Peter Kay funny...

It appears I've been wrong all along. Peter Kay isn't just some bloke that remembers biscuits and hates fancy foreign food like garlic bread. He is Hull's favourite funnyman. How do I know this? What's caused this drastic swerve in my beliefs? Because our local, dominant and, some would say, monopolistic internet service provider Karoo have conducted an extensive survey and Peter Kay - described by Karoo as not just any old funnyman* but a "Northern funny man" has come out on top (just like he did when he performed at the Blackpool Tower!). And for those, like I did initially, that may doubt the validity of this survey of Karoo's 'readers', the numbers polled are impressive - a whopping, massive, almost population of China-style 1,400 visitors to http://www.karoo.co.uk/ responded to the survey.

Kay, Karoo are proudly boasting, or the "Bolton-born superstar" as they snappily title him, picked up a whopping, massive, House of Commons-style majority with 33 per cent of the vote.

Competition came in the shape of alsorans Billy Connolly (14 per cent), Michael McIntyre (no stats available) and second-placed ultra-sweaty comic Lee Evans (20 per cent). Wise mathematicians - and even those that failed their maths GCSE - may have already worked out that those stats don't add up to the necessary 100 per cent. So I quizzed Karoo further regarding who else polled some votes - Jo Brand, Al Murray, Russell Howard, Jason Manford, Eddie Izzard, Omid Djalili, Steve Coogan and Other were all in the mix. Other, apparently, was a piece of online survey functionality that allowed Karoo's 'readers' to name the comedian, or comedienne, of their choice. Independently. Of their own free will. Could have been anyone. Stewart Lee, perhaps. Tim Vine even. Anyone you'd care to mention. Anyone that's made you laugh until your innards are flying out through your nose. And Peter Kay still came out on top.

So I was wrong all along and I am happy to change my opinion in the face of such overwhelming fact. Well done Peter Kay, Hull's favourite funnyman. Where next for Mr Kay who, Karoo explain, "has continued to entertain the British public with a couple of books and a variety of charitable pop music releases, including the infectious Amarillo"? Rotherham's fave stand-up? Pocklington's preferred author? The most chuckle-inducing satirical commentator of celebrity culture this or that side of Wetwang?

*Personally, whereas Karoo are resisting the change, I compound funnyman.

Read the utter shit survey by Karoo with certain facts missing here

Overcoming writer's block...

Margaret Atwood's "ten tips for writers' block" (we must assume that she wants us to overcome this state, rather than be consumed by it), which first appeared on her blog, were printed in The Guardian's Review at the weekend. I am something of a Womble and, with one eye on snippets that might prove useful to myself or others, I dutifully cut out this short single column piece then placed it atop a small pile with other such cuttings that I have yet to put in any kind of order. "At the very least," says Mags, having suggested in point 1 that physical exertion might jolt the writer back to the work of words, "take a bath or shower". Eating dark (60% cocoa or more), shade-grown organic chocolate is another top tip, as, at 3, is "write in some other form...a grocery list". Perhaps most useful, amid other advice in point 10, to those that frequent creative writing classes and choose to stick, headstrongly and against any constructive criticism proffered, to polishing, honing and constantly whittering on about that single piece of writing that would be better off shelved, is the simple but quite perfect "start something else".

Open for old business part II...

I was on the radio today and, having said on air that I'd call in to and have a poke about the new Hull History Centre, I thought I better be true to my word. So I slipped in through the back door. Where I more-or-less immediately bumped into someone from the city council's press office that I know and, more-or-less immediately after that, bumped into someone from the University of Hull's press office that I know. The latter very kindly gave me a very personalised tour of the facilities, including the upstairs climate and temperature-controlled store rooms that are designated 'out-of-bounds' to the public. As part of the launch several important documents had been put on display, including the city charter that I've met and blogged about on a previous occasion, and, something I've not seen at close quarters, one of Philip Larkin's original notebooks, complete with scribbles and annotations and very spidery, slightly insane handwriting. Smashing and not quite the low-key walk through towards the general direction of my car that I actually had in mind. Seems like a place that will be very 'people friendly' although, as is quite unfathomably the case with all library-type facilities, several of the most peculiar types were already in residence at the microfish. Also amongst the peculiar in attendance were Hull City Council's cabinet members who, also unfathomably, appeared to be holding a meeting on the premises.

