Category: Rants and Tirades

I’m Not Dead but I Was There

There's been nothing in a while but not because I died; I've been busy. The title was also a play on words to imply that I was dead THERE; because that's the crest on some Portsmouth street signs and I just got back.
There’s been nothing in a while but not because I died; I’ve been busy. The title was also a play on words to imply that I was dead THERE; because that’s the crest on some Portsmouth street signs and I just got back.

My closest friend is writing a book – and by closest I mean the one that is physically the furthest away – so I’m reading the drafts as he believes I’ll be cruel but constructive though unavoidably gushing in my feedback because he is obviously a far better writer than me.

I’ll get it set out in carbon for the tattooist but at the moment I’m still wrecking my idiot brain with the script I stupidly jumped at the opportunity to write, and by wrecking I mean coming off the codeine with Captain America and Valerian tea. Continue reading “I’m Not Dead but I Was There” →

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The Love of My Life; With Name-Dropping of Philosophers, Fugitive Policemen and Others

The signs in my kitchen have long needed a reason to be shared. As for Katharina, I've not met her; she could still be here among my fellow poltergeists or perhaps the mice have carried her off. Shame - we might have had something.
The signs in my kitchen have long needed a reason to be shared. As for Katharina, I’ve not met her; she could still be here among my fellow poltergeists or perhaps the mice have carried her off. Shame – we might have had something.

Childless women in their thirties staying in bed until the mid-afternoon, reading their first book by Schopenhauer, Seneca or Montaigne – contemplating the apathy with which they regard their own mortality over the first gin of the afternoon and rubbing one out before the news kills the passion – these are the kinds of women you don’t seem to meet dating online.

I just read the manifesto of the vengeful L.A. Cop-Killing Killer-Cop who is currently running rings around his former colleagues after swearing to take the corrupt all to hell with their loved ones for a lack of honour, honesty and common decency. Continue reading “The Love of My Life; With Name-Dropping of Philosophers, Fugitive Policemen and Others” →

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Hard Times on the High Street and A Tale of Two Sarahs

Snow. Tremble, mortals, before its mighty power!
Snow. Tremble, mortals, before its mighty power!

The minute you no longer feel unabashed, childlike joy as you crunch across a blanket of fresh snow, I say go ahead and drink a cup of crushed hemlock; because this world has nothing more to offer you. An old friend of mine once told me that the act tapped into my destructive nature and if I would only accept my inherent regressive character traits then shame alone would quicken a better Parlett. Even to this day I regret not striking him with the back of my glove and calling him a scoundrel. Continue reading “Hard Times on the High Street and A Tale of Two Sarahs” →

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In Which I Talk About the News, Drugs, Star Trek and Make a Picture for John Lennon

A picture I made while listening to the Beatles. I didn't realise but Lennon was murdered 32 years ago today. It's for him then.
A picture I made while listening to the Beatles. I didn’t realise but Lennon was murdered 32 years ago today. It’s for him then.

Christ, I don’t know. I suppose I should say something; it has been a while, after all. What have I been up to lately? Well I didn’t kill myself yet but don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind, fellow travellers. Continue reading “In Which I Talk About the News, Drugs, Star Trek and Make a Picture for John Lennon” →

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A Haunted House and Falling off the Danish Bandwagon

This is where I live. Please don't come and murder me.

So it turns out that the squirrels that scamper around the bounding bunnies to the refrain of robins and mischievous magpies (sorry) are the descendants of the very rodents my great grandmother enjoyed watching before she died.

Yep, call it coincidence or providence, but this old hospital I’ve moved into is where my mother’s nan spent her final months. She passed away metres from where I type these words. Continue reading “A Haunted House and Falling off the Danish Bandwagon” →

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My Return to University and Another Death in the Family

Cities of Gold and Mirrors: Got a little high and went along to MIMA before I left town. Not as big as it looks but definitely worth a look if you like your art modern and your staff friendly.

A girl I developed a debilitating and unrequited crush on once called me a drifter down her perfect nose. We’d met at a staff party; I’d been drinking warm beer in a friend’s apartment, watching England lose to Germany with the sound off, A-ha on repeat and bag of something expensive went up my nose before I could leave the house.

