A sprawling metropolis of the mind. Est: 1970. Population: 1.

Chicken's Roost About Me
FAQs
Suede at HMV
Big Brother Eviction
Gloomy Bear
Harry Potter & Me
Top 10 Books
Top 10 Albums
Top 10 Films
Teaching in Japan
New Year in Kyoto
Being Veggie in Japan

Photo Albums
Asakusa
Tokyo
Tokyo 2
Bangkok
Chiang Mai
Phi Phi 1
Phi Phi 2
Kyoto
Farewell Fusako
Nova Kids
New York 1
New York 2
Rats!
Las Vegas
San Francisco
Los Angeles
San Diego
SD Zoo
Winter Wonderland


Routes outta MarkCity:
Peak Performance
Japan Today
Sports Injury Bulletin
Bookgirl
The Guardian
Hmmm
Chariotaku
Toast and Coffee
Raymi the Minx
I am a Donut
Japanese Streets
Sashimi Girl
James Braxton
Bamboo Life
Strange Place
Japan Box
J-list
Northern Monkey
Auspicious Fish
VegNews
Mori Chack

< # Blogging Brits ? >

Archives

 
I don't often do serious on this blog. MarkCity is a fun, frivolous place, where reality TV is of greater import than elections; where the antics of a pair of rats take precedence over discussions about the meaning of life. This first post-Xmas post was supposed to be all about what presents I got and the amusing things grandad/small nephews did on the day. But the tsunami has made me feel as if all that's pretty unimportant.

My concerns are centred in Phi Phi, where Butter and I holidayed a couple of years ago with Sue and Darren. You can see our pictures of this beautiful island by clicking on the left. The hotel, the bamboo huts, the swimming pool, the rows of dive shops and cheap restaurants; the little cafe where I befriended the 'lemon shake' girl; the jetty from which we embarked on a near-fatal snorkelling trip; the deckchairs where I read Harry Potter books and tried not to get sand in my iPod. All gone, including many of the people who lived and worked there. Phi Phi was the place where The Beach was filmed. After that, we all thought tourism was going to wreck that tropical paradise. Nature got there first.

I've just dug out my journal from that holiday. These were my first impressions of Phi Phi:

"It's heaven here. Sand as white and fine as castor sugar; water that's so warm you could bathe a baby in it. Phi Phi is beautiful. Full stop. The sea, the sky, the sand, the rocks and cliffs that frame the horizon. I keep expecting to see Leonardo DiCaprio turn the corner; for a boatload of bounty hunters to fetch up on the shore, looking for paradise.

We're staying in the PP Princess Resort: shamelessly package-touristy; a collection of wooden bungalows crowded into a mini village that touches the beach. Our bunglaow is great, with a big white bed and matching drapes that make it look like something from the Save a Prayer video..."

It goes on for pages, and is pretty mundane, typical-holiday stuff (well, apart from the near-drowning and watching a girl get attacked by monkeys). Now, though, it seems imbued with pathos. You don't know what you've got till it's gone. All that kind of stuff. I just hope that the people we met while we were there are okay. I'll never know, though.
posted by Mark at 5:25 PM

 
As a contributor to Stylus I had to compile a list of my Top 20 Albums of 2004. So here it is:

01. Embrace - Out of Nothing
02. Scissor Sisters – Scissor Sisters
03. Franz Ferdinand – Franz Ferdinand
04. Kings of Leon – Aha Shake Hearthbreak
05. Morrissey – You Are The Quarry
06. The Streets – A Grand Don’t Come For Free
07. Interpol – Antics
08. The Killers – Hot Fuss
09. Keane – Keane
10. Air – Talkie Walkie
11. Thirteen Senses – The Invitation
12. Razorlight – Up All Night
13. The Concretes – The Concretes
14. Auf Der Maur – Auf Der Maur
15. The Stills – Logic Will Break your Heart
16. Graham Coxon – Happiness in Magazines
17. The Libertines – The Libertines
18. Green Day – American Idiot
19. Estelle – The 19th Day
20. Courtney Love – America’s Sweetheart

The Kelis album would be in there too but I think it was actually released right at the end of 2003; and I'm hoping to get Gwen Stefani's CD for Xmas, and on the strength of the single I'm sure that would merit a Top 20 placing.

My top singles were:

1. Franz Ferdinand - Take Me Out (by a mile)
2. Scissor Sisters - Take Your Mama
3. Morrissey - Irish Blood, English Heart
4. Kelis - Milkshake
5. McFly - Obviously (yes, seriously)
6. Embrace - Ashes
7. The Stills - Lola Stars and Stripes
8. Gwen Stefani - What You Waiting For?
9. Embrace - Gravity
10. The Streets - Could Well Be In

It was a very indie year this year, with very few stand-out hip hop records, unless you count The Streets.

Man of the year, as already announced, was Morrissey, for making an astounding comeback. I think Woman of the Year has to be Nadia, partly because she won me £100, but also because the climax of Big Brother was one of the most fabulous events of 04. Best sporting moment was Kelly Holmes winning her first gold at the Olympics (worst was England's shameful exit from Euro 2004). Best film was Kill Bill Vol 2, and best book was 'Out' by Natsuo Kirino. Syd and Nancy win animal companions of the year and Butter takes the award for best girlfriend.
posted by Mark at 8:55 AM

 


Remember how, last week, Syd started glue sniffing? Well, this is what it's done to her. She's become deranged; a monster. This was taken a second before she launched into a vicious attack on Butter*. Meanwhile, her sister, Nancy, continues to be a sweet little rat. Here's a shot of her coming out of her new house, which was their Christmas present.



Morrissey was fantastic last night - he somehow managed to make the aircraft hangar that is Earl's Court seem like an intimate space. He tore through most of the new album and several old Smiths songs. The highlight was 'There is a light that never goes out'. I hereby name Moz as my Man of the Year 2004. From the sublime to the journey home: never ever choose the seat by the toilets on the last train home. It's a fuckwit magnet, especially when it's out of order.

*Not really.
posted by Mark at 8:28 PM

 

Together again - Bert and Bernie

I'm two-thirds of the way through my pre-Christmas social blitz, which started on Thursday with The Tears gig at Heaven, a nightclub beneath the arches at Charing Cross. The venue itself is a very unheavenly, with metal detectors on the doors and a long thin room with poor acoustics. I decided to stand at the back, not wanting to risk mangling my leg further, and found myself standing among one of that annoying breed of half-wit: the incessant chatterer. I've ranted about this before, but what is the point of going to a gig and yakking all the way through it? The two women in front of me didn't pause for breath once. But let's put the moans aside and talk about the music...

Brett and Bernard haven't been on stage together for 10 years, so for a long-term Suede-worshipper this was a very exciting event. They looked great and Brett's voice was fantastic as always. They didn't play any old songs - this is the Tears, not Suede - so it was quite a strange atmosphere. There was little movement in the crowd and no singing along because, duh, no-one knew the words. However, the new songs sounded very promising on first listen and I can't wait to hear them again when they release the album. Oh, and I had a rather bizarre experience - I was recognised by a MarkCity reader who came up to me and asked how my knee is. So hello Sherpa if you're reading this.

Last night was our work office party. I actually found it hard to get into - not sure why. The highlights were winning a bottle of champers after being awarded the prize for the biggest mistake of the year (drinking an interviewee's water during a job interview; the poor girl asked me for a glass of water, I put it down in front of her then unthinkingly started to sip from it) and singing karaoke. I only did one song though - 'Hound Dog' - before the machine stopped working. After that, I came home reasonably early, to prepare myself for tonight's Morrissey gig.

The real highlight of the week was getting a short story published in Zembla Magazine. It's a proper glossy mag that you can buy in WHSmith and everything! Every issue they run a competition to write a 300 word story on a certain theme. Mine was 'What I wish I hadn't seen at the beach' and I won first prize, £250 of rare books. I'm still waiting for it though. I'll post the story on here soon: perhaps as a Christmas treat!
posted by Mark at 3:04 PM

 


We almost had a ratastrophe yesterday. Syd got hold of a tube of glue and chewed it open. It made a horrible, sticky mess on the carpet but we were far more worried about our rat's health. Was this the first sign that she was becoming a rebellious teenager, sniffin' glue - glue which she'd stolen!? Still, I suppose she's just trying to take after her near-namesake, Mr Vicious, and animal lovers will be pleased to hear there were no ill effects.

I've got a new addiction: designer toys. I've been into Gloomy Bear for ages - that page still brings more people to this site than any other - but have discovered a weakness for toys like the one above. It's a Dunny. Isn't it fantastic? Plus there are Smorkin Labbits (see below) and I really really want an Uglydoll for Christmas. Butter is thoroughly disapproving and gives me that 'I'm very disappointed in yourself' look whenever I bring one home. But I can't help it. I feel a physical yearning whenever I see a cool new toy and my inner 8-year-old starts chanting, 'I want I want I want.'



Steve won the X-Factor. Yes! Take that Sharon, you vindictive cow, and Louis, you insipid cretin. Go Steve! Go...oh hang on - his first single is a cover of 'Against All Odds' by Phil Collins. Nooooooo! Come back Tabby, all is forgiven.

I've got a really busy week coming up - meeting someone to talk about a film on Tuesday, then The Tears gig on Thursday, office Xmas party on Friday (which might have karaoke!) and Morrissey on Saturday. Fortunately, my leg is a lot better and I can walk around almost normally, though I still can't go downstairs properly. The Christian physios have been fantastic - performing miracles and allsorts. Anyway, I may have a bumper crop of tales to tell next week. Or I may be too exhausted.

Got to go - Syd's just cracked open a can of beer and nicked a fag from the Smorkin Labbits...

posted by Mark at 11:57 AM

 
It's been 11 weeks now since I was last able to skip and jump, and yesterday I got up at 5am and did something I haven't done in a long time: I caught a train. It was just as marvellous as I remembered it. Fortunately I was able to get into the disabled seat, waving my crutch (which I no longer need) to demonstrate that I deserved said seat. Then a guy in a wheelchair rolled up...

