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Stanley McHale is a single man rapidly approaching thirty who loves and dreams of the same things he did when he was seventeen. But the band was never formed, the novel never finished, and the ill-chosen career in stand-up comedy is giving him more headaches than headlines. With the self-imposed deadline of his thirtieth birthday to either make an international success of himself or go and work in Woolworths, why not pull yourself up ringside seats for the tragically inevitable descent into mania and psychosis by reading his increasingly inane, pedantic, desperate, harrowing and wretched daily diary. It'll make you feel a whole lot better about yourself.

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June 2006 Archives

Friday 30th June 2006

Posted by on June 30, 2006 10:32 PM

When abroad, I annoyingly and foolishly like to try and make myself fit in as a local; I hate the idea of being seen as a tourist. This is insane, as if nothing else my accent will give me away first, if not my complete miscomprehension and unfamiliarity with local customs, but none the less I still try and pull it off. It's not entirely negative and idiotic though, if you stop doing tourist activities and start doing what everyone else is doing you'll invariably get a better idea of how people live in a new place, and one way to do that can be as simple as going to the laundrette.

Because I've extended my stay I needed to clean my clothes and found a friendly place run by some Mexicans on, I think, 16th Street. Once I'd got the machine working I sat outside in the sun with others doing the same thing as me, cleaning their filthy garments, and so that made me feel a little bit more like a bona fide New Yorker. The Mexican family had a couple of kids running about, one aged about six and the other an infant. I taught them a coin trick on some steps which involved two coins and then told them they could keep the money, and it was satisfying to watch them continue to feverishly practice the trick, eventually showing their parents and impressing them, making bets on the whereabouts of the disappearing coin, causing them all to laugh. Truly now I was not only a New Yorker, but some sort of local character and magician. Or perhaps a foreigner that inappropriately approaches local children and gives them money. Either way I was no longer simply a tourist but a local character.

Speaking with people is so important. I got to chatting with the 'Super' of a building on my street, who is basically employed to look after it. All residential buildings have Supers. I asked him what a two bedroom apartment would go on sale for and he looked at me like I was insane and explained that there are very few two bedroom apartments, people in Manhattan live in matchboxes and that's the way they like it. You're talking millions of dollars for anything of any size. The reason that many people in Manhattan don't smoke isn't because it's banned in all bars, it's because they can't fit the cigarettes inside their apartment.

Thursday 29th June 2006

Posted by on June 29, 2006 10:11 PM

I set about exploring the Greenwich Village area today, which is where I'm staying in a cheap but friendly and clean hotel called The Larchmont on West 11th Street. 'The Village' is traditionally New York's hip and aware district, full of artists, writers, that sort of crowd, and it had a relaxed and friendly vibe. Lots of people walk around with dogs.

I saw a bar called Woody McHale's and went in, wondering if I could take advantage of my surname?

"How much is a Bass?"

"Five dollars."

"How much is it if my surname's McHale?" I ask, presenting my I.D.

"Five dollars."

Actually, McHale's is a very friendly and approachable bar and indeed I returned there this evening and did get free drinks because of my name and so my persistence paid off. If you surname is McHale, why not go to New York and get a free drink in Woody McHale's? We could form our own tight-wad drinking club. Why not look into getting your name changed to McHale and then demanding free drinks in this establishment? And to think, I managed to pull this off with only my Surname matching that of the bar, imagine what I'd have got if my first name was Woody too? Probably a bottle of champagne served in an enormous diamond or something.

Wednesday 28th June 2006

Posted by on June 28, 2006 7:20 PM

I was annoyed at myself for festering in bed until two in the afternoon. It was a late night, and I was slightly worse for wear, but this was New York! Who in their right mind wants to waste a second longer in bed than they have to?

I decided to make amends by packing enough into my day to make it forever memorable. I again visited the French restaurant, which for your records is called The French Roast, and chatted to the beguiling Christina. She made me do the Ricky Gervais impression for the staff, like a dancing monkey, but anything to make her happy - and it's not a particularly difficult way to please someone. I thought it would be a nice gesture to buy her one of his stand-up DVDs seeing as she's such a fan, and so took a walk to Union Square and looked in Virgin Records but it seems that neither are released in the US as yet. I'll send her one over perhaps.

