armbarringtechniques

Kill everyone now! Condone first degree murder! Advocate cannibalism! Eat shit! Those are my political beliefs.

2006-06-25T14:07:00.000+02:00

Im back in England, briefly. Eavesdropping on everyone. Some interesting stuff.

In Sainsburys...
'You naughty boy! Come here! Put that down!'

In John Lewis...
'By, I needed that sandwich. I was hungry!'

In Nationwide...
'Now, perhaps you can tell me exactly what the problem is. I've never had anything like this before. You'll go and check? Right, well why don't you toddle off and do that. Now.'

I also have an old copy of Halliwell's (1200-page) film guide. The last one published before Leslie Halliwell died. After that, somebody else took over and rewrote a lot of the negative reviews. In this edition, published in 1989, nothing post 1970 gets a four star review. He's grumpy and nostalgic.

For documenting forgotten films, this is a goldmine.
Ill pick some pages at random.

p. 389

A Game for Vultures
GB 1979 w Richard Harris, Richard Roundtree

In Rodhesia, a sanctions-buster comes to understand a black freedom fighter. After a lot of violence and attitudinizing, that is, in this unattractively pretentious piece of bloodthirsty hokum.

The Gang That Couldn't Shoot Straight
US 1971 w Jerry Orbach, Leigh Taylor-Young, Robert de Niro

Members of the New York Mafia organize a cycle race and start antagonisms that end in mass murder.
Unfunny black comedy with all concerned gesticulating wildly.

from p 602.

Little Accident
US 1930 w. Douglas Fairbanks Jr, Anita Page

A man is about to marry again when he finds that his first wife is having his baby. Stretched-out comedy which fumbles its way along.

The Little Ark
US 1971 d James B. Clark

Two war orphans and their pets, trapped in a flood, sail to safety in a houseboat.

Well-meaning, somewhat allegorical family film, too desultory to maintain interest and rather too frightening for children.

from p 155.

Burglar
US 1987 w Whoopi Goldberg

An ex-con turns tec to avoid arrest as a cat burglar.
Strained comedy which is too goofy to sustain its mystery elements.

Bunco Squad
US 1950 RKO

The police expose a fake medium. Slightly unusual cop caper.

Burke And Hare
GB 1971

The story of anatomist Dr Knox and his body snatchers, retold with emphasis on the local brothel. Depressing in its childish attempts to be gruesome and perverted.

All from Halliwell's Film Guide 7th edition.

Good times! Unless you thought this was boring.

GENESIS 9:29 And all the days of Noah were nine hundred and fifty years: and he died.

2006-06-17T11:50:00.000+02:00

INT A darkened auditorium. At one end a large screen is showing a football match. There are several tables and at one side, a bar. At one of the tables, ANDREW, a simpleton, is sitting with KARESZ, a bearded thirty something.

ANDREW: So, its Friday night, Karesz. 10-30 and we're watching Poland Ecuador.
KARESZ: Yeah. (grins)
ANDREW: It's not a very good game, is it?
KARESZ: No.

A long pause. ANDREW and KARESZ stare blankly at the huge screen.

ANDREW: A bit of a waste of time in fact.
KARESZ: Hmmmmm.
ANDREW: Don't you have anything better to do?
KARESZ: Sorry?

Another long pause.

ANDREW: Well, for example, you're a university professor. And it's exam period. Don't you have exams to mark or something?
KARESZ: No.
ANDREW: Okay. Well, my point is that we aren't really getting much from this game.
KARESZ: So.
ANDREW: We could be reading. Learning things.
KARESZ: I've already done a lot of reading.
ANDREW: Right. But, you can always learn something new.
(KARESZ frowns)
From the newspaper. Or something else. Jeffrey Archer. Camus. Philosophy.
KARESZ: So?
ANDREW: I mean, we could get something from that. But not Poland and Ecuador.

(Half-hearted cheers are heard from the handful of people gathered in the auditorium. Poland have just hit the post.)