Later in the day I caught a bus. It was just like being a normal person. I can still only bend my leg 95 degrees, and walk like an arthritic old man who's just pooped himself, but apart from that I'm fine. Looks like it's back to work full time next week.

I've been meaning to vent my spleen about The X-Factor on here for a while now. For those who haven't seen it, it's the latest Pop Idol style TV 'talent' show whereby Simon Cowell and chums take members of the singing public and turn them into stars. Yeah, like Hear'say and Michelle 'I wonder what my toes look like' McManus. Or Rik Waller, who recently sold one ticket for a show in Torquay. I love such shows, and this one is spiced up by the rivalry between the judges, who are each responsible for some of the acts. Each judge has, at present, one act left, after Rowetta, the former Happy Mondays backing vocalist, was cruelly ditched on Saturday and consigned to the dumper. Here's what I think of them.

First, Simon has Steve, a twinkly-eyed white soul singer who never stops smiling. I like Steve. I mean, I wouldn't buy his records, unless he was given some amazing material, but he seems like a genuinely nice bloke who doesn't beg for votes like the other desperadoes. He reminds me of an older Will Young. He even does the teapot dance. I should also point out that Simon Cowell is by far my favourite judge.

Secondly, Louis Walsh has G4. I don't know where to begin. Let's take Louis Walsh first. The man responsible for bringing Boyzone to Britain (shame the ferry didn't sink en route), Louis has confounded doctors by managing to walk despite having no spine. It's amazing. He simpers and begs for sympathy, and even stooped to describing one act, who happens to be blind, as a 'poor boy', which was one of the most cringesome moments on TV for a long time. His best act, Voices With Soul, got voted out because, lets face it, the great racist British public don't like voting for black people in these talent contests. So now he's left with G4, who couldn't be any whiter. G4 are a bunch of middle-class choirboys with angelic faces whose gimmick is to butcher rock classics in the style of the King Singers. It's almost too horrible to describe - I mean, we're venturing into Stephen King territory here. "I'm a kur-reeeeeep," they warble in their monstrously posh accents. The nadir came this week when Jonathan, the good-looking one (the others look like junior accountants who've had one too many business lunches), started blubbing on air because he was so worried about his bedridden mummy. What life-threatening illness did mater have? A cold.

Last and least come Sharon Osbourne and Tabby. No, tabby is not a cat, though it might be for the best if he were put down. But let's concentrate on Sharon first. What is it that the public love about Sharon? How has she fooled people? She's successful because a) she married a famous rock star and managed him, and b) appeared on a reality TV show on which she demonstrated less dignity than Paris Hilton and the child-rearing skills of a she-jackal (I mean, look how Kelly and wotsisname turned out). In a magazine interview recently she said that all Japanese people look the same, her hubbie used to collect Nazi Memorabilia and she wears fur. Lots of it. I really hate her. But not half as much as I hate Tabby. With a face that was made for slapping, the devastingly dense Tabby comes on stage each week and pretends to play a guitar that isn't plugged in while grimacing his way through some piece of soft-rock shit, often depending on the audience to sing for him while he prances about and shouts 'Come on' like a karaoke Jon Bon Jovi. His low point came when he displayed pictures of his baby while singing Sweet Child of Mine. Speeeeeew. He is utterly, utterly talentless and cretinous and just makes me want to...to...KILL SOMETHING!

Phew. Rant over. But if either G4 or Tabby win I might start ranting again.
posted by Mark at 6:07 PM

 
Googling yourself is a guilty pleasure. (That's a sentence that could only make sense in the early 21st Century!) Earlier today, I did an image search on Google for my name, Mark Edwards.

I discovered that we, the Mark Edwardseseseses of the world, are a good-looking bunch. We could form a boyband and conquer the hearts and stir the loins of young ladies everywhere. We'd have more knickers thrown at us than Tom Jones, Robbie Williams and Marilyn Manson put together.

Here, then, is the lust-inducing line-up of lovelies, in the first ever Global Mark Edwards Gallery:


Q: How much was your wig? A: Toupee


Mark and the Magic Staff


Mark - Sex Cod


Baby, where did my neck go?


Return of the mullet


Another pic from my goth days

And here's an album I don't remember releasing:


posted by Mark at 9:45 PM

 
I'm very happy this afternoon. I managed to get tickets for the first ever The Tears gig, which is Brett Anderson and Bernard Butler of Suede's new band. It sold out in milliseconds, but I was in there. Hurrah! Just need to get fit now.

And on the theme of music, I am still writing weekly reviews for Stylus Magazine but keep forgetting to mention it. This page links to all my reviews, including my latest: Placebo's greatest hits and Depeche Mode's remix album.

I managed to bend my knee 55 degrees yesterday. Next week, I start hydrotherapy, at a Christian health centre on the outskirts of T Wells. They should have me walking on water in no time.
posted by Mark at 5:34 PM

 


Butter and I spent my birthday at the exceedingly upper-crust Ashdown Park Hotel, deep in the Kentish countryside, a short canter on a pony away from Winnie the Pooh's birthplace. Hoorah! Twas very grand and a bit like staying at Hogwarts, only without the quidditch or headless spooks. Well, I didn't see any - perhaps they were on holiday and only appear when the hotel is busy.

As one might expect for the first chilly week of November, Ashdown (as I have come to know it) was almost deserted. We had the swimming pool and jacuzzi all to ourselves. I wasn't able to swim - would a one-legged swimmer go round in circles or just sink? - but soaked my leg in the whirlppol spa for therapeutic purposes. Going through the swimming pool footbath on crutches was an experience I'll never forget. My crutches were lovely and clean afterwards: they sparkled. Then I had a bit of a struggle getting my trunks off in the changing room. I was nearly compelled to call out to the Eastern European attendant (female) for assistance, but I finally managed to remove my sodden swimming garments on my own. Shame.

We were outnumbered by staff in the fancy-schmancy restaurant (or banqueting area) too, which was nice as the bored waitresses kept bringing us canapes to sample. After quaffing martinis, we dined on truffle soup, asparagus and avocado salad, goats cheese risotto with a port reduction, and drank the finest wines known to man (aka a lovely bottle of muscadet). For pudding, Butter had pistachio creme brulee and I had a vanilla panna cotta. Shortly afterwards, we passed out. (Upon seeing the bill.)

We spent yesterday morning munching pastries and reading the paper in front of an open fire in the sitting room. I felt like Penelope Keith in To the Manor Born. I definitely should have been born into the aristocracy - perhaps there was a mix-up in the maternity ward.

After that, I came back down to earth with a visit to the physio, who iced my leg and tried to make me bend it. Aaaargh! I can bend it a mere 47 degrees. Which gets me out of going to church for a while, at least.
posted by Mark at 2:58 PM

 
This is my last blog as an early-thirty-something. Tomorrow I will officially be in my mid-thirties. How scary is that? Very scary: I spent a good chunk of yesterday afternoon talking to a pensions advisor, and Butter and I are aiming to buy somewhere within the next year. Anyone know any good money-making schemes? I'm too old to be a rent boy now. I have taken to selling my old junk on eBay though.

I've been out of my cast for almost a week. At first it was like being a newborn calf - without the gunk, obviously. It's taking me a lot longer to walk around too. My right leg will hardly bend. You should see me trying to get in and out of the bath... actually, you probably don't want to. (But if you do, send me money and I'll email you some pics.) I'm doing lots of exercises trying to get mobile, with Butter doing her sergeant major act, making me work that limb while I lay on the bed whimpering.

We're going to a swanky hotel tomorrow to celebrate my birthday. Four stars, with spa facilities, and you have to wear a jacket or tie to dine in the restaurant. This will make me feel even more mature. Butter called them today and was told that they don't have a lift and that all the ground floor rooms are gone. Great. I can feel a disaster heading our way.

Speaking of disasters, isn't everyone happy that Bush got back in? Bang goes the planet.
posted by Mark at 6:24 PM

 
So, it's the big day tomorrow - my cast comes off (assuming everything's okay). Can it really be six weeks since The Accident? It's been the most surreal month-and-a-half of my life. Here are some things I've learned during my period of 'rest':

1) Codeine is great.
2) When you go out on crutches, people either stare at you as if you're the elephant man, skirt around you like you've got leprosy or completely ignore you and try to knock you over. Only one woman - in NatWest - who told me to 'hobble over here' treated me as if I wasn't about to die or was already dead.
3) People stuck at home with broadband shouldn't be allowed to have a credit card and/or access to ebay.
4) However, 24-hour access to ebay does mean you can buy and sell and make quite a lot of money.
5) You can go six weeks without a bath and not smell really bad. Er, I think so anyway (or is that why lots of people were avoiding me in the street?)
6) BBC 6Music is a fantastic radio station
7) Butter is an extremely lovely, patient girlfriend (OK, I knew that anyway)
8) That when you tell people you tripped over and broke you're knee they are 92% certain to say, 'Had you been drinking?'
9) That being stuck indoors for three weeks without a single trip outside is enough to drive you TOTALLY F*CKING BONKERS!

And I haven't watched daytime TV once. Not once!
posted by Mark at 8:47 PM

 
Yesterday, my friend Louise sent me a picture of a very amusing root vegetable that she'd found:



His name is Mr Root, and he's available to the highest bidder on eBay:
http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&rd=1&item=5529515859
posted by Mark at 3:57 PM

 
I know, I've been pathetically slack - but I really haven't done anything and I'm as bored of writing about my knee as I'm sure people are of hearing about it. So this is a holding post, to get those goth pics off the top of the page if nothing else. The highlight of my week was a taxi ride to London to spend a day at the office. I felt every bump. I've also been rediscovering the joys of eBay, selling some Scissor Sisters tickets because I won't be able to make it to the gig now, and my Gameboy Advance. I've been watching loads more films - Run Lola Run, Finding Nemo, Show Me Love and The Girl Next Door - and writing lots. We finally saw the treatment of Killing Cupid from the BBC. They're pitching it to BBC films now - maybe I've told you that already? And I'm involved in an Australian project to write something set in Kyoto. Just finished my edit of the novel of Killing Cupid, have entered Sayonara Baby in a competition and about to start on my next collaborative novel. At least I'm trying, eh?