I could happily spend all day sat around in The French Roast but there was an obligation today to take in some of the city, and so I set off on foot on a self-mapped tour. I made my way to The Empire State Building and, after something of a queue, went up the 88 floors to the observation deck on top. It's beyond anyone to describe what you see as you walk around the deck - just trying to comprehend it makes your eyes hurt. And again, like seeing the skyline for the first time in a cab from the airport, everything looks so familiar, like an old friend. There's the Statue Of Liberty. There's Central Park. The Upper West Side. The Upper East Side. There's Brooklyn Bridge. There's Queens. Over there is New Jersey. A great tip is to buy a handset for $6 which delivers a commentary and guide from a number of marked points by a voice called 'Tony The Cabbie'. I know this sounds rubbish, and you do get the whole "Hey! How you doin'? I'm Tony. I'm a cabbie, you know what I'm talkin' about?" for a while but as you hold the unit to your ear it's actually incredibly informative and the experience is enhanced because of it. He/it gives a lot of historical information, a lot of stuff about immigrants arriving in the 19th Century, and explains where every district is, not just the landmarks, and a little about what they contain. You feel you know the city, or at least Manhattan, a great deal better having listened to him/it.

Tuesday 27th June 2006

Posted by on June 27, 2006 9:23 PM

Sorry I've not updated in a few days. I know this Blog is all you have to cling onto and it's unfair to deny you your hit, but I've had problems finding wireless internet areas and so forth. I know I'm hardly in Tibet, but there seem to be a shortage. Anyway, we're back on track now, please do read back over the past few days to get a handle on why I'd bothered coming to Vegas in the first place, it all worked out very well. I'm going to add photos as soon as I get sent some.

Up at 4am and to the airport for a tiring and quite boring journey to New York, via a stop over in Dallas. Actually, scrap that, it wasn't boring because it was tremendously exciting to be on my way to The Big Apple, and even mildly entertaining to rush around Dallas' annoying airport looking for my connection, but it's just that it seemed to take so long (most of the day) and I was so desperate to get to my prize. Also, American airline companies are all presently going out of business and have no money at all so you get nothing on the plane. There's not even any food you can buy. So it was just a frustrating and uncomfortable day spent in the air. Never boring.

After landing at JFK we were stuck in the baggage claim for an hour whilst the lazy and uncaring New York baggage handlers hung about with our luggage. We were there so long people started to get heated. It all felt so unfair, being stuck in a windowless room, technically in one the greatest cities in the world, but unable to see or do anything. It's like a kid in Hamley's being stuck in the stairwell.

I got a cab into town. Disappointingly, New York goes not in any way resemble an enormous apple, and indeed bares very little resemblance to any fruit, but to make up for that, as the cab got in range of the Manhattan skyline, it looks so beautiful there was a lump in my throat. This is an image we've seen so many times, has become so engrained in the public consciousness, perhaps even more so in the wake of September 11th, that to see it with your own eyes seems quite unreal.

Monday 26th June 2006

Posted by on June 26, 2006 8:32 PM

Jennifer stayed over last night and began her epic drive back to Denver with Lorin Partridge and a guy called 'Shorts' this afternoon, something I didn't envy her doing in the least. The temperature was way over 100 and driving through the desert wouldn't be fun. Couple that with Jen having a habit of being, how shall I put it, less than amiable towards other inconsiderate motorists every six to eight feet, it was going to be a stressful day for all involved. I've not really seen much of her this weekend, which is disappointing because she is one of my nearest and dearest, but she didn't stay at the convention for too long each night and wild horses couldn't have dragged me away.