KARESZ: Okay. Then. Let's say I did that.
ANDREW: What?
KARESZ: Went home and read something.
ANDREW: Yes.
KARESZ: Like Camus.
ANDREW: Yes. (Pause) Camus. Sartre! Archer. (ANDREW frowns and scratches his head. A very long pause.) Descartes!
KARESZ: Yes. And I read for an hour and a half.
ANDREW: Hmmmmm.
KARESZ: Then... what?

Pause.

ANDREW: Yeah! Then what? (grins stupidly, then holds his hand up for a high five. KARESZ picks up his beer and looks back at the screen.)

CUT

Deagle. Deagledeagledeagledeagle.

2006-06-05T19:53:00.000+02:00

I knew that I used to have a blog somewhere. What Ive been meaning to do for some time is post a link. Click on it and this stuff becomes a hundred times more readable. Thanks, Tex.

I was at a Joe Dante quadruple bill on Friday, 70 kilometres outside Budapest. It was actually a quintuple bill, but for us, five films seemed like one too many.
Looney Tunes - Back In Action didnt make the cut.

Meanwhile, back in Budapest, my friend bumped into Dante this afternoon on Vaci Utca. This might some kind of wind up, but as far as I can tell, its true. And there is, apparently, convincing photographic evidence. (After I finish writing this, Im going over to his house to see if Dante is really as bulky as I imagine him to be.)
And I have some questions. How did he recognise Joe Dante? What did he say to Joe Dante? What would you say to Joe Dante? Whats more, was Joe Dante in the audience at his own quintuple bill? Did he, like us, deem Looney Tunes missable? What has Dante got up his sleeve?
And, why the fuck couldnt I have met Joe Dante? Its not fair. Stupid bullshit.

It gets deeper than Deepak Chopra

2006-04-14T20:50:00.000+02:00

Props to my school, Cure. For the last hour, I've been sitting here watching hip hop videos, drinking leftover party beer. This wouldn't have happened at NOVA.

I've also been walking around for most of the day with the remote control from the school's CD player in my pocket. Unfortunately, that didn't turn out to be nearly as fun as I thought it was going to be. I realised that I had it around three o' clock, near Nyugati station. First, I pulled it out and zapped a tram, then turned it on a pedestrian, before shooting it into a Fiat driver's face. I imagined myself tipping my head back, laughing maniacally, sparks flying, buildings crashing to the ground.

Actually, nothing happened. Anyway, an hour later, I ended up at my friend's house, with a bowl of chicken and scallop soup. I tasted that, zapped it, tasted it again. So, I tried to pause the chef then zapped the rice cooker. Nothing happened. At this point, I was just about ready to turn the remote control on myself.

Luckily, I didn't. Otherwise I might not be in a position to write this. Actually, what I need is a universal remote control. And I think I know where I can get one. So.

IGEN

2006-04-10T15:33:00.000+02:00

My friends, Sally and Rachel were over at the weekend. Said I'd give them a mention on the site. They spent five days here - ate cakes, went to the baths, ate cakes, visited the art gallery, ate cakes, went to cake shops and ate cakes.
It was nice to play with them - only the second time in four years, more maybe. A reminder of how time gets away from you.

They tired me out though. I was pretty exhausted last night, in bed by nine thirty. Earlier than Pisti Kovacs, I'd imagine. (If you aren't familiar with Pisti, scroll down to the fourteenth of March.)

Voting in the general election took place last night and I missed all of the tv coverage. The cameras in Pisti's home, the interviews with Pisti's Mum and Dad, the cameras following Pisti to the local convenience store to watch him jubliantly buying chocolate, Pisticam, Pistivision, Pistirama.

Pisti's party, SZDSZ, were pretty successful, actually. It sounds shit, but they got 6.3 per cent of the vote. This enables them to form a coalition goverment, presumably with Pisti near the head. Minister for ice cream.

Although, there will be a second ballot in two weeks because the election was pretty close. I'm hoping this means more Pisti from now on, not less. Good times.

‘Baby U… Uhh… He a psychopathic… He a psychopathic thinker…’

2006-04-05T08:46:00.000+02:00

I moved house at the weekend, to a pretty central apartment. I feel like my perspective of the city has shifted, like places have repositioned themselves on the map. I’ve fixed the place up a bit too, put some posters on the walls, something familiar - make myself feel a bit more comfortable. Not that I’m some kind of trauma victim.
I also discovered, after dribbling so much soup on the tablecloth that I had to wash it, that the table in the kitchen has a fucking chessboard INSIDE IT. It’s mind expanding.