My review of Razorlight's album is here.
posted by Mark at 3:24 PM

 
I have a feeling I'm going to regret this...

People sometimes ask me if I have any pictures of when I was a goth. Fortunately they're locked in my mum's attic, for the good of society. However, this afternoon my old schoolfriend David - who now lives in Australia - scanned and emailed me some old pics that date from around 1988/89. Here are a few of the best. Yes, believe it or not, there were worse photos.


Practising for our first NME cover


Nice shades, huh?


Control yourselves, ladies

Have you stopped laughing yet?
posted by Mark at 10:24 PM

 
You'll be pleased - unless you're a sadist, in which case you'll be disappointed - to hear that I'm in a lot less pain now. I'm off the drugs (bye bye glamour) and feeling almost normal. Apart from still being stuck indoors. I could get down the stairs but can't get back up unless I have someone with me to carry my crutches. Perhaps I could hire a sherpa. There's a Himalayan restaurant down the road - they might be able to tell me where to find one. Also, getting up the stairs is pretty exhausting, which is why I haven't been out since I went to the hospital. But I'm planning to go out for a hobble this weekend.

Thick stuck-indoors-ness means I have very little to blog about. All I'm doing is watching films and reading. So far this week I've seen Goodbye Lenin (a funny German film; no that's not an oxymoron), The Third Man, LA Confidential, Bully and Shaun of the Dead, which is the best zom-rom-com I've ever seen. I bought a book called 1001 Films You Must See Before You Die and am working my way through it.

A work friend of mine went to see Lionel Ritchie the other day. While looking for Lionel references with which to mock her, I came across this very funny page - A guide to making your own Hello-video head.



My latest review, of Thirteen Senses, is on Stylus now. I tried to write a good review for a change. They're much harder.

posted by Mark at 9:38 PM

 
I keep telling people that I feel like the guy in Rear Window, although I haven't witnessed any murders yet. I did, however, just see a man looking at posters of naked women in his car, which is quite shocking for Tunbridge Wells. I think I might phone the council. Anyway, I don't really feel like Jimmy Stewart - I feel more like some Dr Evil-esque madman locked in a secret bunker, which just happens to be on the first floor and is therefore not a very good bunker. My computer has become my control centre from which I can plan world domination. This website, Villain Supply, just might help me achieve my megalomaniacal aims.

But really - my Mac is my window on the world. I use it to do all my work, shopping and socialising, and have now joined the ranks of people getting sent bruised fruit and wilted veg by Tesco.com. I've also signed up to an excellent DVD service called Video Island - my first rental was Cabin Fever*. Last night, my friend Darren introduced me to a truly brilliant site called Skype which lets you make phone calls over the net - for free. Very highly recommended.

I was convinced yesterday that I had become a junkie and was suffering from heroin withdrawal - oh, okay, codeine withdrawal. They are related, aren't they? I had to call the BUPA healthline (Butter's company pays) where a nice nurse talked to me in a gentle voice. Hmm - I wonder what ailment I'll be suffering when I call her today...

*Cabin Fever - Deeply silly comedy horror in which a group of kids go into the woods and get attacked by a deadly, flesh-devouring virus. Well, it makes a change from crazed rednecks (although there are a few of those here too.) I usually like teens-in-peril horror flicks but Cabin Fever - did they come up with the title first? - isn't even scary. There are some interesting minor characters, like the party-obsessed deputy, and there's some nice sick humour in here, but otherwise you should avoid this like the (deadly, flesh-devouring) plague. Not quite bad enough to be on the Worst Film Of All Time list though.
posted by Mark at 8:10 AM

 
My latest CD review - of The Ordinary Boys - is here. I think it's my best yet.
posted by Mark at 8:08 AM

 
I haven't blogged for a few days because it's been too painful to sit at my desk. I know, it's sad, isn't it? Frankly, the last few days have been bloody awful and I've run out of decent painkillers. The doctors wouldn't give me any more in case I get addicted to codeine. I should have told them I'm a wannabe writer and that a glamorous addiction to a low-level opiate might help my career. Oh well.

Anyway, time heals better than drugs (so just say no, kids) and I'm happy to report that I'm over the worst. Though it's still a bit awkward sitting at my desk (so this will be brief). I went up the hospital on Thursday to have my comfortable back-board cast replaced with a lightweight cast that's made out of some kind of magical plastic substance. My leg now sticks out straight, hence the hurt. The consultant told me that my journey home (see below) was "incredible" - that's right, an incredible journey, akin to the time that cat and those dogs crossed America looking for their master. Somehow, in my addled state, I forgot to put my shoes on and went to the hospital in my socks. The nurse told me this was very dangerous due to the slipperiness of the hospital corridors and gave me a 'special' shoe to wear, a kind of invalid sandal that I wish I'd taken a photo of. This embarrassment was compounded by the discovery that the rats had chewed a small hole in the bum of my trousers, thus exposing my pants to my fellow wounded walkers. I'm going to be in the cast for 5 weeks, then on crutches for a further 2-3 weeks, undergoing "quite a lot" of physio.

I'm going to hobble back to my warm spot on the sofa now.


posted by Mark at 6:04 PM

 
Thank fcuk for that! French Connection are retiring their fcuk slogan. That's such good news. I used to really like fcuk but came to hate them. It became a label for yobs and witless townies. it was also very depressing seeing butt ugly idiots walking around wearing slogans like 'guaranteed fcuk'. It just went too far.

Right, back to work...
posted by Mark at 1:00 PM

 
My review of Goldie Lookin Chain's album is on Stylus now. Harsh but fair, I think.

In case anyone was wondering what was going on with Sayonara Baby, I've decided, after some feedback, that the current draft needs a lot of work. However, I can't face it at the moment. I'm working on Killing Cupid again - that's the one LV and I sold to the Beeb, who are still interested and it's currently being pitched to BBC Films. Working collaboratively is so much easier and more enjoyable than doing it solo. And once KC is finished we're going to start on a new one. We've come up with a killer idea.

Watched Frida last night, with Salma Hayek and her amazing monobrow. It was excellent: Latin spirit, gruesome accidents and lots of sex, with some arty interludes. We also watched Japanese Story, with Toni 'You're Terrible Muriel' Collette, which is quite slow and has an amazing twist two-thirds of the way through. Finally, we watched Wrong Turn, a generic kids-get-chased-through-the-woods-by-deformed-psychopaths movie, which is only 70 minutes long. That's all I can think to say about it.
posted by Mark at 7:13 AM

 
No, I haven't gone blog-crazy, but I've just heard the very sad news that one of my heroes, Brian Clough, has died.

I started supporting Nottingham Forest in the seventies when I was a wee nipper and they were running aamok in Division One, setting records and preparing to win two European Cups. As the song of the time went, Nottingham Forest were magic. Even when things went a bit wobbly in the eighties it was still a joy being a Forest fan because we had the most charismatic, interesting manager in the league. He should have been England manager but the FA were too gutless. RIP Brian - you're a legend.
posted by Mark at 4:18 PM

 
Most people haven't understood that the picture below was meant to be funny! Well, it made me laugh anyway. It wasn't me trying to get sympathy. Oh well - pictorial irony clearly doesn't work.

I am finally a published rock journo. My first review, on the excellent Stylus Magazine site, is here

I'll post more links and details about Stylus later, but if you're interested in music it's worth reading - the standard of writing is as good as, if not better than, most music mags on the newsstands. And I'm not talking about myself, by the way. Reviews written by a guy called Nick Southall are particularly good.
posted by Mark at 3:13 PM

 


Sigh... look at the poor chap above, stranded on the sofa, gazing longingly out at the big wide world, trying to remember what it feels like to walk in the sunshine, to feel the breeze on his skin, the rain on his hair, the squish of dogpoo underfoot. I haven't been outdoors since Wednesday and I'm feeling a bit stir crazy. Fortunately Butter is proving to be an excellent nurse, fetching me food, drinks, magazines, DVDs and dancing naked for me in the name of entertainment. Um, actually, the last bit was more of a fantasy than reality - I blame the codeine.

I hope this picture doesn't end up on one of those weird broken-limb fetish sites. Yes, such things really do exist. So I've heard anyway.

The pain isn't as bad now and I've managed to cut down on the painkillers - so no smack required, thanks, Maggie. Super-strength ibuprofen pretty much does the trick. I'm still immobile though. I've been doing circuits of the coffee table in an attempt to stay fit, with Syd and Nancy hitching a ratty ride.

I was immensely cheered up earlier by the good news about the Embrace album. Number 1, number 1, number 1. Woo-hoo! What a vindication. Danny McNamara says we're the best fans in the world. That's because we are.


posted by Mark at 4:10 PM

 
I had an accident on Wednesday - I tripped over the kerb outside my office and landed hard on my right kneecap. Bang. I limped up to my desk and told my colleagues who found the whole thing hilarious. Various people told me to put ice on it and that they'd see me tomorrow. How wrong they were... I discovered later that I had broken my kneecap in two.

I had to get home from central London to Tunbridge Wells. The first leg of this journey was by bus. I had to get the old lady I was sitting beside to swap places because I needed to stretch my leg out in the aisle. She told me all about her own falls and told me I might have fractured my knee bone. Then I limped onto the train at Waterloo East and made my way to Tonbridge where I had to change. By this point I could tell something was badly wrong. My knee had swollen up like Simon Cowell's head and I felt like The Little Mermaid at the end of the orginal fairy-tale: every step was a world of pain. And, of course, I was at the very end of the platform. I dragged myself to the bridge - yes, I had to cross a footbridge. I stood and looked at the steps for a while, gathering courage, then grabbed the rails and used my arms to pull myself up the steps then down the other side. On the next train I called the doctor and made an appointment to go straight in. Again, at Tunbridge Wells I was at the wrong end of the platform. I slowly limped along and climbed into a taxi driven by the world's least sympathetic taxi driver. 'I've waited an hour for a fare and you just want to go round the corner...'