I’d just broken up with my girlfriend and everything was a mess, then this divinely sculpted creature asked me to dance. I took offence at the drifter tag, but then again I was younger and stupider back then – now it seems to fit.

This week marks the 11th time in seven years that I’ve bundled my life into a van and driven off at speed. I moved to Middlesbrough from Glasgow six months ago on an awkward and ill-planned mission to grab a bachelor degree by the balls before the price went up; I seemed to be doing quite well but somehow it didn’t seem to fit. Continue reading “My Return to University and Another Death in the Family” →

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The Monsters We Turn Into or Marry

More Human than Human - Forever hungry, ill-disciplined and overly protective of those he loves; Mum's dog, Alfie, brimming both with stupid exuberance and the pathos of not nearly enough treats or tummy rubs, is the latest hairy testament to her parenting methods. God, I miss him.

It’s been a while – how’ve you been? I’ve missed you. David? Sorry I forgot your birthday. Love, etc.

Those of you who read my hilarious, insightful and downright sexy posts on twitter and facebook will have got the gist of what’s been going on dayn sayf so forgive any repetition.

My Nan passed away peacefully – well, as peacefully as you can, struggling with pain and confusion, surrounded by powerless ‘strangers’, your conciousness rattling around a stubborn husk – and her ashes are now interred in the grave of my Grandfather.

Father Paul’s eulogy was uplifting and pure of heart – a real comfort for us and an experience with the church without parallel for me (I went to a Roman Catholic school in my teens.) If you’ll forgive me for opening the homophobia door, his awesomeness is proof positive that gays should not only be allowed in the church, but that they should be running the fucking show. Continue reading “The Monsters We Turn Into or Marry” →

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A Full Life

And after a while – with my mother tearing out the hair I’m surprised didn’t fall of its own accord years ago, and my auntie and I playing good cop / bad cop to the duty Doctor’s idea of palliative care – my Nan is finally on morphine.

If it wasn’t for the wonderfully compassionate carers at the home, I’m pretty sure we’d be utterly lost.

There’s little point in ranting on here (he said, before ranting on.) We treat dying animals better than we do dying people. I haven’t yet met a person of faith to convince me that any of their holy books are worth the paper I wipe my arse with, but it seems that as wonderful as science is, technology is torture without morality.

I’m not talking about the morals some guy brings down a mountain, or whatever, but of the ideas and ideals we must take a firm hold of and shake when medicine prolongs the body, but not the mind. Continue reading “A Full Life” →

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Lingerie, Whiskey and Burning Flags

Two Chinese Pandas are being loaned to Edinburgh Zoo. The thinking is that they’ll be so cold they’ll have to fuck continuously to keep from freezing to death.

Hey, am I wearing lipstick? When I’m getting fucked I want to make sure my face looks pretty.

– George Jung, Blow

I put the news in my brain today. It didn’t help my depression. Not one bit.

I hear the cuts with which we are being punished for the avarice and incompetence of our betters is going to plunge this country into a Dickensian level of class divide and destitution; the eurozone is breaking apart, another mistake that will have us all over the sodomy table before the decade is up.

Stories of increasing numbers of honour killings and the grooming of children are a proud racist’s wet dream – proof positive in their bloodshot eyes that if they were right about Europe then how about all these dirty immigrants taking British jobs. All the while the justice system is too PC to tackle problems by race, leaving the idiots among us to judge entire swaths of their communities by the diabolical actions of a few. Continue reading “Lingerie, Whiskey and Burning Flags” →

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Video Killed the Radio Star

Pterosaur’s-eye view of Click Teesside

I’ve decided to put my stratospheric rise to the peak of radio broadcasting on hold for the time being. Perhaps I’ll go back to it once the NCTJ exams are out of the way or perhaps it’s not the right medium for me.

There was the feeling that I was just one slip of the tongue away from getting sued or stomped; I mean, I can’t go to a party without telling some nice chap from Singapore that my Grandfather cut off heads there for Her Majesty, back in the day. It’s like I have no internal filter – my inner monologue just spits out whatever, be it harsh truth, niche humour or phonetically remembered foreign chat-up line. Continue reading “Video Killed the Radio Star” →

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