Open for old business...

Hull History Centre - the new £10m pound home for the city's archives - opens for business today. So I expect that lots of old folk will be heading there to look at old stuff and will be helped by the rather eccentric but knowledgable folk that staff the place. It's a far cry from where a lot of this old stuff was held, which I blogged about a couple of years ago when I got my hands on the city charter, and I'm looking forward to sticking my nose in, donning white gloves and grappling with some historical documents at the earliest opportunity. Not least because the local paper highlighted at the weekend that, when some of the land upon which this new centre has been constructed was, back in the 19th century, sold by 'the father of football' Ebenezer Cobb Morley, it was to "someone called Windass". "It is not known," the HDM goes on, "if there is any connection to Hull City hero Dean." Nor, for that matter, whether there's any connection to yours truly. I need to know!

Naturally, being a nosy bleeder, I tried to catch a preview as I trotted past the centre the other day. Staff were, understandably, busy popping dozens of bound volumes on shelves, and I attempted to take a photo thru the glass. What I got was something a tad odd but a little interesting. The reflection is of Hull's Central Fire Station and, to the right, a little bit of me.

On twitter...

If, like me, you're rather fond of twitter, I'm sure that also, like me, you've found yourself defending its masterful ways to people that don't really get what it's all about. My mad camera operator friend Martin is one such person who doesn't comprehend the benefits that such a fine and dandy service could bring to his life. Martin reads my tweets as they automatically arrive over on facebook, where, operating under the mysterious and typographically suspect non-de-plume Russle Hobbs, he appears to be constantly waiting for their arrival so he can tut and mumble about them immediately. Over our bacon sandwiches in a cafe yesterday morning he entertained himself with the uproarious notion that the next natural progression for me in the twitterverse would be telling the world how many sheets of toilet paper I was using on each visit to the WC. He wastes so much time coming up with such hilarious rejoinders to my magnificent tweet output that I feel he'd be better putting that time to much better use by signing up for a twitter account and working out, for himself, what a positive tool it can be. Anyway, not content with that, he decided to complain at a tweet of mine that told the world what I was having for dinner. I am so pleased with my response that I repeat the little light-hearted spat here for your delectation...

Dave Windass Food update: Just ordered the Vegetarian Banquet from Giant Panda. By the time we've done we'll be Giant something or others...
via Twitter

Russle Hobbs
this is exactly what i was bleating on about this morning

Dave Windass
Hmm. And here's me thinking that you actually listened to me earlier. There are, of course, two possible answers to your response to my tweet. Option one is the over-familiar two word response that a man such as yourself must have heard a gazillion times. Option two is a little lengthier. Hmm. Now, which one? Hmm, oh, I know...

Firstly, you assume that just because my tweet about food and, to be more specific, food ordered from Giant Panda, is available on public forums that it is actually there for you. It isn't. It's for me. Yes, that's right, I write these things for me. Now, if anyone wants to get involved in a conversation following such a tweet, I will indulge. But the initial impetus is always a desire on my part to a) record the boring ass parts of my life that I may otherwise forget and b) promote myself on an ongoing basis as a person that does lots of boring ass stuff.

So, that's that cleared up. Don't, for one minute, think that I care whether people may find a tweet about the mundane, boring ass aspects of my life boring. Because, well, I know that they are a) boring and b) still curiously twice as interesting as the boring ass things that other people are getting up to (an element of subjectivity enters into these things, of course. It is the nature of the id, the ego and the super-ego that I find myself more interesting than anyone else ever will. I like to think that I counter this with a heavy dose of self deprecating wit but, occasionally, I forget to do that)....