Butter met me outside the doctor's surgery and helped me inside. The locum squeezed my knee and said it probably wasn't fractured - he was a bit crap - but that I should go up the hospital for an x-ray just in case. At the hospital I had my first ever ride in a wheelchair and, to cut a long and painful story short, I was told that I had fractured my patella, strapped up and sent home with some painkillers. I have to go back to have a cylinder cast put on it next Thursday. Apparently I'll be on crutches for about 6 weeks and will then need physio. I don't know how long I'll be off work for - the toilets in the office are all up and down flights of stairs and the journey itself is gruelling at the best of times.

The worst thing is the pain at night - lying on my back trying to ignore the pain so I can sleep. The painkillers aren't strong enough. So if anyone has any drugs/knockout drops/herbal remedies they can send me...


posted by Mark at 1:14 PM

 
I didn't feel like blogging on Sunday so here's a quick catch-up on what's been going down on the MarkCity streets.

1. I've been trying to organise the 'worst film of all time' poll - see the comments on the last post - and will be sticking the results on here soon. Your breath is baited, I can tell. Please leave a comment with your suggestions. Votes for 'Dude Where's My Car' will not be accepted.

2. After dreaming for years of being a rock critic, I'm about to become a contributor to an online magazine called Stylus. It's unpaid so I'm just doing it for fun. And because I never miss an opportunity to give my opinion when it comes to music. I hope it doesn't mean I get even less time to update this blog.

3. The Embrace album, Out of Nothing, is currently No.2 in the midweek album charts, just behind Paul 'Shouldn't he be dead by now?' Weller with his collection of covers of his favourite songs. I can't believe people are actually going into shops and handing over money for Weller's karaoke album. It's shocking. Embrace have to be No.1 on Sunday... ooh, STOP PRESS, an ad for the album just came on Channel 4. That should bring a few more sales. I'm going to go round all the shops tomorrow and hide all the Weller albums.

4. I have a book recommendation for you: Out by Natsuo Kirino. It's about these women who work the night shift in a bento factory in Tokyo. They have miserable lives, cut adrift from society; alienated from their families; riddled with debt. Then one of them kills her husband and the others help her cover it up by dismembering the body and distributing him around the city. After that, everything goes horribly wrong... It's one of the best books I've read in a long time.

5. I went to the Groucho on Friday night. Apparently, just before I arrived, John Lydon, David Walliams and Patrick Stuart from Star Trek left. I'm not sure if they left together. I wouldn't like to start any scurrilous rumours.
posted by Mark at 9:09 PM

 
I just watched Battle Royale II. The first BR is one of my favourite films, so imagine my disappointment when BR2 turned out to be... crap. The director died halfway through making it. I'm not surprised. I lost the will to live halfway through watching it. While the first film was darkly funny, inventive and exciting, this one is boring and offensive, and the acting... my god. I've seen better acting in primary school plays. It starts with a group of terrorists blowing up some twin towers in Tokyo, has a weird, out-of-place rant about all the countries the US has bombed in the middle, and includes some odd stock footage of smiling children in Afghanistan, all wrapped up in an 'ain't terrorism great and America evil' message. Nasty. Watching it a couple of days after the atrocities in Russia has left me with a really nasty taste in my gob. So the moral is 'don't rent this film'. Even if you loved the original.
posted by Mark at 8:17 PM

 
Another week, another Embrace gig. Or rather, a pair of Embrace gigs - two for the price of one. Before their massive show at the Shepherds Bush Empire, the shaggy-haired ones played another free gig, this time on Shepherds Bush Green, which I assume is the site of the original shepherd's bush. Anyway, this secret gig was a lot better than the Leicester Square event because a) I could actually hear them and b) the cops didn't break it up, although Danny McNamara spent most of the gig looking nervously around, worried that he was going to be languishing in a cell when he was supposed to be playing his big comeback show. Actually, if I were their press officer, I'd have tipped off the police. Imagine the publicity.

After the secret gig, I wandered around Shepherd's Bush for an hour waiting for Butter and Ali, my littlest sister. I must have walked up and down the high street five times - with a white balloon in tow. We weren't allowed to release them because we were under a flight path. The locals must have thought I was on a blind date - 'You'll know me because I'll be holding a balloon with Gravity written on it.' I felt pretty dumb.

Finally, the girls turned up and, after snacking on a sarnie on the grass, we joined the throng inside the Empire. Because of my horrific tinnitus problems (yeah, I know, I'm old) I wore my new earplugs. To try to make said items seem cooler, I always describe them as musicians earplugs - the kind that Pete Townsend should have worn if he didn't want to go deaf. These plugs reduce the decibel level of the music without affecting the quality of the sound. That's what it says on the packaging, anyway. It was difficult to tell because the sound in the Empire is muddier than the Reading Festival.

The band were great, although the gig was slightly marred by a large contingent of morons among the audience who were more interesting in chucking beer than drinking it. What a waste. Two neanderthals next to me were holding full pints - which they'd just been singing to, lovingly (I'm not making this up) - when Embrace started playing an upbeat 'number'. The beer-lovers immediately started pogoing and the beer ended up in my trousers. (We had winos following us home afterwards.) Plastic glasses were flying overhead, even landing on the stage. Butter nearly got crushed to death during one particularly violent mosh, with me trying to protect her and getting bashed myself. There was a hell of a lot of male-bonding going on around us. I realise that all this makes me sound like a miserable fart who should have got seated tickets - and I know I've complained before about immobile Belle & Sebastian audiences - but it was really was OTT, and we weren't even in the moshpit. I still love Embrace, though, and will be going to see them again in November. Butter's not coming.

It was the Butter-birthday yesterday. I bought her a running top plus everything you need to make an Apple Martini: sour apple schnapps, vodka, martini glasses, a shaker and cocktail sticks. Sue and Darren joined us in our crib for a very sophisticated pre-dinner drink. I got quite pissed. Then we joined the nation's other Saturday night binge-drinkers and went out for a ruck. Er...except we didn't really - we went for a yummy meal at Casa Vecchio, a posh restaurant in the Pantiles. We almost ended up in the jazz club upstairs, after a mix-up when I rang to book. We escaped that horror, though. Jazz, as everyone knows, is musical wanking.

I'm going to get my ears syringed tomorrow. Can't wait.
posted by Mark at 1:50 PM

 
  

The mighty Embrace played a secret gig in Leicester Square on Thursday, taking on the establishment, flicking two fingers at The Man and winning. Sort of. If you've never heard of Embrace, well, you're not alone - but they're about to be massive. They were big before, back in the post-Britpop wilderness of 1998, when 'All You Good Good People' and 'Come Back To What You Know' were top ten hits and their debut album sold half-a-million copies. Then the world forgot about them (even though they released another couple of brilliant albums). Now, they're about to release their new single, 'Gravity', which is fabulous. And to whip up some publicity - and to give something back to us, the fans - Danny McNamara and the rest of the lads invited us to Leicester Square for a free gig.

For the hardcore Embrace maniac, their secret gigs are legendary - they invented the whole concept, long before The Libertines did it and the NME decided to call such events guerilla gigs. A few years ago, I found myself hunting for codes across the net in order to get a pair of tickets for their sixth secret gig, SG6, and then watching the band in the stately surrounds of Batsford Manor. The band even gave us free beer. It was the best gig ever. The Leicester Square SG, SG11, was a bit different - it wasn't even secret, for one thing, after being announced on Teletext and XFM. We were told to bring along a helium-filled white balloon with Gravity written on it. And because they were playing without a licence, they said that they would do as many songs as they could before the police bundled them into a van and shipped them off to Guantanemo Bay.

Several hundred of us turned up - I took Maggie and Helen; Butter couldn't make it - and crowded around Danny who was standing on a crate with a microphone and some kind of mini-amp which didn't appear to be working very well. As you can see from the admittedly rubbish pictures above, I could just about see Danny's head. It was the quietest gig of all time (perhaps someone should contact the Guinness Book of Records) but it was still brilliant because we were really close to the band and the crowd provided the volume for them. They played five songs, which we all sang along to, even the ones that haven't been released yet, and during 'Gravity' we let go of our balloons and watched them float skyward, some of them catching in the canopy of the trees for a while before sailing off into the blue. Or rather, grey.

Then some bastard turned up the volume on the big screen in the square, which meant it was even harder to hear the music. And then the cops turned up, threading their way through the crowd and trying to stop the show. However, rock 'n' roll - even really quiet rock 'n' roll - will not be defeated, and Embrace did one more number before dashing into the haven of the Capital Radio building and the arms of Dr Fox (who, foreign readers will be surprised to learn, isn't a real fox). Reports on NME.com that they ran off like scaredy-cats when they heard a siren are rubbish. Afterwards, a few tourists stopped us and asked who the band was. 'Embrace,' we replied excitedly. 'Oh,' they said, faces blank.

This time next year they'll be telling all their friends they were there when Embrace played Leicester Square.

Bizarrely, some opportunist has put a white Gravity balloon on eBay. If anyone bids on this it will prove that the world is insane.


posted by Mark at 9:03 AM

 
I've just watched Paula Radcliffe's attempt to win the marathon. Poor Paula. Still, the British team has done brilliantly this week. Watching sport I suddenly become terribly patriotic and start cheering on posh blokes whose lives changed when they chose rowing over rugger at Eton. I was even cheering when our yngling team won gold. Apparently, 80% of Britain's medallists in Sydney went to private school, which says a lot about the state of sport in this country.

Staying on this sporty theme, my very own posh bird has decided to take up running and is going to try to get a place in next year's London Marathon. Yesterday, we took a trip to London to get Butter kitted out. She had her feet tested on some hi-tech Adidas-sponsored computer thingy, then bought a pair of silver Nikes. I'm a running widow - every Sunday afternoon, my girlfriend goes out running while I lie on the sofa and exercise my brain.

We watched Fahrenheit 9/11 yesterday. Great film. Very funny - love the bit where the guy enjoys a glass of Bordeaux in his riot-proof chamber - and moving. Butter blubbed as we came out of the cinema, although that might have been a late reaction to the admission fee. £8.50! Lucky it was such a good film. Imagine if you'd paid that to see Swept Away. Back To F-9/11, as Sigue Sigue Sputnik might have called it: Michael Moore is a very clever propagandist, and the film is totally biased and manipulative, but so what? Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. You ain't gonna shift Bush with subtlety, and it's a good thing that the left has someone who's willing to play the bad guys at their own game.