I rang Jimmy and Troy Baxley, the comic, and we convened for an afternoon drink and - miracle of miracles - a buffet lunch. Why didn't I learn about this earlier? All the fruit and salad I needed, and every hotel has an all-you-can-eat deal for about $10. That's the ticket. There was I, reduced to McDonalds for the whole weekend, but I'll know for next time. Troy had a flight to catch so Jimmy and I headed up The Strip to the big casinos and a couple of martinis. He's a great guy, very intelligent, and over the course of the evening we discussed doing some business together. He's wanting to set some stuff up in the UK and he trusts me as a partner. We'll see, we'll see. Very exciting though. This is the thing - people might think coming 5,500 miles to drink yourself silly is pointless. They don't get it. These are wonderful people, and once they know you and like you, they'll help you and take advantage of the contact. Something ALWAYS comes from things like this, not that there's anything else quite like it. Coming to the Modern Drunkard Convention is a sound career move as well as being a place to make new friends and catch up with old ones.

Sunday 25th June 2006

Posted by on June 25, 2006 8:31 PM

The final day of the convention here in Vegas got off to an unfortunate start for a drunkard called Paul whom I remembered from last year and actually has the closing quote on the film I made in which he's slumped on some stairs and manages to slur "Did you know it's a federal offence to disobey a flight attendant?" He's a good fellow. Anyhow I'd been for a few beers with a couple of the magazine staff before the doors to the Celebrity Ballroom opened at five, and then found Paul inside with his wife. He started coughing, then had some sort of seizure, blacked out and feel backwards completely unconscious, hitting the back on his head horribly hard on the ground as a result. He was biting his tongue and so I tried to prize teeth open, which wasn't very pleasant seeing as he was rapidly becoming a bloody mess, and managed to free his tongue but a trained nurse in the concerned group that had quickly gathered told me that's not the thing to do, you should stick a towel in there. Apparently someone having a seizure could bite through your fingers. So I left her to it, the paramedics were there shortly, but didn't take him to hospital, he was on his feet about ten minutes later asking what had happened.

His wife told us there's a history of epilepsy in the family and that he'd suffered fits before, but refused to see a doctor. Why are some people terrified of medicine? Perhaps they dread finding out some terrible truth about themselves. Anyway, he had a very sore tongue but aside from that he seemed reasonably unhurt and was spotted chugging back a couple of beers later but even so, it could have been a disastrous start to the evening so I suppose we and he were fortunate.

Saturday 24th June 2006

Posted by on June 24, 2006 8:29 PM

I must have left the blocks too quickly or something because I felt dreadfully unwell this morning. Hiding behind the closed curtains of the hotel room, hoping another hour might offer up some relief didn't work, and eventually I took a stroll. The big mistake I made during the USA bender in November was not eating, and I believe that was literally the case for the final four or five days, which is a recipe for disaster. You need to plot your course somewhat through these affairs, and whilst you'll stray wildly from it, there are some prerequisites that need to be adhered to. Vitamins are important. A certain amount of water too. But these are easy enough tasks, food is quite another. You don't feel like eating, and the longer you don't your stomach seems to contract, and it gets harder the longer you abstain.

If you don't feel hungry, why eat? Well in my case I didn't feel the least bit hungry but I knew that was down to misbehaviour and so as the day progressed I recognised that I would have to get something in my stomach if tonight was going to be enjoyable. Also, it's crazy not to eat a morsel all day, you need the sugars as much as anything. But whilst I'm sure Las Vegas has plenty of healthy eateries for it's residence, for the tourist there's nothing but deep fried abominations or steaks to keep you going. They love a steak, and that's perhaps the least appetising thing when you're delicate and need gentle recuperation.

Friday 23rd June 2006

Posted by on June 23, 2006 10:25 PM

Waking up in Vegas. Can anywhere get you out of bed with a greater sense of mischief?

This morning was spent escaping the 44 degrees Celsius heat (here's how stifling it is - your hair is hot to the touch) by helping set up the convention down at the Celebrity Ballroom, a quite charming old-school venue a short walk from my hotel. My job was T-shirts, and this meant cutting out bags from a roll of plastic, folding the shirts, or stuffing them into the bags and marking them with stickers to indicate the size. Here's an interesting thing, in America the sizes go up to XL x 3, which is basically a marquee. Some people might find it strange to spend a portion of your holiday working on a production line but then they don't know what a proper holiday is. Besides, I consider the Drunkard staff to be friends and so it was only right I should lend a hand.