When I was packing up, I found myself playing ‘Enter the Wu Tang’ over and over. There isn’t any point in calling it my favourite hip hop album, but it might be.
A memory came back to me when I was listening to this, and by busting it out here I accept that I don’t sound too ghetto, too street.

I was in the back of the car on the way to my Auntie and Uncle’s house in Sunderland. We were going to have some kind of family dinner.
I was halfway through the album (I’d had it for a while, maybe only the fourth rap album I bought) when things kind of fell into place. Looking back now, I remember hearing the line

‘Steamrolling niggas like an eighteen wheeler with a drunk driver driving, there’s no surviving’

and rap music seemed to click. At the time, this song reminded me of a tune called Cold Duck Time, recorded at the Montreux Jazz Festival with Les McCann, Eddie Harris and Benny Bailey trading breathless solos. Anyway, pretty thrilled, I reached over to my brother, tapped him on the shoulder and passed him the headphones. He listened for a while, shrugged and gave me them back.

I still don’t think that there is much that can touch this album, thirteen years after it was released. Aside from the production and lyrics, the contrast in the rappers’ voices is amazing, like they are all instrumental virtuosos. RZA rasps, Ol Dirty is unpredictable and unhinged, Ghostface sounds young and comprehensible.
It is full of great lines, too.

‘I bake the cake, then take the cake and eat it too, with my crew while we head state to state’

‘Throw your shitty drawers in a hamper, next time come strapped with a fucking pamper’

‘Here I go, deep fried flow, Jacques Cousteau could never hit this, yo’

‘For crying out loud, my style is wild, so book me,
not long is how long this rhyme took me’

‘Turn the other cheek and I’ll break your fucking chin’

‘There’s no place to hide once I step inside the room,
Dr Doom, prepare for the boom!
Bam! Ah man! I slam!
Damn! I scream like Tarzan!’

My friend came round for a cup of tea yesterday afternoon, and when she took my copy out of the CD player, we discovered that it was broken, almost in piecez. Tired. Still, word.
Yes. And did you hear? Whitney Houston is on crack.

The Muslims beat the Gay team 4-0 and went on to win the final 4-1

2006-03-28T12:04:00.000+02:00

So, if you like the idea of me looking silly, pull up a chair and get yo get it right.

I had an absolutely catastrophic journey to work this morning - it ended with me ten minutes late for class because I fell into a hole. I felt like I was in the Benny Hill show, staggering around the pavement, mud up to my knees, glaring at sniggering motorists while still trying to keep my eyes on the prize. Which was still ten minutes walk away.

The journey started with me lying in bed at 6. 37, thirteen minutes before the last point that I am realistically able to leave the house and still get to work on time. From under the covers, it made perfect sense to stay there for another five minutes or so. In fact, I could have done with being in the Benny Hill show when I finally did get up - get me moving a bit quicker. Although if I were, I cant imagine that shower would have gone particularly smoothly.

It must have been 6. 57 when I busted out into the street. However I had no idea, because my watch was in the bathroom.
After walking five minutes, I got to the subway station at 8. 02. Or did I? No I didn't, unless Bajza Utca station is in a different fucking time zone. Still, that's what the station clock said.

Relieved, sitting down on the train, I absently checked my pockets and realised that my travel pass was in my other trousers.
Now, Im going to have to sneak out of Deak subway station! Run around to the front of the station! Buy some more tickets! Validate them! Show them to the inspectors swarming around the underground! Clatter down the escalators! Weave through the punters! Get to the red line train just as the doors close in front of me! Which is great! Because time is on my side!

So, I did that and enjoyed it - on the way through Deak square I
noticed that it was already 3. 37 pm. When I finally got to Deli Palyaudvar, I had ceased to care what the real time was, although if Id checked a clock, I would probably have noticed it was around 11pm.