Our work fantasy football league has started up again. I am completely rubbish at it.
posted by Mark at 5:49 PM

 
I've finally got round to putting together my list of Top 10 Fave Films.

posted by Mark at 5:59 PM

 


Yeeeeaaaaahhh! She's all woman. She loves a smoke. And she romped to victory on Friday night making me £100 richer. I'm sure Nadia won't let her new-found riches change her, and I won't let my £100 change me. I'm still going to go to work every day, still talk to my old friends...

Actually, this is the first time I've won a bet since Grittar won the Grand National in, I think, 1984. That was back before I had principles. Butter is concerned that my Big Brother betting bonanza is the first step onto a slippery slope and that I will soon be careening into gambling-addiction hell, ruining us both, a sad tale that will end with me in the gutter and her whacking me repeatedly with a large rolling pin. Therefore I have sworn not to gamble any more. This is hard because I just know that the odd-looking-yet-oddly-sexy Amy Winehouse is going to win the Mercury Music Prize, and 8-1, well, those are pretty good odds.

Must. Resist.



We went on a little jaunt to Greenwich yesterday. Yeah, why not head into London on a really hot day? What a great idea. It was mine though - I admit full culpability. On the plus side, we saw the Cutty Sark, above, and the Meridian Line, and the park is lovely. Greenwich is one of my favourite parts of London, and I'm eternally interested by Docklands, which we rode through on the DLR. Tip: never travel by DLR on a scorching day - it's as bad as the Tube. Especially when it gets stuck, is full of irritating tourists with very loud voices and smells like someone ate a wheelbarrow-full of rotten turnips just before boarding and farted them all out just after boarding. Then we boarded a chocka Tube train ('hey, Claire, welcome to my everyday life') which we fled in Holborn. For some reason, Holborn was completely deserted and we couldn't find anywhere nice to have dinner. 'Right, let's go home,' stropped Butter. Eventually, though, we ended up in a below-par Indian near Covent Garden. Oh, and the Butter heel problem reared its ugly, er, foot again, just like in New York. She really must buy some comfy trainers. Her birthday is approaching and I would offer - but she wants an apple Martini kit instead. More on that in a later installment.

Can you spot the difference on this page? We've had a bit of a redesign. 'Bit' being the operative word.
posted by Mark at 4:31 PM

 
I suppose I ought to write about something other than Big Brother, but what? The weather? Yes, it's hot, sticky and sultry again. We've had about 6 wasps in the flat today. In keeping with my veggie principles, I try not to kill wasps or other beasties - er, apart from flies; well, you have to draw the line somewhere or you'd start worrying about fleas and lice, and now I feel the need to stress that I rarely encounter fleas and lice... So whenever a wasp swoops into the room I have to hunt it down with a glass and postcard. The great white hunter.

I've bought two lots of gig tickets this week. Embrace, my 2nd favourite band, are back back back, and as well as doing a proper tour they're playing one of their secret gigs somewhere on August 15th. 3 years ago this week, Butter and I went to their 6th secret gig, SG6, at a country mansion in Batsford. To get tickets, you had to find a special code on the net. This week, they released more codes for SG10. I got one, but you can only go if you live within a certain catchment area. I'm waiting to see if we qualify. We're also going to see Scissor Sisters in November. I will be wearing my special earplugs.

I tried to do a photo shoot with Syd and Nancy yesterday but they wriggle so much - these were the best shots I could get:




posted by Mark at 8:36 PM

 
So far I've been embarrassingly inaccurate with my Big Brother predictions - last night, Michelle was chucked out by the idiotic public. This happens every year - the most entertaining housemate gets the boot, while the dull, inoffensive ones stay till the last week when nobody votes for them to win. The vitriol that has been directed against Michelle in the press and on the BB forums over the last week has been disgusting. She's put on some weight - so she gets called Jabba the Hutt. She's possessive of Stu, so she's a bunny boiler. Misogynistic crap. I hope Michelle - who was the unrivalled star of BB5 - goes on to make us much money as the equally-reviled Jade Goody and that, whether or not she ends up with chicken Stu, she's happy. Bye bye, Michelle - the last week of Big Brother will be dull without you.

The silver lining to this cloud, though, is that Nadia is almost certain to win and I'll get my cash! For what it's worth, I reckon Shell will be out next, and can see Jason coming in the top 3 now.
posted by Mark at 4:11 PM

 
I just wrote a very long and - believe me - exciting entry...and then deleted the whole thing by mistake.

Aaaargh!

I really don't have the energy to rewrite it, but it involved: a trip on a steam train; a wander through an enchanted forest and a sighting of Jimmy Nesbitt. And no, it had nothing to do with Harry Potter. Oh well. Here's a picture of Butter instead:



posted by Mark at 4:43 PM

 
We're running a Big Brother prediction challenge in my office. For the record, this is the order in which I think the remaining housemates will finish, with 1 as the winner, 7 the next to be evicted.

1. Nadia
2. Michelle
3. Dan
4. Stuart
5. Shell
6. Victor
7. Jason
posted by Mark at 11:34 AM

 
Butter and I went to see Belle & Sebastian yesterday and had a marvellous time. The setting - the courtyard of Somerset House, a grand house on the banks of the Thames - was perfect, as was the setlist. Good crowd too. Last time I saw B&S, the audience acted like they'd just been zapped with stun guns. They weren't exactly moshing last night, but they got into it at least. Even Butter - not B&S's biggest fan - enjoyed herself, particularly their lovely version of 'Waterloo Sunset'. Making her come to see B&S was my revenge for last year, when she forced me to accompany her to the ballet, when I had to entertain myself by thinking up puns to put on here. I think she got the best part of the deal.

Earlier in the day we visited Neal's Yard Dairy, which is probably the best cheese shop in London. We bought something called Stinking Bishop which lived up to its name. The inside of Butter's bag, which she used to carry the cheese around in for the rest of the day, smells like an old pair of trainers now. After the dairy shop, we sat with the dossers in Leicester Square then had dinner at Belgo, where the Brug beer tastes like liquid heaven.

Last week, Chris from Melbourne visited, giving me another chance to reminisce about the good and bad times in Japan. We went to see Mean Girls which was sharp and funny. Chris gave me his copy of The Da Vinci Code, which I read this week. What a deeply silly book. When I started reading it, I was so outraged by how badly-written it is that it kept me awake at night. After a while though, the terrible prose stops being so offensive and you get into the story. Well, it's not really a story - it's a puzzle. The characters are flatter than a crap boxer's nose, the whole thing is totoally unbelievable and the ending is very disappointing. However, it has inspired me in a way and made me realise that thrillers are the kind of books that I really want to write, even if it's just to prove that I can do better than this. At the moment, I'm reworking my BBC-commissioned book (and god knows what's happening with them, by the way) and also have a fantastic idea for another joint novel with my friend LV.

Big Brother 5 has been going for 7 weeks now, unbelievably, and has been fantastic so far - the best series yet. On Day 2 I put £5 on Nadia to win, envisioning the headlines: Portuguese Transexual Wins BB5. She was 20-1 against back then. Now she's 10-11 on. The bookies are usually right, aren't they? £100. I'll be rich. Rich!


posted by Mark at 4:11 PM

 
My post-football funk has lasted quite a long time. But don't worry, gentle readers - I'm back back back! With a double-length dose of MarkCity news.

Last Friday, I went to the Groucho again, hoping for more star-spotting action. I think they must know when I'm coming because there wasn't a single celeb in sight. Not even any former Big Brother contestants. The nearest to a celeb was the bloke who writes the TV reviews for the Evening Standard. Pathetic.

Saturday was a sad day because we had to say a fond farewell to our friend Lisa, the world's only Texan vegetarian. Or should that be Texas's only vegetarian? Whatever. She's leaving Blighty, partly because the men here are so rubbish and I'm already taken (joke), and going back to the US. So we now have another place to stay in my favourite country, and with cousin Martin moving to Florida, America could be seeing a lot more of us. But back to Tunbridge Wells: as part of Lisa's sayonara party, we went to what must be among the challengers for the worst nightclub ever, Da Vinci's. It's crapness isn't only down to the no-trainers policy - a sure sign of a provincial naffhouse - or it's cretinous clientele. It's mainly about the music. I shudder to recall how they played - deep breath - The Proclaimers. And 'Hi Ho Silver Lining'. And Vanilla Ice. It was like being at a wedding disco in hell. Da Vinci's is about as cutting edge as it gets in Tunbridge Wells. The ridiculous thing was that this cheese was blasted at a volume that made the music even more painful. I've already f**ked up my ears by going to too many gigs over the years, and after Saturday night I had tinnitus for about 4 days. I genuinely thought that was it. And if I'd lost my hearing the the frigging Proclaimers I'd have bee seriously peed off. To avoid further aural scarring I've ordered some special earplugs from the States for the next gigs I attend.

Sunday night we went to the theatre. My long-term readers will realise that theatre isn't really my thing and that I am a total philistine when it comes to Shakespeare and such things. However, my boss has written a play which was being previewed at the Old Vic. He's a bit of a genius, my boss. Butter came because she was hoping to spy Kevin Spacey, but he wasn't there. Again, he must have known I was coming.
posted by Mark at 5:27 PM

 
Nooooooooo

38 bloody years of hurt. Why do we always, always go out on penalties? Oh, and that ref... Now I know how Portugal and Italy felt after the referees at the World Cup helped South Korea go through. I feel utterly deflated, and am immediately transferring my hopes to the Czech Republic.

I wonder if all those England flags will disappear now.

Oh, and if anyone says 'It's only a game...'


posted by Mark at 9:39 PM

 
Roo-ney. Roo-ney.

Glorious.

Now bring on Portugal. As Ian Wright said, it'll be a shame to knock out the host nation, but somebody's got to do it.
posted by Mark at 6:00 AM

 
Sad to say, my life revolves around Big Brother, Euro 2004 and iTunes at the moment. It's been such an exciting week that I don't know if my heart can take much more.