Moving on - and what you fundamentally need to understand - is that tweeting is A BIG CONVERSATION taking place ACROSS THE WORLD. In responding to my original tweet you have used exactly the same amount of energy as it would have taken to actually engage in the conversation taking place in the twitterverse. Rather than remind me that "this is exactly what i was bleating on about this morning" when I was, of course present, you could have offered something more constructive. For example, I tweet about Giant Panda. Meanwhile, across the city, someone else, somewhere else, has always fancied ordering food from there. They ask me what I think of the place, if I would recommend, if the Vegetarian Banquet is worth the price tag - you see? This is a CONVERSATION. I post a pic so that they can see the quality of the food for themselves, they ask me to let them know at the end of the meal if I enjoyed what I ate. You see what's happening now? Alternatively, you could have taken the Chinese theme and we could, say, have had a conversation about the recent Google/China spat, or have reflected on our memories of, say, the Tiananmen Square protests and subsequent massacre in 1989. That could happen. Alternatively, people outside of the city, outside of the country, just know that little bit more about Giant Panda. What's more, it's from an independent source and, as such, maybe they feel they can trust such an opinion. They think, having chosen to follow me to see if I am a reliable food outlet reviewer, right, the next time we're in Hull we'll go there. You see? Do you? They ask me more questions, we strike up a virtual friendship, heck, they even start watching Hull City AFC on ESPN as a result and promise to visit our fair land. And all because of the CONVERSATION.

What I'm saying is...don't use your energy to knock it. This is happening. Some interesting things are being said. As a promotional tool, both personally and for organisations, twitter is a very powerful tool. You follow people, they will lead you to some very interesting places. You will become a part of big networks full of likeminded people. They will give you work. They will give you advice, help, answers. And all because of the CONVERSATION. Albeit conversation that does start with innocuous, boring ass stuff about what's for dinner. And all written by people who, generally, are doing it not for you, or them, or anyone else, but for themselves. Ok, so you don't get it. Not everybody does. Not at first. But you should join us. Need I go on?

Little bumps and scrapes...

Shocking snippet in a story in today's Hull Daily Mail about the 'trouble hit £520,000' problem-plagued Carp fire appliance that Humberside Fire & Rescue Service jointly procured with South Yorkshire Fire Service in 2007. To cut a page three lead short, the thing has never been in service, doesn't work and has had to be sent to Holland for, the report tells us 'functional improvements, as well as some remedial work'. Functional improvements and remedial work that will cost £45,000. The shocking bit is that the HFRS spokesperson said that half of that money would have to have been spent anyway "on sorting out little bumps and scrapes incurred during training runs". £22,500 on little bumps and scrapes?! They're patently going to the wrong Dutch garage. Couldn't they do what the rest of us do and pick up a scratch kit from Halfords?

Full Carp story at Hull Daily Mail

Subs in shape...

Great sense of humour on display on the front page of the Hull Daily Mail today. In a story headlined NHS CUTS BACK ON SLIMMING SURGERY about 30 fat folk lined up for weight loss surgery being told by NHS Hull that they'll have to 'look at other ways of shedding the pounds', part of the puntastic overline reads 'health bosses trim waiting lists'. Very good. Rather cruel of me but I couldn't help but laugh out loud when I read that one of the 30, Leanne Bothamley, said that the decision is "crushing". Dr Wendy Richardson, Hull's director of public health, spends a lot of time repeating her mantra that all the many overweight people of this city need to do is "eat less and move more" and I imagine that Leanne, crushed after spending so many years doing the crushing, has been armed with this sound medical advice.

Full fat version at the Hull Daily Mail

Such bargains to be had...

It doesn't hurt to stroll in to B&M Bargains once in a while. I've blogged before about the miracles of this place - a veritable Aladdin's cave of, well, rather odd things at the kind of prices that make you think that it wouldn't hurt to buy just one, or two, or three...

So we bought some shit. Including a big tin of meatballs in gravy to satisfy my meaty desires when vegetarians M and Finn aren't looking, and a rather limp looking but huge slab of flapjack. Mesmerised by other goodies, and figuring that, whoever you are, you're as keen to bag a grim and slightly out-of-date looking bargain as I am, I've selected four items currently stocked by B&M to highlight. Here goes. For those that enjoy Spam but don't like paying fancy prices, I think that Midland's no-nonsense Pork Loaf might be up your street. I especially like the fancy serving suggestion on the white-space a-go-go tin. Regard:


Still on food, if, like me, you've got through your festive pickles, Big Al is about to become your best friend. Look at the size of this baby (at just £1.79) and its crunchy contents:


It's not just food down at B&M. Oh no. There are some items that wouldn't look out of place on QVC. One such is the Ultimate Lint Roller which, amazingly, requires no refills!