After throwing my ticket at a largeish ticket collector, shouting too quickly for him to understand, I hit the pavement, deciding that I would stand more chance of getting to work on time if I trotted lightly. Then, I fell into the hole.

So, thats it. I sat in my class feeling silly and wet, discussing some grammar, trying to keep my legs under the table so as not to draw attention to the brown mud all up my trousers and in my shoes. I was full of happy memories of the journey, too. Dropping the coins all over the floor by the ticket machine! Panicking when I noticed the times! Sending incomprehensible text messages about my being late to a student who didn't even come to the lesson! Didn't even come to the lesson!

Ive certainly learnt my lesson, anyway - there is quite a large hole in the pavement not far from Deli station. Its probably better to trot around it rather than into it.

There haven't been many house cat acts - they are difficult to see in the ring. But there have been some, and some of those have been outstanding.

2006-03-19T22:24:00.000+01:00

Have any of you little hobos read George R.R. Martin? I have no idea who he is, but I feel I can recommend his books without hesitation. I almost saw a kid die for one today.
He was crossing the street near my house, his nose buried deep in one of Martin's fantastic yarns, unaware that a beat up red car was speeding towards him. I noticed it, panicked, didn't say anything, took a step back, then the kid noticed it, panicked and took a step back. The car screeched and swerved around him. And you know how I know that Martin is a good writer? Because the kid waited a minute, crossed the street then carried on reading. Perhaps he should think about reading this instead:-

1. THINK FIRST - Find the safest place to cross, then stop.

2.STOP

3. USE YOUR EYES AND EARS - Look all around for traffic, and listen.

4. WAIT UNTIL IT'S SAFE TO CROSS - If traffic is coming, let it pass.

5. LOOK AND LISTEN - When it's safe walk straight across the road.

6. ARRIVE ALIVE - Keep looking and listening for traffic while you cross.

If Martin really wanted to prevent 'R.R. related road deaths' he could work this code into a storyline, or at least print it on the inside cover. After all, dead fans don't really buy books George, no matter how well you write.

Four lions escaped in Grimsby. A passer-by was attacked. (1991)

2006-03-14T12:05:00.000+01:00

A general election will be held here in April. As someone who doesn't own a television, can't understand the language, can't vote, has only the most rudimentary understanding of Hungarian politics and absolutely no leverage, I concede that I'm not necessarily being targeted by the billboard advertising.

But, this is one aspect of the campaigning that I can't avoid - dreary political posters are all over the city. And, the posters aren't very striking. I can't remember one that didn't use a close up of somebody's face.

My favourite is SZDSZ’s. When I say favourite, I mean it's the one I like least, but is also the one that most makes me want to vote. They have used a six year old boy (named Kovacs Pisti) in all of their campaign posters. I've been told that SZDSZ say that they are the only people who care about him.
After I got over the surprise that Pisti was not in fact the SZDSZ candidate, I realised that for me Pisti’s pampered, home-tutored look undermines the whole campaign. He looks like he's modelling nappies, in spite of the fact that he is far too old to be wearing them.
Their slogan is something like

‘We don’t want to buy chocolate for Pisti, but we want to give Pisti the opportunity to buy chocolate for himself.’

Firstly, if I were Pisti, I’d prefer that SZDSZ just buy me the fucking chocolate, and secondly Pisti looks like he can get chocolate any time he wants. They should have picked a dirtier looking kid. Although they didn’t need to – the Hungarian public seem to be venting their frustration on his cheeky little face. I particularly admired the work of one artist, who covered him in thick, black marker and added the word ‘vampire’ to Pisti’s forehead.

MDF and MSZP are boringly basing their campaign posters around fat, middle aged men who may well be politicians.

Fidesz have taken pictures of Hungarian people looking depressed and stuck huge amounts of them up around the city. Fidesz are a biggish opposition party and these po-faced posters have been something of a success. Backed up by HARD HITTING statistics, they are pretty critical of the current state of the country. The colours probably help - grey, black, dark red, black, grey.