BB5 is only 3 weeks old and so far we've had sex, anarchy, fighting, tears, police involvement, masses of nudity and not single 'normal' eviction. Emma's just been chucked out, which I think its a good decision - she couldn't be trusted to not have another psychotic episode the next time she and 'The Milkman' (Victor) were put in a room together. A lot of people slag BB off, denouncing it for being boring (er, I don't think so) and cheap: I get the impression a lot of people feel tainted after watching it because I expect they'd be reading Proust or studying neurophysics if BB wasn't on. BB is a fantastic programme - it's fun; it's not meant to be a great, worthy public service. So the haters should just stop bitching about it and let the rest of us enjoy it. I want Michelle to win, but, for the record, I think Stuart will win, with Dan and Shell 2nd and 3rd.

Another cultural event that brings out huge outpourings of moaning and negativity is Euro 2004. It's a cliche, but suddenly everyone thinks they could be England manager and do a better job than Sven. And I've never heard so much bitching after a 3-0 victory. I don't care if we scrap and scrape through every second of the match against Croatia on Monday, as long as we get a point. And I also think England were brilliant against France, nervy against Switzerland, but to be nervy and win by three goals isn't bad. I still think the Czech Republic are going to win the tournament though.

Apple's iTunes store launched here on Tuesday and although there are huge holes in the catalogue, it's a fantastic service, even if it is a terrifyingly easy way to run up a huge credit card bill. There are so many holes in my collection that I want to fill, but so far I've restricted myself to 3 single tracks and 1 album. I'm itching to go on it again though. Right now.

I'm spending a Saturday night home alone because Butter has gone to see Red Hot Chili Peppers in Hyde Park. I didn't go with her because I have good taste in music. I'm listening to The Killers album, which is ace. The Concretes are another top band of the moment - their new single 'You Can't Hurry Love' is great, and has nothing to do with the song that Phil Collins ruined.

My friend Helen and I met up with a former Japanese student of ours, Kaori, last night - she was following the Datsuns round Ireland then stopped off in London for a couple of nights. We took her to the pub but she's allergic to alcohol, which is rather unfortunate! I think she was mildly horrified by how much beer Helen and I can put away. It was weird talking to a Nova student again - she said 'so-so' a lot, we started saying 'many many' and we had to dumb down our language so she could understand us. Although her English is excellent.

She gave me a plectrum that belonged to Dolf Datsun. Ooh - I shall guard it with my life. In fact, I was jin a record shop earlier (for a change) and the man in front of me in the queue started talking about the Datsuns. I was tempted to whip out my plectrum, which was in my back pocket, and show it to him. But then he might have thought I was a) a liar and b) a dick.
posted by Mark at 9:38 PM

 
England 1 France 2.

I'm too gutted to type.
posted by Mark at 10:06 PM

 
I've got a new computer - an eMac, rather like the one I helped my sister buy last week. After seeing and playing with one, I couldn't resist it any longer. Butter is now a temporary eMac widow. Actually, this is mainly because I'm trying to finally finish SB. I'm doing the final read-through. I know, it's being going on forever and I'm utterly bored of the whole thing. My eMac though, is a thing of great beauty. It's zippy and does all sorts of things that my olde worlde iBook couldn't, like burn CDs and DVDs. It's got Garageband on it too, so I could soon be writing my own songs and making a belated bid for popstardom. Or perhaps not.

We saw The Pixies this week at the Brixton Academy. When they walked onto the stage the crowd roared as if they were welcoming home an English World Cup-winning team. Then Frank Black, who is slightly larger than a real pixie, and the gang tore through about 50 songs in 10 minutes - okay, slight exaggeration, but they certainly did a lorra lorra numbers. There's no banter, no 'Hello London how ya doing?' or 'all the people on the left, wop bam boogie'. Frank did speak a few times, but his words were less intelligible than most of his lyrics. They were fantastic though - loud, powerful, tuneful and just plain awesome. I'd been waiting for that gig for 15 years, and they didn't disappoint.
posted by Mark at 5:01 PM

 
Ah, glory, glory - Big Brother is back. Long-term readers will remember that last year we went to the studio to watch a Big Brother eviction (see the menu on the left), an evening which Butter declared 'the worst of her life'. (Her best evening was her first night with me; it was all downhill from there.) After last year's BB-snoozefest, the producers have gone to the opposite extreme by rounding up a bunch of freaks and show-offs. There's Kitten, the radical anarchist feminist animal-rights-activist socialist anti-corporate what-other-labels-you-got lesbian who keeps trying to get the others to, like, buck the system and refuse to obey the rules as laid down by The Man. Then there's Marco, whose squeals have been known to shatter glass and distress dogs. Victor calls himself The Milkman because 'he always delivers'. Emma wants to be Jade. Michelle wants to be a glamour model. Ahmed seems completely out of his depth. And Stuart got 4 A grades in his A-levels and he's not afraid who knows it. Fantastic stuff. Oh, and I forgot to mention Nadia, who I've got a fiver on at 20-1 which are, I reckon, pretty good odds. I can picture the headlines: Portuguese Transexual Wins BB. Go Nadia!

Butter has been visiting the Butterfamily oop north this weekend, so I've been alone, ratsitting. This gave me the opportunity very nearly finish SB. Just a final read-through to go now.

I helped my sister, who has never touched a computer before, to buy one for her kids yesterday. Of course, I got her to buy a Mac - a rather nice and shiny eMac, a snip at $549. I've just been on the phone to her, trying to see how she's getting on. Remind me never to get a tech-support job. Actually, I'm too stressed out to write about it. I think I need to go and watch BB for a while, calm myself down. And prepare for Butter's return...
posted by Mark at 1:24 PM

 


On Thursday evening I went to the BBC's Waterloo studios to watch former male model, TV presenter and DJ Vernon Kay film his new quiz show, Head Jam. Now some might imagine this to be a glamorous occasion. I was certainly hoping it would be glamorous, but it was actually very cold and very long. The aircon was cranked up - to stop Vern sweating on camera, I assume - and to make us even more chilly they served up ice cream (as paid for by your licence fee) during the interval. One strange chap in the audience had an enormous tower of ice cream tubs beside his chair. 'He's eaten seven tubs,' someone said. 'Eight, actually,' he yelled in his nerd-voice. Perhaps he should be given his own show - we could watch him stuff down various flavours of ice cream until he explodes on screen.

Vernon is very charismatic and entertaining, and the show itself is pretty good - a pop quiz with a very tricky final round in which the winning contestant is asked eight questions in a row and has to store the answers in her head. She then recites the answers in order. Bloody difficult. I wouldn't be able to do it, what with my encroaching senility. Trying to play along in the studio gave me a headache.

We were hoping for some exciting celeb guests. Mike and Matt both wanted Kylie. I was hoping for Morrissey. Although Kylie would have sufficed. We got DJ Spoony and some bloke off BBC3 called Patrick something-or-other. Not even z-list.

Speaking of telly, I'm very excited because there's only five days till Big Brother 5. Rumour has it that this year's series will include not one but two lesbians - lipstick lesbians, no doubt, for the edification of the male viewers - a stripper and an asylum seeker. Why not combine them all and have an asylum-seeking lesbian stripper? This asylum seeker thing is very dodgy. Will they be evicted all the way back to Kosovo? God, I can't wait.




posted by Mark at 5:02 PM

 
Every month or two a little voice in my head starts telling me I ought to go to the dentist for a check up. I usually tell this little voice to put a sock in it then go and eat some sugar. On Friday, though, while I was cleaning my teeth one of my fillings fell out. It's one of those front fillings that sits between your tooth and gum to protect the nerve, if your gum has receded. Without this filling, eating drinking and even breathing are agony.

'Ha ha ha-ha ha,' said the little voice in my head.

One of the reasons I was so reluctant to be stuck in that chair, staring up the dentist's nostrils while he stuck needles in my gums and drills in my teeth was...oh, it's self-explanatory, isn't it? But on top of all this, I really hated my dentist. For one, he wouldn't accept NHS patients and therefore charged an arm and a leg for a tooth - not a fair exchange. And while ripping me off and causing me immense pain, he liked to talk about his Porsche. And how he couldn't afford NHS patients. A total wanker.

But I'm registered at his clinic so I didn't have much choice. I had to go back. I'd have to grin and bear it and bite the bullet.

However, when I got there, to my great relief I found that Mr Porsche has been replaced by a nice Iranian dentist who doesn't drill your teeth after not injecting enough painkiller, and who takes NHS patients. Hurrah. I drooled a bit afterwards, though.

posted by Mark at 3:05 PM

 
Very exciting Suede news - Brett Anderson and Bernard Butler are back together. It's official! New stuff coming out next year.

I am very excited!

posted by Mark at 3:04 PM

 


posted by Mark at 12:38 PM

 
No, I still haven't got round to writing up the California trip. Perhaps it will take on mythical status: MarkCity's great, lost entry, and people in years to come will talk about hearing a rumour about what was going to be in it. "I heard he actually danced onstage with Morrissey, and then there was the bit where he rescued his girlfriend from a great white shark..." Or perhaps not.

I have, however, been to two gigs since I've been back so thought I'd better write about them. First up were Duran Duran at Wembley Arena, "our spiritual home" according to Simon Le Bon. Calling the vast, soulless warehouse of despair that is Wembley Arena your spiritual home is a bit like saying your favourite restaurant is McDonalds and you want to go to Hell when you die. Or maybe he was just referring to how happy he is that they don't have to physically drag people to their concerts these days.

I was the first of our party to arrive at the venue and was delighted to discover that we were seated in the very back row. You couldn't have got any further back. At least this meant we didn't have to worry about blocking the view of people sitting behind us. Yes, there were people sitting down at the gig. All the way through, not just during the boring new songs that Duran insist on playing. I don't get why people go to rock - alright, pop - concerts and park their arses for the duration. Why not just sit at home and watch MTV? Or rather, VH1.

Duran Duran are a great band who've written tons of great songs, but this doesn't stop Simon Le Bon from being an absolute berk. His between-song pronouncements about the state of the world - and how we are in fact a decent "species...of organism" - made me want to pull my skin off with embarrassment. Then there was the cover of Grandmaster Melle Mel's 'White Lines (Don't Do It)' in which Simon raps. In the same way that Victoria Aitken raps.