And if that doesn't tickle your fancy, why not go for the awesome Table Mate II, the second generation of the Ultimate Portable Table (surely a laptop-friendly must for those bloggers and tweeters who can't tear themselves away from the comfort of the sofa?)!

Security has left the building...

Nipped in to Hull's city centre behemoth of a supermarket. As I walked through the security sensors the alarm was triggered as someone exited with a jumper full of booty. Directly ahead of me, centre stage, was a blue-shirted security guard familiar to anyone that's seen a game at the KC Stadium. His real name is Rob Jenkins but most of us know him round these parts simply as Elvis. Our Elvis is under 5ft and packs a few more pounds than his namesake did in his prime (more a Vegas-era paunch) but does have the most smashing set of sideburns. When he's not doing security he is, as the look would suggest, a pocket-sized singer of the Presley canon (he was once in a friend's play - I'm not saying he's typecast but, yes, he played an Elvis impersonator) that goes by the great stage name of Bobby Diamond. Elvis stood looking at the space where the shoplifter had, briefly, passed through. He started grinning and shrugged his shoulders. "Let another one slip through your hands, have you?" I said. "When it's this busy it's not easy. By the time I'm through the crowds they're out of the door." I suggested he moved closer to the exit and adopted a stance that suggested he was ready to pounce on any offenders. He nodded approvingly and went into this 'pounce position' and I left him to it. As I walked off I heard the voice of a young lad shout, rather merrily, "See you, Elvis!" Then the alarm sounded again. I glanced back and Elvis was, once more, just shrugging his shoulders.

Big city travels...

Headed over to Manchester for a couple of meetings and a bit of fun while M did her BBC thing. I like the place and, even when you're strolling about without much of a reason, as I was for the biggest part of the day, there's plenty to accidentally bump into. The John Rylands Library (pictured above, image fanatics) had been recommended as a place to discover but sod's law dictated that the building was being evacuated just as I walked towards 150 Deansgate. Finally got in, along with a couple of school groups. It took a while to get away from the young students and their complaints that "old dirty books are boring" but I finally shrugged them off (I bumped into 20 of them later, all sitting on and blocking my route down the rather grand main staircase as they sketched details of the building's Basil Champneys-designed Gothic innards) and enjoyed wandering about, although opportunities for the casual visitor like meself to get mucky paws on a rare book are limited by the glass separating the thousands of leather-bound volumes from dirty tourist types (the library is still a working academic library and part of the University of Manchester). I didn't need the toilet while I was there but, in retrospect and having read a little brochure I picked up, I wish I had had a go on a couple of bits of Victorian porcelain as "they are unchanged since 1900".

Victorian splendour is one thing, Mr Ryan's World Famous 2nd Hand Shop is something else completely. I have no idea whether Mr Ryan is still in business but there's something lovely about an outlet - and such a magnificent one at that - that sells hands and I'm very pleased that the franchise stretched as far as a second store. I asked a few people but nobody could tell me where his first Hand Shop was located.

Ellroy gets Peaced...

Somewhat behind with the Saturday papers this week. Finally got round to reading the James Ellroy and David Peace in conversation spread in Guardian Review. Two great writers with the ability to shock readers, and both having based their fiction on fact. Rather alarming photograph of the pair. Peace was interviewer, Ellroy interviewee. Nice research methods revealed by Ellroy who, unlike Peace, does not spend a year in a library but, instead, hires researchers who "compile factsheets and chronologies for me". Anyway, here's the Ellroy quote to regurgitate in writing class (What writing class? - WTF editor):

"I spend a lot of time alone, thinking. And I avoid the culture. I don't go to movies. I don't read newspapers. Here's what I mean: I'm not a rich man. I pay alimony. I pay taxes. But I don't have to support a family. So I have this assistant. So I don't have to go to the fucking store. I don't have a computer. She does my email ... I live a very, very simple interior life that allows this stuff to build in me and come to me slowly over time. And the voices come to me. And the situations come to me. So I don't think about very many things. And those few things I think about, I think about intensely. So I am able to take small bits of information and infuse them with verisimility." James Ellroy

Sopranovision...