Apparently, this is the first time that negative advertising and underhand tactics (sabotage!) have really made their way into Hungarian campaigning. Fidesz tried it in 2002, but were widely criticised. It's nice - it makes me imagine sunnier times in this country, when old ladies’ scowly faces weren't plastered all over the subways, but posters were filled with rainbows, butterflies and snappy messages of support for the opposition.

____

(Butterfly, butterfly). 'FIDESZ KNOW WHAT THEY ARE DOING, BUT SO DO WE.' (Butterfly, butterfly with red, green and white wings.) MSZP
___

(Rainbow) 'GIVING EVERYBODY THE OPPORTUNITY TO EAT CHOCOLATE. VOTE SZDSZ - BIG HEARTS.' (a picture of a big heart next to a picture of all the candidates splitting a Yorkie)
____

'WE HOPE THAT WE CAN BE AS GOOD AS THE CURRENT PRIME MINISTER. GOD KNOWS, IT'S GOING TO BE DIFFICULT.' (Picture of the challenger shaking his head, butterfly, rainbow, butterfly, butterfly. Hungarian flag, the current prime minister's face, rainbow.) FIDESZ
____

For example.

Chim Knee Weep

2006-03-09T10:57:00.000+01:00

About Last Night

Philippe Senderos 6
The WHOLE of Highbury HAS KITTENS EVERY TIME HE GETS THE BALL but he SOMEHOW came through his big test unscathed.

Aleksandr Hleb 6
The unpredictable midfielder NEVER seems to know what he is going to do next and frequently gave the ball away in dangerous positions.

Raul Bravo 6
The Leeds REJECT was DRAFTED in to COMBAT Henry’s pace but COULDN'T get a telling tackle in on the Arsenal DANGERMAN.

Zinedine Zidane 6
Mesmerising control and awareness but the MOTOR IS SEIZING UP and the French superstar CLEARLY DOESN'T DO tracking back .

(from The Sun - capitals BY andrew)

Ruud van Nistelrooy, Cristiano Ronaldo and Rio Ferdinand, in a restaurant, talking about relationships...

2006-03-06T12:04:00.000+01:00

ARMBARRING TECHNIQUES: Lifting the lid on Hungarian baby naming.

I've been finding out about naming babies. This all started a few weeks ago when Anna, my heavily pregnant driver, told me that she had picked her baby's name from a list. I was curious and since then have slowly pieced together this story.

In Hungary, there is a goverment issued list of boys and girls names from which parents must name their child. I assume that this list is quite long, and mistily recall Anna telling me that it was actually a book.

This means that parents don't have the freedom to call their baby anything they want - 'King Kong', for example. Unless 'King Kong' is on the list. If you want to give your baby an outlandish name, you have to apply to the goverment for permission. Which has some interesting implications - the government has the power to reject baby names and what's more, somebody has the job of sifting through applications and assessing whether the baby's name is GOOD! or BAD! It also suggests that if you don't know about the list, you might excitedly rock up to the office, ready to register your newborn baby as 'King Kong', then get turned away.

And, let's say you forgot to register your baby immediately, it is feasible that you could have been illegally calling your kid 'King Kong' for a couple of weeks. Assuming, once again, that 'King Kong' is not on the list.

There is an exception to this rule. Apparently, if you are foreign, and you are naming your own baby, you can do what you want. Moving away from the name 'King Kong' for a second, it means that I could call my kid 'Gareth' and get away with it, whereas a Hungarian might not.
One more thing, the list doesn't have anything to do with religion, and most definitely comes from the goverment.

Well, I hope I haven't fucked any of this up - I certainly want to avoid getting this website's huge Hungarian readership on my back.

There is no such real place as Monster Island

2006-02-27T11:10:00.000+01:00

I was on the red line between Deak and Deli Palyaudvar this morning, concerned that I hadn't given myself enough time to get to class. As the doors opened at Moskva Ter, I glanced up at the clock in my subway carriage and noticed the time was in fact 29:25. Knowing that, the possibility that I might be a couple of minutes late didn't seem so important.

Responsible Parenting

2006-02-26T11:01:00.001+01:00

I walked past an abandoned baby on Friday outside the Millenaris theatre. It was worrying, the square was empty and there were only a handful of morose security guards on the other side of the door. I felt inept too, handicapped by a lack of experience with abandoned kids.
Still, I thought it was the least I could do to watch over it for a while.