I had a spot of lunch and a sleep in the afternoon before the madness began. The doors opened at six and at seven Frank, the editor and founder of The Modern Drunkard took to the stage and welcomed us with a sterling speech, introduced the staff members, and got proceedings underway by toasting "A good time you can't remember is always better than a bad time you can". I'll drink to that.

At a guess there was about two to three hundred people in attendance tonight and boy did we have a good time. It was wonderful to catch up with so many faces from both the previous convention and my trip to Denver last November, all of whom were on fine form, and a special treat to meet Pathetic Lot readers Jill and Kerry who had read about the event here and come all the way from Canada. Where were the rest of you? Huh?

Needless to say the drinking was outrageous. I write this on Saturday morning with a bit of a black eye and bruises down my arms. The obligatory bruises. But the eye didn't come from fighting, perish the thought, but by moshing to the final band of the evening which was a hilarious push and pull free for all that lasted a good fifteen minutes. This is the thing about the Modern Drunkard Convention, it's about guilt free excess and laughter. There was absolutely no trouble and I know I go on about drinking quite a bit and some of you might think I'm a wino but the thing is drinking is just fun - plain and simple. I know that there are horror stories about families being broken apart but that's down to personality as much as the liquor. There's absolutely nothing wrong (or particularly harmful if you look after yourself generally) in getting smashed on a regular basis and history will tell you all it's exemplary figures were hardened drinkers. All the best writers, all the best actors, all the best politicians.

Thursday 22nd June 2006

Posted by on June 22, 2006 10:21 PM

On my feet early and to LAX airport for a troublesome flight to Vegas. I was booked on a regional version of American Airlines called American Eagle and having gone through the whole security procedure we were bussed out to a small satellite terminal, independent to the other main buildings where a series of attractive, small jets were sat on the tarmac waiting to fly to destinations in the area. The flight to Las Vegas, we were told, would be delayed half an hour due to technical difficulties (the non-specific airline equivalent of a child saying they feel 'sick' on a school morning) and then told it was cancelled and we'd be put upon an American West flight leaving that afternoon. Remarkably I was the only one of the thirty or so passengers that uttered an expletive.

This involved getting a bus back to Terminal Two, which we had to leave for Terminal One, check in again, go back through security, and in a very limited amount of time. I doubted we'd make it and sat back on the bus, most shared my pessimism. But we needn't have worried, the American West flight was delayed by a couple of hours because it was still in Nevada receiving maintenance for it's own technical misgivings. The good thing about pessimism is that you naturally assume you'll never get to where you want to go and so I sat in the bar watching Australia rally to a draw against Croatia with a bunch of Antipodeans. It was enough to see Oz through to the next round with Brazil and so we cracked open a few more. The World Cup is being watched keenly in America.

I left the bar to just check the flight hadn't been less delayed to see our gate empty. Apparently we'd now been moved to another one which meant legging it through the terminal where we were boarding prematurely. I'd have missed this one too if any of the information they'd given us had been correct. But soon we were on our way on the short hop, and the promise of getting to Vegas was realised after a whole day spent in the airport.

Landing in Vegas is surreal. The airport is next to The Strip, which all the casinos line, and so a fake Eiffel Tower passes your window, followed by a mock-up New York, then a black pyramid before tyre meets concrete. Whist most airports look alike, in this instance you know you're not landing in Southampton.

Wednesday 21st June 2006

Posted by on June 21, 2006 7:44 PM

It's illegal to walk in Los Angeles, no-body does. The film L.A. Story, with Steve Martin, gleefully plays on every cliché about this city and in one scene he gets in his car and drives five yards to his neighbours house. That's almost realistic. In that film he plays a TV Weatherman and happily just plasters Sun stickers all over the map because that's all you ever get. Always sun. Always 73 degrees.

But walking is the biggest no-no. But there are plenty of perfect pavements, under palm trees, that are great for walking on but absolutely empty, which is a waste but makes them more enjoyable. It's quite insane, when you get to a pedestrian crossing and see the red 'DON'T WALK' sign, that's not an instruction but the cities slogan.