Filling in the gaps in my cultural knowledge will also be going beyond reading all the books I've proudly but rather stupidly ignored for years. I'm also on a DVD trip. Filling in the void left by the most excellent (but, I feel, despite its brilliance and stellar cast, still ever-so-slightly over-hyped) The Wire is The Sopranos - which I took a wide swerve around back when everyone told me I should be watching it. I don't like following the hype but, when all the fuss has died down, my inquisitive nature gets the better of me. So here I am. And I have soooo much Sopranos to wallow in - only seen the pilot episode so far. And, look, it's that bloke from In The Loop!

Back on the book front, I made the mistake of dipping into The Right Stuff a couple of days ago and have got caught up in the USA's manned space project to the detriment of the Aldous Huxley at the side of the bed. Poor Aldous. I don't actually like that I like Tom Wolfe - when I look at him and his 'trademark' white suit I don't like what I see and he looks exactly like the kind of fella that would benefit from a punch in the face - but his 'new' journalism always hits the spot. Unlike his novel A Man In Full, which I had to abandon halfway through (although I did gobble up Bonfire of the Vanities a few years previously) and still sits on the shelf, teasing and taunting me.

In the toilet...

Rich Lusmore, who writes two fine blogs - A Game in Four Quarters and Let's Go Round Again - and used to contribute weekly sports reports to a newspaper I reputedly sub-edited, paid me (which I don't think we ever did him) a lovely compliment the other day. He reckons I inspired him. Which does make me question his sanity somewhat but, well, what a lovely thing to say. Rich, having read here of my plans to fill in the blanks in my reading, is re-visiting his entire music collection. Which is what Let's Go Round Again is all about. It's a great idea and I wish I'd thought of it. One to watch, I think - good luck in your kerazey mission Mr L!

In other news, we went in Hull's city centre Tesco today (the store where our neighbour Mary claims that prices are artificially high in comparison to other Tesco outlets, despite never having been in the place and, from what we can gather, doing all of her shopping at Waitrose).

Following the Christmas reshuffle, one aisle is now home to the entire Value line. Which is all well and good and very sensible, I suppose, but makes said range of el cheapo and ultra-affordable products and their white space-laden packaging look even more anemic and unappealing than when surrounded by more expensive brand-name counterparts. At least I know where to go for my favourite 14p can of beans.

Lean back and think of England...

What better way to start a cold day that would eventually involve the production of a short film than to eat bacon sandwiches? My sidekick with camera can certainly rustle up a mean butty in his kitchen at the start of the day and, without the prospect of eating some piggy offcuts, I may never have got out of bed. I especially liked the moment when my sidekick with camera proudly passed a second sanger to me, all nicely plated up, and, as he did so, realised that his rashers were burning under the grill. Later, as lights shone brightly and cameras rolled, we had fun throwing several slices of toast and a fair bit of jam around someone else's kitchen. Fun. But such larks do not pay the bills, nor bring home the bacon.

Evolution of a car...

No better day to build that Meccano Buggy that I got as a stocking filler. Lots of snow. Went out for a walk with Finn in welly boots, kicked the snow around in the garden, got cold, came back in. Skulked about watching CBBC. Then ripped open the box. Not a lot to it other than that. So, ladies and gentlemen, for your entertainment, as you sit there shivering and wishing you had got one too, I present a step-by-step glimpse into ten minutes in the life atop our dining table:

Built-in obsolescence...

I love technology and I admire good design but I dunno about Nexus Ones. I dunno about iPhones either. I certainly baulk when I walk past Currys Digital and see the POS signage telling me that it's time to buy a new PC. This constant need to update and upgrade and have the latest model and the constant 'development' in incremental steps that never really enhances our lives or significantly changes the way we go about our day-to-day business infuriates me. You buy the latest model today, it's obsolete by the time you've got it out of the box. It's always been thus, of course. If it hadn't been, cars would be rust proof and their parts would never need replacing. These are different days, though, aren't they? Yet the march of technology, to me, seems strangely detached from the everyday reality, needs and requirements of people. At its worst, that superb technology that we're informed (or persuaded) we crave is overpriced and, by being so, is dividing society, creating an even greater gulf between the haves and have nots. So, yes, these should be different days. Aside from the utter pointlessness of accumulating a lot of material goods and the futility of spending an ever-decreasing amount of disposable cash on said goods, there's a need to be green, to develop products that don't become obsolete, that last beyond a small part of a single year. Maybe the iPhone or the Nexus One will be that, if we're allowed to update their operating systems in perpetuity. Maybe they won't. But at some point we'll have to draw the line and start demanding goods that last, well, a lifetime. That would be a good thing, wouldn't it?