Still, 'Careless Memories', with its manga video, and most of the other old hits, especially 'Planet Earth', 'Save A Prayer' and 'Ordinary World' were excellent. Oh, and they played that hilarious 'erotic' (if you find topless girls dancing like chickens in car parks sexy) video for 'The Chauffeur' in the background.

This Wednesday I saw Franz Ferdinand at the Astoria, which has to be the best venue in London, unless you go on a Saturday when the bands have to be off stage by 9.30 to let the G.A.Y. hordes in. The Franz were fantastic - a short, sharp set made up of the whole album plus a few b-sides. We bounced, sweated and sang along. Of course, being brilliant made it far less bloggable than the Duran gig, because nothing funny happened. Perhaps I should make something up: The singer announced that he had a sore throat and they needed a volunteer to sing in his place, so I stepped up and blew everyone away, even making up my own lyrics which the band told me were better than the originals. Ah, yes, it was great.
posted by Mark at 5:31 PM

 
I've been back 3 days and have been meaning to update this blog to let y'all know about the rest of our Cali trip - but first I had jet lag and now I'm not well and have spent the entire day in bed. Well, apart from when Butter dragged me around Tesco and I thought I was going to die. Tesco wouldn't be the most glamorous place to draw your last breath. I'd much rather snuff it in Orange County or at San Diego zoo, where I could donate my body to the polar bears. Oh dear, I've become slightly obsessed with California... I want to live there. Anyone got any spare green cards hanging about?

Anyway, I will write up the holiday but in the meantime I've out the best pics online. Just click on the relevant links to see 'em:

Las Vegas
San Francisco
Los Angeles & Highway 1
San Diego
San Diego Zoo

posted by Mark at 4:39 PM

 
I'm writing this in my hotel room in San Francisco - they've got wi-fi and have lent me their iBook. Yes, people in San Fran have good taste in computers. I've already been in the Apple Store here and caressed the Macs... But enough of that - let's talk Vegas.

Las Vegas - Day 1

The 1st thing you see when you get off the plane at Vegas Airport are slot machines. This is to acclimatise you to what you are about to behold: stepping into the New York New York hotel/casino, all we could say was 'Oh my God.' I've never needed a map to find my way around a hotel before - we wandered slack-jawed between the slots and poker tables, soothed by the chirruping, babbling machines. It's a bit bigger than the amusements in Hastings.

Standing iin our 5th queue of the day, to check in, we watched the obese people wobble by. One woman - let's call her Martha - had grown so large that she needed a wheelchair to get from her room to the slot machine where she spends her days, her husband at her side, wondering what happened to that slim lil thing he married. Perhaps Martha ate her.

Day 2

And we thought Japan was mental - Vegas has to be the most insane place on earth. Our hotel looks exactly like New York - they've even shipped in a few miserable subway cops to complete the effect; Paris is just down the road and a Disneyland-esque castle is opposite.

We walked down the Strip in the baking sunshine and I needed to buy some shades, so we stopped off in a mall called the Desert Passage. There, I met a nice man called Chase who was in Nam and shook my hand three times during our transaction. I think he might be coming to stay with us soon.

We watched some lions run around their enclosure at the MGM Grand. I was hoping for a Siegfried and Roy style mauling, but no such luck. Speaking of S & R, there's a gold statue of them halfway along the Strip that I keep having nightmares about.

But the Strip at night is, like, 11 on the awesome scale. Neon drips, fountains dance and sway, faux-gondoliers sing at the Venetian. Amazing. And amazingly shallow.

Day 3

Waiting outside the hotel for the bus to take us to the airfield for our flight over the Grand Canyon, I joked that the bus would be full of Japanese tourists.

The bus pulled up. It was full of Japanese tourists.

We flew over Lake Mead, the Hoover Dam and beside the Canyon in a tiny plane with big windows. I was a bit worried upon take-off when I noticed the pilot's lucky rabbit foot. The views, though, were as spectacular as you'd expect, as was the turbulence. As we were landing, Butter handed me a sick bag. 'What am I supposed to do with that?' I asked, moments before she grabbed it back off me and half-filled it.

When we got off, the pilot quipped, 'I see you brought your lunch with you.'

We and all the J-tourists got on a bus and listened to the tour guide tell appalling jokes that I'm too weary to repeat. But the Grand Canyon itself was, like, 12 on the awesome scale. Bloody huge. And home to a number of cute squirrels.

On the way back, Butter added to her collection of used sick bags.

...So that was Vegas. San Fran is fantastic - a great city, and today we walked across the Golden Gate Bridge and I did loads of shopping. The weather's lovely, though it's a bit nippy in the shade. I'll write more about San Fran when I get a chance.
posted by Mark at 1:19 AM

 
Wednesday night was my company's annual quiz 'event', and although I hate to show off I'm afraid I'm going to have to, well, show off. My team - me and Mike - romped to victory. This is not because we're clever, but because we both spend most of our youths being obsessive about pop music. We were languishing in last place after the general knowledge and film rounds. Then came the music round, when we played our joker, and shot from last to first, managing to hang on until the end, when we won by half a point. I confess that by this point my competitive streak had revealed itself, and if we hadn't won I would have been parrot-sick. Instead I was over the moon.

The bottle of champers is in my fridge now and Butter keeps threatening to quaff it, although half of it belongs to Mike. So, Mike, if I end up bringing in an empty bottle, it's not my fault...

This will be my last post before we head to California. We hit Vegas on Tuesday, then on to San Francisco, Carmel, San Luis Obispo, LA and finally San Diego. We're, like, stoked to the max, dude. As they used to say in the 80s. Did I mention I'm going to see Morrissey in LA? Plus we'll be flying over the Grand Canyon, watching polar bears plunge, tasting wine and crusing down Highway 1, the air conditioning in our hair.

See y'all later.
posted by Mark at 6:10 PM

 
My boasts a fortnight ago that I'd finished Sayonara Baby have turned out to be somewhat premature. The day my friend LV was supposed to show it to her agent, I had a last-minute panic and told her to hold fire. This is because it has a major flaw which I'd been trying to ignore... Anyway, it needs major surgery, which I've embarked upon, and I'm confident it's going to be a lot better. I did send her the outline, which she proclaimed "Rather good!" and she still wants to see it when it's finished. So...I'm working flat out to get the flaming thing done.

Update on Killing Cupid - we still don't know what the Beeb are doing. Or whether they're doing anything at all. We will aparently hear more this month. It's a year since I went out with the director and writer and nothing has happened since then. Aspiring writers beware - you need to be very, very patient.

Of course, all this means that MarkCity will be neglected again over the coming weeks. Especially as we're off to Cali on the 13th. I will, however, be keeping a journal out there (I hope!) so you'll have lots to read when I return.

Commiserations to my Arsenal-supporting readers. I enjoyed yesterday's FA Cup semi-final very much, especially when Henry blasted the ball about 50 metres over the bar. Well, he's talented, rich and gorgeous (er, according to Butter and every other girl I know) so it's nice to know he's not 100% perfect 100% of the time.
posted by Mark at 4:53 PM

 
We've just got back from a trip to Chislehurst Caves - a man-made labyrinth built by Druids thousands of years ago, where people sheltered during the 2nd World War. A very dank way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Still, at least we didn't have to spend endless nights there, unlike the unfortunate people of south London in the dark days of the war. Apparently, a woman was born down there and christened Cavina. Sensibly, she changed her name as soon as she was able. She's now called Pothola.

We were shown round by an intensely-irritating hybrid of David Brent and a Hobbit. He spent the entire tour cracking jokes about child blood sacrifices and saying things like, 'It's amazing, guys, that the Romans built this deep well without machinery - just tools... I mean, they, like, made it with their bare hands.' I think he'd spent too long beneath ground because he had moss growing on his chin.

Halfway through the caves he asked for volunteers: 'I'm going to leave you here and take your lanterns away so you'll see what's it like to be left in pitch darkness.' He left Butter, I and a few other brave souls behind while he led the rest of the party a short way away, It was indeed very dark. Then we heard a loud 'Boo' as he reappeared and flashed his torch, which immediately went out again, leaving us in darkness once more.

'Oh shit,' he said. We chuckled nervously. What a prankster.

'Oh shit. I mean...oh shit. I'm not joking. I'm afraid my torch has died. Er...'

So there we were, stuck in the blackest, deepest darkness you've ever, ahem, seen with a subterranean moron as our leader.

Fortunately, this is the age of the mobile phone: we all took our phones out of our pockets and used them to light our way back to the others. God knows what we would have done without our phones - ended our days as bat food, probably.

BTW, I lied about the Pothola thing. Her name is actually Rose.
posted by Mark at 6:52 PM

 
Quick apology that I haven't blogged this week - been too busy editing. I've also registered the domain for www.sayonarababy.com and will be building a website there as soon as I get a moment. OK, must shoot off - promise to be back at the weekend.
posted by Mark at 11:28 AM

 
I've just finished Sayonara Baby. It's taken just over a year. I still have a little bit of editing to do, but then that's it.

Now comes the hard part - trying to sell it.

And I'm all worded it out at the moment - I've spent the last 48 hours hunched over my desk. Well, it feels like it. There was also a near-tragedy this afternoon when, just as I typed the last sentence, my computer crashed. No, it couldn't have happened halfway through - it had to be the very last bleeding sentence. I lost about three pages and after much oh-woe-is-me-ing and wailing and gnashing of teeth, I had to knuckle down and rewrite those pages. Anyway, I did it. Well done, me.

Hopefully I'll have more time to blog next week.
posted by Mark at 10:42 PM

 
It's exactly one year today since we returned to the UK.

Bloody hell...didn't that go quickly? To celebrate we spent the evening staring out at the rain while eating mushy peas and quaffing slightly-warm ale.

We didn't really. We watched Buffy and had a stir fry and white wine. Which brings me to a great quote from the book I'm reading at the moment - Star of the Sea by Joseph O'Connor.