But I enjoyed a thirty minute stroll this morning, which is probably a federal offence, and took in the West Hollywood area. It takes some getting used to. Los Angeles isn't attractive in the traditional sense. Like many American cites, it's full of low rise units, which is a better word for them than buildings, which don't really have any uniform features, but contain a glass door and windows at the front which could be anything from a fast food outlet to an antiques shop. This is all interspaced with open areas for parking, because no-one would walk to the shops needless to say, and hundreds of signs offering deals and rates for leaving your car. It's bitty and disjointed.

But that's not to say it doesn't appeal. There is a dreamy quality to it, and the sun helps. If LA was designed like this and it was dark and rainy it would look horrendous, but as it is there's a Mexican influence, as there would be, and in it's own strange way it seems to work.

Tuesday 20th June 2006

Posted by on June 20, 2006 7:42 PM

I was listening to one of the in-flight music channels on my headphones on my way to LA when the piece finished and a female voice said seductively "We are American Airlines, we know why you fly" before another piece of music started. I find it a little spooky that Americans Airlines know the reason all it's passengers are travelling with them, it must take them a huge amount of eves dropping or Blog reading to gather all this information, and what practical purpose does it have? The only advantage would be if someone where using the airlines to fly somewhere and commit a crime, in which instance the airline could inform the authorities at the destination and they could arrest the person before any harm was done.

Criminals wanting to travel around the world to commit a crime had better steer clear of American Airlines, because the game would almost certainly be up. Also, if someone was planning on flying somewhere to surprise a loved one, but that loved one wasn't really that bothered about seeing them, or was having an affair, American Airlines could phone ahead to that person and warn them to expect a surprise visitor. Well done American Airlines, you provide a valuable service.

Provide some free drinks and you'll really be making headway. They charge in economy now! Where's the fun in paying for drinks on a plane I ask you? Truly civilisation is in disarray when you're paying for your drinks on a long haul flight.

Truly civilisation is in disarray when you're the only person on the plane in a suit and tie too. Honestly, I was the only one. The row in front of me was where business class started and the standard of dress in there was appalling. Sandals. Shorts. I had a good mind to say to the stewardess "Look at how I've bothered to present myself for this flight. This tie is from Geives And Hawkes. Now look at this lot. It's clear that I should be the one enjoying business class comfort and they should be back here in my rubbish seat, like the oafs they are. No I will not sit down. Let go of me!"

Monday 19th June 2006

Posted by on June 19, 2006 10:16 AM

Trained to London having taken advantage of Michelle's advice and booked a cheap first class seat in advance on the internet. I don't know how I've managed to travel to a fro London for all this time without having realised you can do this so economically, but it's a modern miracle, you can book two single first class seats for the same price as you'd pay if you turned up at the station and bought standard class. Once on board however, you can really start to cut costs because first class passengers get a meal and all their drinks for nothing. The single ticket was £28, and so I set about consuming £28 worth of stuff to make my journey theoretically free. It was a less than sober Stanley that departed at Euston.

Myths about London:

1. It's unfriendly.

I don't really know where this comes from. I think because it's on such a dramatically larger scale than anywhere else in the UK (Seven million people, Greater Manchester has less than a million, Liverpool half a million, places like Nottingham about two hundred thousand) that it's impossible to draw any comparisons with other urban areas and so people are slightly afraid of it. I think also that it has a kind of untouchable, mythical status in the eyes of people that don't or haven't lived there, and this leads to mistrust. But people need some sort of reason to mistrust and dislike London and so they say people are unfriendly - it seems like a good reason to dislike somewhere. Having lived in London for a few years, I can absolutely say this isn't true. Londoner's aren't unfriendly! I think people get bumped in the back once coming up the escalators at Piccadilly Circus and write the place off as intolerable. Go to a park, sit outside a pub on a sunny evening, London isn't in the least unfriendly.

Sunday 18th June 2006

Posted by on June 18, 2006 10:14 AM

It's a curious business, packing a suitcase to go away. I've always been a fan of the speed-pack, doing it all whilst the taxi's honking it's horn outside, but whilst this saves you an evening spent dawdling from the wardrobe to the bed, and the open case laid out upon it, you invariably forget the things that come in useful on a foreign trip, like clothes and a passport.