Short films...

Making short films can result in ridiculous behaviour. I have just been in Tesco and, for a short film that we are shooting on Sunday, I purchased:

x1 bottle of Lea and Perrins

x1 tin of ready made custard

x1 tin of mustard powder

x1 tub of hundreds and thousands.

Unrelated to the film, I also picked up a copy of Private Eye and a 'reduced to clear' club sandwich priced at 49p. As I stood at the checkout I felt dirty and very close to apologising to the staff for so obviously being a customer with mental health issues.

Aspirational party...

Politics. Blurgh. Politicians even more so. Just mere days into the thrill of a new year and they grind us down with their meaningless. ineffectual ramblings. Gordon Brown, who isn't likely to be PM come the general election, vowed (on the Andrew Marr show on Sunday, as it happens) that Britain will enjoy an "age of aspiration" should Labour be re-elected. What a lovely soundbite. An age of aspiration. Listening to Radio 4's Today programme in between making toast for Finn this morning, I laughed out loud (or LOL'd as the kids'd 'ave it) when the presenter reminded listeners that one definition of aspiration is "the act or process of drawing breath" (OED). Prompted by this, I sought more definitions and found that the medical definition of aspiration is "the process of removing fluids or gases from the body with a suction device". What an age this will be! An age that will signal the death knell for these mainstream political dinosaurs, with any luck. May they all have the hot air removed from within via a suction device.

Rubbish...

I just read on our Sainsbury's toilet roll packaging that buying said stuff "helps me care about the environment". Which it doesn't - I cared already; it was just that those two rolls came in at £1.25. We are, like the rest of Hull, on a mad recycling spree right now courtesy of Hull City Council's efforts to give us bins and waste receptacles of all shades, shapes and sizes. Which is a good thing, although I have a recurring nightmare that, when it gets to the other end, it is all put in a great big pile and burned in order to heat council chambers. You read it here first, remember that. And while I'm on recycling and the environment, I've thought for a while that there's something not quite right about blaming individuals for polluting the planet when its governments and huge corporations that businesses that are the biggest perpetrators of the crime (and even when they're being 'green' they're conning us, as nPower's light bulb fiasco has demonstrated . But blame us they do. Which is why I'm happily embracing the new green regime and would encourage others to do so. When we're all doing more than is required, those bastards will have to change their evil ways, won't they (no, they won't, they'll just blame developing nations - Cold Shower Realism Ed.)?

So, another poor blog entry. Still, it could be worse for you, dear reader, I could be Bono, and I could have presented you with a ridiculous (or, in his words, "moving") Top Ten of stuff I want to see in the next decade which "have the potential to change our world". It's the kind of nonsense that would make you shout at the shaded ignoramous, 'why don't you f*ck off and stick to making records?' if, that was, his records weren't so bleedin' awful. Read this and weep!

Bullseye...

So, the new regime is - or was supposed to be - thus: the day starts with a blog entry, the way it should. Blogging 'warms me up' for the writing day ahead. Or at least that was the theory - first day of the new regime failed because I decided to fill in the Sunday (blog) gap then couldn't think of anything to write for today (still can't - hence this travesty!), so I settled into the old ways, which is the new heading to the fridge. That is; twitter. I tweeted. I read some tweets. I was unproductive. Which was silly, because I resolved that 2010 was to be the most productive year ever. I did, steadily, get into the groove. Transcribed an interview that will be the basis of some web copy that needs delivering soon, got some design stuff out the way, sorted out some commitments to a writing network I'm involved with, did lots of housekeeping. Clearing the decks, really, because I have lots to do, you guessed it, tomorrow. See you on twitter bright and early?

