell of photographic chemicals. Appearing unkempt on Monday, but kempt on Tuesday. Heavily peppered fillet steaks. This has been the spirit of Icerink."
1992 saw my life, in a number of ways, change for the better. On the audio front, it marked the first releases on Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs' Icerink label.
To me, Stanley/Wiggs seemed much more than just the purveyors of curiously, infectiously. deliriously, outrageously, fantastically magpie pop. I was aware that Stanley had previously written for Melody Maker and I enjoyed his style (his review of The Stone Roses' first album particularly stuck in my mind) and indeed, the early interviews that the pair gave as Saint Etienne revealed themselves as fans of both the popular and the obscure. By mid 1992, they had released five singles (including one re-release) and the utterly timeless (in my opinion), Foxbase Alpha album. I remember my mate Jonny Hannah, upon hearing the original Neil Young version of Only Love Can Break Your Heart for the first time, stated that he would never listen to another Saint Etienne record for as long as he lived. His loss. Seriously. Anyway, given their track record to that date, I was delighted when I read that Stanley/Wiggs were to form their own record label and eagerly awaited their first release.
It was quite by chance that I stumbled upon Golden's Anglo American[Davo 1] and Sensuround's Blind Faith[Davo 2] 12" singles in the old branch Fopp on the south side of Edinburgh's Cockburn Street (it must have been around June or July 1992). I couldn't wait to get back home to play them. In the end, I was not disappointed.
First up was Golden's debut. Based on the songwriting and musician credits on the single's sleeve, Anglo American was, to all intents and purposes, a Saint Etienne record, but with the vocals supplied by three Golden girls themselves (Canny, Celina and Lucy). Nevertheless, it hit the spot; all dreamy vocals and Foxbase Alpha-style keyboard and percussion. In addition, the single featured a Finn Family Dub remix of the title track (a slightly more up-tempo version with added percussion and shimmering Italo-house piano) and another absolute belter called Don't Destroy Me, (a slow, flute-y, mournful plead in which the song's subject wonders, "What kind of love is this?") which was later included on the label's final release, the We Are Icerink compilation.
After that, it was time for the John Robb-led outfit, Sensuround, to step up to the turntable. From the opening bars of Blind Faith, I just knew this was another winner. All big, sweeping keyboards and chunky beat, Blind Faith also manages to "borrow" the "All I have is my love of love, and love is not loving..." line Bowie's Soul Love - my favourite David Bowie song. B-side, Pretty Face, offers up more of the same immersive, expansive sound and dancefloor-friendly remixes of both tracks make up the rest of the single. Icerink were off to a great start.
Two further releases followed in 1992. Three-piece, Oval ("the sound of bright, young Croydon"), released a "dry cleaned" version of Def Leppard's Photograph[Davo 3] and rather splendid it was too (although I'd imagine that Def Leppard fans might resolve to never to listen to another Oval record ever again if they heard it!). Backed by Dale, Ginger Kilburn and a slightly longer version of the title track, this release consolidated my high opinion of Icerink.
The fourth Icerink release was Supermarket's er... Supermarket, [Davo 4] a sublime exercise in minimalism and anonymity. Little is known about Supermarket, except that they had shaven heads, hailed from Odense and were "entirely serious". Supermarket, in each of its four mixes, contained a one-word lyric (go on, have a guess...), hypnotically looped repeatedly over some so-cold-it's-warm electronica and I utterly love it. The Mad Q and Ray Keith remixes are pretty heavy and offer a nice contrast to the sparse sound of the two main mixes.
1993 saw Icerink release six further (and final) singles...
Sensuround's When I Get To Heaven[Davo 5] featured four mixes of the excellent title track (five if you got the CD single), as well as the cock-swaggering Deep Inside Your Love (Hulme Mix).
Uh-oh, we're in trouble. Future Top 30 botherers, Shampoo, released their first two singles on Icerink. Debut single, Blisters and Brusies (b/w Paydirt and er... I Love Little Pussy) [Davo 6] was released, appropriately enough, on pink 7" with the sleeve notes describing the pair as being, "An unsophisticated scratch of the nails down the back of all things predictable and neat". Quite.
Earl Brutus's Glitter-stomp offering, Life's Too Long[Davo 7] (backed by an instrumental version of the lead track as well as Valley Of The Slimkings - itself an instrumental of another EB track, Birth Of Sharon) appeared later in the year.
Oval gave us a second single, this time with Fantastique/Love Hour[Davo 8] (b/w heavy, remixed versions of the title tracks) to continue their short, but eclectic run.
Golden also returned with the Jarvis Cocker penned Wishful Thinking[Davo 9] (b/w a remix entitled Trop Belles Pour Trois as well as Starlust and Babacool). Eagle-eyed cover readers would be surprised to find that Lucy now seemed to be replaced by Sophie - oh, the shock!
Final Icerink single was Shampoo's fabulously-named Bouffant Headbutt[Davo 10] (b/w Excellent and Monster), the sleeve of which was adorned with broken blonde dolls covered in all manner of lipstick, powder and paint. Chart success would be but a label change away for Jacqui and Carrie, but not before they screamed that "You're fucking dead!" refrain at us just one last time.