"Wine is not a drink. It is a kidney-flush for Frenchmen and prancing fops."
posted by Mark at 10:42 PM

 
On Tuesday I went to Westminster. No, I didn't go to harangue my MP about introducing the death penalty for iPod thieves or to ask for rights for rats. My friend Helen works there as an MP's assistant, and she told me that cheap food and beer could be found within. How could I resist? After getting past the metal detectors and the security guards, we found ourselves in the lobby, which is like a cathedral of glass with these indoor trees that cost about a million quid each (at least). But I'm not going to mention taxpayers' money - they were very nice trees. Helen then took me on a tour of the historic halls. I walked over Churchill's grave and the Queen Mother's; then we peered into the House of Commons where our elected representatives were casting their votes on important issues of the day like, er, what to do with people who wander into offices and steal coats. It was cool. After that we went to the Lords Bar, which is nowhere near as grand as it sounds, being a rather dingy little pub full of honking Tory researchers. Beer was only £1.80 a pint though, so I didn't complain. I'm afraid I didn't take any photos as there were signs up all over the place prohibiting it and I didn't want to get thrown in the Tower.

From the historical and dusty to the contemporary and shiny: I've just discovered a great new TV show. The OC. It's set in Orange County, California, and tells the tale of a poor boy interloper into a world of well-toned babes and hunks whose parents have a lot more money than the kids have sense. Wonderful. A bit like Beverley Hills 90210 for the noughties. And we're off to Cali very soon - only about 5 weeks to go. I. Cannot. Wait.
posted by Mark at 8:50 PM

 


The picture above, just in case you don't have Superman-esque vision and are having trouble making it out, is of me singing into a banana. I think I was doing a Duran Duran number. This is the state I was in at the end of Friday night's pancake party after several beers, a number of Moscow mules (vodka, ginger ale and lime) and another cocktail with a name too obscene to write here (the second word is cowboy and the first rhymes with rockchucking). The banana pic was taken just after I'd been dancing on the worktop.

Then last night we went to Cousin Louise's wedding reception where more alcohol was imbibed - not much though; I was still recovering - and Cousin Martin gave me my new iPod. And a thing of great beauty and coolness it is too. It already has over 1000 songs on it with room for plenty more. I was going to take a picture of me caressing and cuddling it but decided that would be too sad. Instead, here's a picture of Syd enjoying a smoothie:


posted by Mark at 6:16 PM

 


I've got a camera phone! Which means I'll now be able to take lots of exciting pictures as I roam through life, posting them here on MarkCity. Take the picture above - it shows me, thinking desperately, What am I going to blog about today? How can I illustrate my post? I know, I'll take a rubbish picture of myself in the mirror! I'm sure you'll agree, the quality of this blog just shot up tenfold.

While on the subject of new technology and shiny gadgets, I'll get my new iPod this week, unless Cousin Martin gets stopped at customs and they nick it (that was the sound of me tempting fate). One of the major buggers about getting my old iPod stolen is that I'm having to re-download all my CDs, which is taking hours. My iBook is getting a bit old and creaky, which doesn't help. Downloading songs reminds me of one of my personal bugbears: copy-controlled CDs. The last three albums we've bought have got this horrific piece of software on it that stops you recording the CD onto your computer. So even though I've bought the album I can't listen to it on my iPod. Of course, if I'd downloaded it illegally, I would be able to. Clever thinking, record companies. They all deserve to go bust, don't they?

I played badminton earlier this week and couldn't walk for about two days afterwards. This is despite the fact that I go to the gym 3 times a week now. I must have used muscles that I haven't exercised for years. I'm even creakier than my iBook.
posted by Mark at 5:34 PM

 


After all the midweek stress, I feel exhausted today. I've spent most of it trying not to fall asleep and made the terrible mistake of having a siesta. Rather than feeling refreshed I now feel as if my head is full of clouds and there's a layer of moss on my tongue. To make up for this rather somnolent post, I've put a picture of Syd above, eating some toast off Butter's plate this morning. I recently discovered that Butter allows the rats, including the picture-shy Nancy, to share her breakfast every morning, which is why I'm always finding rock-hard pieces of bread behind the sofa.

Yesterday was Love Day. We did the traditional things: flowers, chocolates, presents, dinner and CENSORED. We also CENSORED and then, because I'd been a good boy, DOUBLE-CENSORED. Perhaps that's why I'm so sleepy. In Japan, as I've probably mentioned before, on Feb 14th, girls are made to buy 'obligation chocolates' for co-workers and the other men in their life. Japan Today has a great vox pop on the subject here including the classic quote: "I think that giving is always a nice act as long as you are not giving a disease."

Hear hear.
posted by Mark at 6:18 PM

 
I'm feeling a bit tender today. No, I haven't joined a Fight Club-style organisation which involves being beaten to a pulp for fun. I mean emotionally tender, psychologically bruised. Today, some piece of what I can only describe as shit came into my office and stole my coat. Inside my coat were my mobile phone, my keys and my beloved iPod.

Aaaaaaargh!!!!

As one who likes to look on the bright side, though, the coat was quite old and my mobile contract is about to expire, so I can get a swanky new camera phone in its place for free. This has also given me the perfect excuse to dip into my savings and buy a new iPod. My star of a cousin, Martin, has agreed to bring one over from the States later this month, as they cost about £100 less in America, especially with the weak-as-a-malnourished kitten dollar. I do, however, hope that the tea leaf drops the iPod in the bath and electrocutes himself, or perhaps crosses the road while listening to it at high volume, not hearing the truck bearing down on him. He and that NYC Subway Cop will rot together in Hell.

If you see a guy wearing a hooded black duffel coat holding an old, slightly tatty iPod and a blue and orange Nokia 3510i, please kick him in the balls for me.

Apologies for not blogging for a week and a half. I've genuinely been busy, trying to finish Sayonara Baby, which is nearing completion. At last. I've also had my choice of title vindicated by an agent who thinks it's "brilliant". I believe she also wants to see the book when it's done. That will then be my one contact exhausted and if she doesn't like it I'll be back on the Writer's Handbook road to hell. In other writing news, the option on Killing Cupid has expired, but we're hopeful that the Beeb will renew it. Which will pay for my new iPod and coat. If I get my coat at Oxfam, that is.

We got tickets to see The Pixies at Brixton Academy in June. I've been waiting to see them for about 14 years. The tickets were £30 each and sold out in 25 minutes. Later that day they were selling on eBay for £100.

My friend Mike was complaining that he's never mentioned on this blog. So, here you go: hello Mike. Now stop surfing and get back to work.
posted by Mark at 10:01 PM

 
Snow - it's always a bit disappointing, isn't it? When I was kid I used to pray for snow, not only because it meant we could build snowmen and risk our necks on sled-substitute binliners, but because it meant school closed down for days. This week, the snow came, but instead of spending happy hours trying to kill myself on a binliner while skiving off work, I spent less-happy hours on a train, crushed up against all the other commuters, for hours. It was a cross between the Tokyo subway and the Trans-Siberian Express. Still, while stuck on said train I did read an interesting passage over the shoulder of a fellow commuter: "She came to him after midnight. She had already removed her wimple and habit." It must have been a good page: he was reading it for an hour. Then he fell asleep, sated.

On Thursday night I went to a karaoke evening at the Regent's Palace Hotel in Piccadilly Circus. It's a huge, noisy place; by far the biggest crowd I've ever performed in front of. After waiting so long that my nerves got bored and died, I sang my standard: 'Hound Dog'. I rocked da house. The next morning I woke up and discovered I'd trodden black snow into the carpet and was late for work. See, snow just wants to make you suffer when you're an adult.

We've been on a ticket-buying frenzy this week. Butter bought tickets to see the Chili Peppers in Hyde Park. I'm not going because I prefer young groups - like Duran Duran, who we're going to see in April. And just to prove that this isn't a household of fogey-worshippers, I got tickets for Franz Ferdinand at the Astoria, which sold out in nano-seconds.

posted by Mark at 10:02 PM

 
Regular readers of this blog will have been wailing and gnashing their teeth today after noticing the absence of any new entries this weekend. I've already had one email imploring me to get on with it. The problem is, when I sat down yesterday to craft my latest post, I couldn't think of anything to write about. Everything I've done over the last week has been so dull that had I written about it I'd have lost both my regular readers at a stroke. And the world of popular culture has hardly been aflame with excitement recently.

Thank God, then, for the return of I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here. For non-British readers, this is a TV show in which a bunch of D-list celebs camp out in the outback for two weeks, eat rice and hope to reap great showbiz rewards, like being asked to endorse toilet paper when they come out. The show is notable this year for the presence of Jordan and Johnny Rotten - or John Lydon as he's been known since the Sex Pistols broke up. His sneering presence is actually quite pleasing, because it will severely piss off all the punks that used to hang around my flat when I was 19. Which is another story.

Jordan is an enormo-breasted glamour model, ie the kind of model who doesn't actually model anything except her surgically-'enhanced' self. She has promised to go naked all the time. She was lying. I read somewhere that if any of the leeches that live in the camp pool attach thelmselves to Jordan's boobs, said boobs will explode. Also present in the jungle are Aussie has-been singer Peter 'The Body' Andre, who made a respectable showing in the recent 100 Worst Records of All Time poll on Channel 4; a rubbish footballer called Razor who's scared of heights (which is lucky, coz his career has just plummetted to new depths); and the DJ Mike Read, who is famous for two things: banning Frankie Goes To Hollywood's 'Relax' live on air after discovering it was about, whisper it, sex; and having the world's freakiest and most misguided stalker, Blue Tulip Rose Read.

Actually, I find the whole thing wildly irritating, mainly because every time somebody sees a rat, spider or leaf, they start screaming and calling for their agent, as if they didn't realise that there'd be creepy-crawlies in the jungle. When they're not freaking out over the presence of (debatably) lower lifeforms, they're complaining about being hungry because one of them failed the task of eating 3000 termites and they now have to share one baked bean between them. By day two, one of the women whill be crying because she misses her 'usband and kids and has never had to spend a night away from them before. Snot will run down her face as she blubs and says she wishes she'd never come here. "If only," she'll snivel. "If only I didn't crave fame so much and it wasn't so hard to come by."
posted by Mark at 9:57 PM