I retreated to the edge of the square, perched on a wall and stayed there for around ten minutes. Just when it looked like nobody was going to do anything, a homeless man, bless his heart, took some responsibility. He came out of nowhere and pushed the little tyke off, hopefully to the police station. I walked away from the square, the sun on my face, feeling good about my role as a guardian angel.

The baby wasn't the only person I felt sorry for on Friday. I have a bad habit - when I ride on public transport I can't help staring at mean-looking people.

So, Friday afternoon, I was on a bus on the way back from the residency permit office, transfixed by a guy who seemed to want to fuck me up. I realised that he had been staring back for some time, and nervously, I tried to find something else, something less tough to stare at. An old lady, my own arms, a bus map, an advert, the wall, the buttons on my jacket. Still, I was unable to resist shooting shifty glances in his direction. He couldn't take his eyes off me.

We got to the final stop, Moric Zsigmond, and he looked at me toughly one last time, then turned around to reveal a Nike tick, tattooed on the back of his shaven head. Why? I was incredulous.

Anyway, I'm happy that those two incidents were separate. If not, I might have come across a dangerous-looking baby who likes to fuck people up, with a Nike tattoo on his head, abandoned. One of the more extreme results of irresponsible parenting, perhaps.

Somebody throws a baby. Oh shit! Do a spin move and catch it, the crowd goes crazy.

2006-02-22T21:01:00.000+01:00

My teaching has really improved since I got to Budapest, and I think the students must be benefiting from it. At the end of the lesson today, the vocabulary section of the whiteboard looked like this:-

disappointment (n)
disappointed (adj)
whipping boys
bullet hole
crack house

So.

I've lost touch with him. But his pen's still working.

2006-02-20T11:03:00.000+01:00

The weather seems to have turned. It's the second warm day in a row. I took a walk yesterday afternoon, feeling hungover, useless, wrapped up in some pretty boring thoughts.

For example,

'The z-grade cakes that they sell in the cafe next door come from the supermarket across the street. On Sunday, the supermarket is closed, but the cafe is open, so they must buy extra cakes on Saturdays. Presumably then, the cakes on Sunday taste drier, even more horrible'.

Anyway, I was briefly snapped out of this state by a lady and her clueless-looking dog, out for a Sunday afternoon walk. The dog was wearing what can only be described as red overalls. It was extraordinary. He looked like he should be in my kitchen repairing the washing machine.
If he were, I don't doubt that he would stand there, drinking a cup of dog food, not really knowing why it was broken. Then, after a couple of hours he'd leave, claiming he didn't have the right part. I'd be left, not knowing whether to stay in or go out.

Of course, I'd never see him again, and Hotpoint would send a different dog round three days later. And, I'd have to spend another day making cups of dog food, tiptoeing around my own house.

After I saw him, I wandered up to Hero Square and the ice rink just beyond. It was warm enough to stand on the bridge for a while and watch the skaters. It's pretty. A bit romantic, a bit Christmassy.

I love you, but...

2006-02-15T09:51:00.000+01:00

Happy Valentine's Day. A day late. How romantic! Anyway, I felt compelled to post a link to this story from The Sun . It's about 'pussy prat' George Galloway, and 'lass from the Sun', Caz. They spent Valentine's Day together.
'Yuk!'
I don't want to spoil any surprises, but, needless to say, she tricked him.
I wonder if it's possible to nominate for the Pulitzer. Because she deserves a look in.

Food for thought

2006-01-26T09:48:00.000+01:00

I've been feeling dangerous for a week now. On Thursday, I was given some extremely interesting information that I haven't quite figured out how to use. So, I've been walking around the city, armed, ready to blow. In fact, I did blow in a lesson on Tuesday, and I saw the same expression creep across Zsolt's face that crept across my own the first time. He knew too, that this was some interesting shit. And now, he too is wandering around Budapest, primed to explode.
Anyway, here it is...

