Wherever you are right now, dear reader, my money’s on it being cold outside. Granted you could be somewhere temperate – the southern hemisphere for instance – in which case why not bookmark this for winter, because the last thing you want right now is a hot mug of spice infused heaven washing down your bare, tanned, fortunate throat. But for those of us who have to wrap up warm to walk the streets and – in a job without windows – wouldn’t see the sun until March, I have a tasty little treat for you that, like all treats, is ripe for abuse.
I only discovered Gløgg – hot spiced wine – a few years ago in Scandinavia, and much like when I first stumbled across masturbation, I decided it surely had to be my own invention rather than an encounter with something people have been enjoying for a long, long time; otherwise however did people manage to leave the house in winter? Continue reading A Gløgg is Not Just for Christmas→
As I mentioned already, I intended on working my weird rant against non-recyclers into the last real work of the year – the vox pop assignment. However, the apathy of others and the growing realisation that I am just another hypocrite – three paychecks and some half decent head in a fast car away from turning my back on mother nature and concreting over the lot – gave me pause for thought.
I’ll get back to it in due course, once I get my mojo back. In the meantime I decided to work on something probably everyone’s sick of reading about by now but it remains a subject that really gets people’s backs up, and with good reason.
I have censored the names and faces of the people I spoke to as I’m not sure of the rules on putting stuff like this online without permission; it was hard enough to get anyone to speak to me as it was (I was mostly in the pub, mostly) so I’m going to play it safe and only let my teacher see the full version. Continue reading Three years of cuts and closures→
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→
Against a more newsworthy day’s backdrop of the biggest strikes in 30 years and my own Senior Lecturer – a former journalist at the News of the World – being arrested in connection with the Leveson phonehacking enquiry (later bailed until March), I have a deadline. I should’ve written this a week ago but I’m shit and lazy and I think I might be losing it, again.
All we had to do was prepare a three minute talk on one of the subjects discussed in the above episode of Question Time. There were plenty to choose from:
The one million 16-24 year olds that are now unemployed. (Make ’em join the armed services, teach ’em some farkin discipline. The conscientious objectors can look after the old, infirm and disabled – at gunpoint, so they behave.)
Bankers tax? (£700 Billion bail out? By my drunken maths that’s £10K for every man woman and child in the UK. We could’ve bought Greece for that AND cut our carbon emissions by never flying home from holiday.)
As the strongest economy, Germany is able to dictate policy to us. (It’s better this way – remember what happened the last time the Reichstag burnt?)
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→