What I could have done, of course, was blogged about the darts. It was a fine final, last night, there was much drama and, had I not been slightly distracted at the peak of the drama by the unfurling watchable shitness of Celebrity Big Brother, I would certainly have been on the edge of my seat. It was Phil 'the Power' Taylor versus Simon 'the Wizard' Whitlock. Simon is not a real wizard but the Power does have 'the Power' tattooed down his arm, so we must assume he is the Power. I wonder about these nicknames. They don't seem to evolve; rather, they're just given to these people when they purchase their first set of darts or, in Whitlock's case, when he grew his first beard. Darts is a lovely security blanket of a 'sport'. It feels like home, it feels nostalgic, it feels, as those generally unfit men huff and puff and sweat and snarl like shoddy pantomime dames, as if all is well with the world. Rather than wage an ideological war against Islam or constantly annoy the Chinese, I wonder if the west should merely distribute dart boards around the globe? Seriously, I think darts could save humanity. The Power won, if you're interested. The PDC contest over for a few weeks, the darts world now turns its attention to the BDO which is much the same but without the money, the excitement and the entertainment. You do get Martin Adams, Ted 'the Hankey' Count (those words are in the wrong order - syntax ed.) and lots of really lardy blokes in the BDO, mind, and such an air of kitchen sink social realism that it's a wonder whippets and pigeons don't frequent the Lakeside while a dirty, grime-laden Arthur Seaton looks on as he downs a pint of summat dark brown after a seven day week down at t'factory.

Reading: Aldous Huxley - Island

Generation A...

So, first phase of the operation is complete. I marched, businesslike, to the end of Generation A. Thoroughly enjoyable but, of course, it could never hope to be as zeitgeisty as its predecessor (Generation X), which, as the Telegraph pointed out back in the day, was/is "a landmark book". Indeed, it's a different beast altogether. Enough reviews exist out there in the internetether so I won't add to the interference, aside from mumbling that the whole thing is an interesting - and naturally Couplandesque - take on modernity that stresses the importance of the written word and storytelling. If I could embrace a condition mentioned in the book it would be logo dysphoria - the inability to perceive corporate logos. Marvellous. I'll steer clear of the Solon though - and stick with the books.

Reading (not the place in Berkshire)...

I have set myself some reading targets. I'm trying to fill in the missing gaps in my literary knowledge and atone for my reluctance - because I'm a pig-headed beast - to read from the prescribed canon. It may be a bleedin' waste of time but no more a waste of time than reading every playtext that sat on the shelves of my shoddy university (an astoundingly, unexpectedly large collection, I should stress. I have no idea, other than a vague sense of quite liking the fusty smell that oozed from the GB Shaw's, what prompted me to embark on such silliness, although I am able to remember clearly the joy of discovering Orton's The Ruffian on the Stair and Loot) back in the day. I might let you know how I get on. Or I may never mention it again (in which case you can assume that I failed in my task). First, though, I've got to get through some contemporary texts - Coupland's Generation A and, now that The Wire is behind me, the alarmingly weighty David Simon book Homicide and the Simon and Ed Burns'-penned The Corner - and some Japanese fiction that's been loitering for a while (a couple of Mishima's, and Hitomi Kanehara's Autofiction) along with not-so-recent but recent purchases Tom Wolfe's The Right Stuff and Aldous Huxley's Island; all of which are staring at me and teasing my tired eyes from the shelf. English graduate M will also no doubt be relishing the opportunity to ridicule me and ruin my classics reading - should it ever start - with a never ending stream of spoilers throughout my journey!

Twenty ten...

So, this is it, then. 2010. Or, Twenty Ten, as we seem to be being encouraged to utter. The Tens. The simple, one syllable decade. No doubt one rammed with war and poverty and the ongoing design evolution of Apple gadgets and other pointless shit that doesn't make one iota of difference to the quality of life (and this is me in a positive, optimistic frame of mind!).

2010 is all about the writing. A recent piece on John Mortimer, of Rumpole of the Bailey fame, flagged up this nice quote from the man, which I will have pleasure regurgitating in writing workshops over the coming months:

"I'm not a great believer that people change. People who write Hollywood scripts always think that characters have to learn things and change and develop. I think nobody learns anything. I think they make the same mistakes throught their lives till they drop dead." - John Mortimer

Reading: Douglas Coupland - Generation A