Subtitles have rules. And, the rules are strict. Translators working on film subtitling are given thirty characters only (including spaces and punctuation) in which they have to translate five seconds of speech. If the actor speaks for longer, they can add another line. But, that's it. Apparently, it's impossible to monkey around with those rules, which is why things aren't always translated word for word.

Speaking of monkeys, I've also solved the great King Kong mystery, a mystery not many people knew existed. Apart from me and the Budapest Sun. As stated in their newspaper, they rocked up to the cinema to review King Kong, but found that it wasn't showing anywhere. Instead they bravely lavished praise on Saw 2.

Anyway, the mystery was this. Why was a huge film like King Kong not listed in the Budapest Sun, and therefore seemingly not showing on any screens at the beginning of January, two weeks after its release? Had the Hungarian people lost patience very quickly with that big, fat, stupid, clumsy ape? Well, I cracked the case at the same time as I cracked the great subtitle mystery. It is showing, dubbed in Hungarian. It's too long, and too popular to show subtitled.

Yet, Harry Potter is still showing in a subtitled print in several cinemas around the city. A mere inconsistency or something more sinister?

Are you worried?

2006-01-25T00:04:00.000+01:00

It's cold here, icy. A low point. I was waiting for a bus on Sunday afternoon. Tired, chilly, pissed off. In my hands were two huge bags of shopping, both full of potatoes. Or so it seemed. After a while it started to snow. I couldn't appreciate it at first - my mood was foul, my head down - but the snowflakes were remarkable. The size of a grain of sand, they landed on my jacket, intricate patterns intact.
Without ever really thinking about it, I assumed that I wouldn't ever be able to appreciate a solitary snowflake with my naked eye.

The big pointless question on MSN - 'are you worried about avian flu?'- has split the population, by the way.

Yes! - 48 percent! No! 52 percent!

What the fuck? I put about ten 'yes' votes in. On behalf of the parrots. Anyway, this poll would be more interesting conducted amongst birds, not people. Why, they could borrow computers and tap votes in with their beaks. It's not like they have to write a fucking essay.

Luna Lovegood

2006-01-20T00:23:00.000+01:00

I heard that they just held open auditions in London for the part of Luna Lovegood, a character in the next Harry Potter film.

The successful girl will join cast members Daniel Radcliffe, who plays Harry; Emma Watson, who plays Hermione Granger; and Rupert Grint, who plays Ron Weasley in the film. (BBC)

I'm pretty sure this is what you'd call a big break, which I fucking missed. It always happens to me. I'm never in the right place at the right time. I would have gone to the audition, all aloof, dressed in my wizard's costume. And, I would have queued overnight, too. Then I could have straightened myself up, shuffled through the door and worked my magic.

A spokeswoman had said an "other-worldly" quality was needed to play the part.

I could show them I've got that in spades.

'Why do you want the role?'
'Why do you want the role?' Then, after a reply like that, smart as paint, I'd do some forward rolls.

Girls trying for the role had to live in the UK or Republic of Ireland and provide a passport or birth certificate and proof of address.

This is frustrating. I've got a passport, I'm British. I can do all this - it should be me.
Fuck it, I'm going to write them a letter. Part complaint, part advertisement. Written in pencil crayon, all otherworldly.

Good luck with your pregnant friend

2006-01-13T01:25:00.000+01:00

Most things done online are justifiable, because they don't feel real. If I commit credit card fraud online, did I really commit credit card fraud? Likewise, if I type this rubbish and put it onto the internet, am I really putting it into a public space?

Online, I don't really care. I'm much tougher, digitally. Punch, kick, left, block, block, down, block, kick, kick, up, roundhouse, roundhouse, roundhouse, roundhouse - I wouldn't do that in real life.

In fact, I don't really like blogs. Block, block, block. Kick, punch. I feel a bit sorry to have joined in. Maybe, it's temporary. I want to make a real website in the future, when I can get to grips with fucking Dreamweaver. Of course, it won't feel real. Kick, kick, kick, roundhouse, roundhouse, jumping roundhouse.

Anyway, I'm not really bothered about sending this drivel into cyberspace. It's gone when I turn off the computer. Up, up, up. Punching roundhouse.

2006-01-08T17:00:00.000+01:00