And that was the end of Icerink. Well, almost... In 1994, the label's final release, compilation We Are Icerink, was snuck out. It featured some of the tracks from the ten singles as well as other gems from World Of Twist (New Electric Pop and Soul), Spring (Bob Cool), Melody Dog (Don't Worry Baby) and Elizabeth City State (aborted single, Year Of The V-Neck).
From what I can gather, many of the above titles are highly collectable and would cost you an arm, not to mention a couple of legs, on eBay, so allow me throw you a bone or two...
Did anyone watch the first episode of the "re-imagined" Minder last night?
I did and it was complete and utter shite; quite the worst thing I have seen since er... Don't Forget The Lyrics. I should have known really, but I thought I'd give it a chance and now I'll never get those 60 minutes back. I won't bore you by trying to relay the story (because I can't remember any of it) or even attempt to give you my "hilarious" ranty "take" on it (because you're not interested anyway), but I will say this...
You know when people do those YouTube re-enactments of their favourite scenes from TV or film? They're usually utter shite, aren't they? Well Minder 2009-style is a lot like that; they're saying the lines, but they're certainly not acting.
Take it from me. No matter how tempted you are, do not, under any circumstances, watch this show. It's a waste of your eyesight.
If you're stuck for something to blog about, a lazy YouTube embed is a good bet. Then again, you can never go far wrong with having a laugh at some of the Google searches which bring people to your site.
I get a few corkers now and again. Putting aside that anonymous troll fucker from an Inverness car dealership (which I could name, but won't) searching for "Royal Bengal Restaurant - Avenues and Alleyways" every two minutes, here's a selection of the best from the past four weeks (punctuation added to make sense of it all)...
"Fuck my wife" Edinburgh. Er... no thanks, mate. I'll give it a miss if it's all the same, but thanks for keeping me in mind.
When did Flaming Nora restaurant in London close down? Sorry, can't help you on that one, but if you wanted to know about the Regal Cinema in Dunfermline, then I can tell you that bit the dust in 1976.
Wanking play. Sounds fun. How many players is this game for?
How can I get in touch with Neville and Sue Buswell? Now that is something I could help you with. But I won't.
Coleen Nolan topless. What have I done to deserve this one? I don't think I've even mentioned her on here before, never mind her lardy knockers. Prawn spoon anyone?
Most uncomfortable thing to wear. Sorry - that doesn't sound like a question. Anyway, jaggy jerseys and trousers are a good place to start. Or how about thumbscrews or nipple clamps? I'd imagine they hurt a bit.
Why do I have blood in my jobbies? Okay. This has got to be the best, eh? It seems I'm top of the Google pops for this and I wouldn't even know how to begin trying to answer it. Can anyone offer any suggestions to help our new friend out here?
Oh, don't we all get ever so excited when the snow comes?
Maybe it's because we live in a country where - against all the odds - it doesn't actually snow heavily very often. Of course, it cannot be denied that the silent "sound" of falling snow brings with it a particularly romantic (if icy) glow; that magical feeling you experience as a child when you wake up and look out the window to a world of white never seems to leave us.
But wouldn't you agree that, for some reason, the aforementioned thrill seems to reach fever pitch with (alleged) adults. These apparent grown-ups get so wound up by snow that they keep banging on and on about how they'll have to go home early from work. Or even better, that their bosses close down their business for the day in the same way that schools shut down seemingly at the drop of a hat. Let's face it... if they're being honest, what they really want to do is to go out and play in it like a big kid; building snowmen, having a snowball fight, making a slide, whatever.
Yes! It looks beautiful.
Yes! It can be great fun to play in (for an hour before you end up soaked through).
Yes! It can be inconvenient and have a significant financial impact on all sorts of businesses.
Yes! It can be treacherous.
Yes! People can die in it.
...but when all is said and done, it's only bloody snow for crying out loud.
Guess what???!!! Sometimes in winter, it snows. Really! Let's just accept it and get on with our lives as best we can now, shall we? Excellent.
It is with eager anticipation that I await tonight's Dancing On Ice. Todd Carty's glorious performance on last week's show was par excellence and I'm hoping for more of the same.
However, it would seem that there's a bit of sour grapes in the DOI camp about Carty's er... finesse. Michael Underwood, who managed to break his ankle or something whilst participating in last year's series (and so was allowed to come back for this year's competition), is reportedly claiming that Carty is "nowhere near as bad as he is making out." He goes on to say, "When the cameras are off, he is gliding along the ice, but then once the routine starts it's like he can't stay upright all of a sudden. He is definitely trying to play the clown and trying to fulfil the John Sergeant role."
And I say, "So fucking what?!" Underwood is clearly shit-scared of getting voted out. His performances thus far have been underwhelming to say the least; mediocrity on ice. People will either vote for those who are technically superb (Ray Quinn?) or those who provide sheer entertainment and - unfortunately for Underwood - he falls into neither category.
So, up your's, Underwood - get a sense of perspective and a sense of humour. The Keep Carty In campaign starts here! Well, in our house at least.
Given that my daughters went past the CBeebies stage some years ago, I haven't watched the channel since the glory days of Balamory, The Shiny Show, Where's Boo? and The Story Makers... honest.