So I spent this evening allowing myself to be all grown up and pack methodically. Or so I thought, until I tried to jam the case shut and realised I'd packed four suits but not a single bit of underwear. And so things had to come out again and certain bits needed to be sacrificed. It's amazing what you can fit in a suitcase if you try though, isn't it? You've got a stack of clothes nine times higher than the base of the case but still, by defying physics, you get the thing shut. It's a well known fact in Dr Who circles that The Tardis was actually a blue Samsonite suitcase with a blue light on the top.

There's always the fear that you've forgotten something though, just as there is the worry that you've brought far too much, coupled with the inkling that you don't have nearly enough. "I'm away for ten nights, so what's adequate for that? Ten shirts? That would mean one shirt a day without having the luxury to change for the evening and I'm going to be sweating like a wrong 'un in the sun. So is it ten evening shirts and, say, five other shirts and five T-shirts? That's twenty items alone... surely too much? No, it's logical. Take twenty. TWENTY?"

"Right, suits. I need a suit to travel in tomorrow, so that's one. Two tuxedos because I'm going to a convention and they'll look the part. So that's three. Oh, and that funny red shiny one I got as a joke, that will look great in Vegas, baby! So that's four. Shall I leave them in their protective suit bags? Yeah, better had.... Oh, that's my suitcase full. I might be able to fit a sock down the side there... So four suits and a sock, let's roll."

Saturday 17th June 2006

Posted by on June 17, 2006 10:52 PM

There's a craze sweeping the world at the moment which involves dropping a full packet of Mentos mints into a large bottle of Diet Coke. There's something in the sugar coating of the mint that reacts incredibly violently with the sweetener in the Diet Coke (this doesn't work with other brands of cola) and so you get a very satisfying fountain erupting from the bottle at heights of about 15 feet.

You can view a video of this taken to extraordinary lengths here.

I was invited to a Barbeque this afternoon to celebrate my friend Paul's girlfriend Verity turning thirty. I knew there'd be kids present at the party whom I could entertain, but also wanted to try out the experiment for myself, so made myself late by scouring newsagents and supermarkets for a packed of the seemingly lethal sweets. Either this craze has caught on to such a degree that every child has bought up every packet, or they just aren't widely available, but I had quite a lot of trouble eventually tracking some down. Don't by fooled by getting the Sugar Free variety that come in a square box, no, these will not do, you have to get the tube of original, white mints. These are the best ammunition. They are the good stuff.

I did eventually find some in a newsagents on Hardman Street and gleefully turned up at the party with these and two large bottles of Diet Coke. I took other stuff too, adult stuff like gin, but these were my prized possessions.

The kids seemed wise to this ritual, and apparently they'd done it in the playground of their school a few days earlier but it even so there was tangible excitement around the patio as I, with a young helper, like a tiny Debbie McGee, set up our apparatus. The trick is introducing all the mints to the liquid immediately, in unison, because as soon as the first mint hits, the reaction starts. You need a sort of tube delivery system, for which we used an empty tube of Smarties that I'd procured from the same newsagent. You open the bottle of diet coke, place a flat, solid object on top (we used a coaster) and then you put the empty Smarties tube vertically on the coaster, above the entrance to the bottle, load it up with Mentos mints, then pull the coaster away so they all tumble in at once - then you jump back. The fountain is short lived but highly impressive and I like to think that I have in some way added to a thirty year olds birthday party by covering her patio with Diet Coke for the purpose of a childish trick. She can surely now enter into the fourth decade of her life with her head held high.

Friday 16th June 2006

Posted by on June 16, 2006 8:55 PM

I met one of my favourite singers Lizzie Nunnery at lunchtime today in Bistro Jacques, a new and pleasant enough eatery on Hardman Street. By the way, her new EP is now available to buy from her website, linked above, and I honestly think you should improve your life by getting it. She's not giving me commission, I think you should because it's very good, it would be five pounds spent incredibly wisely.

She's also a writer and has had various projects accepted for both the stage and radio, but quite bizarrely she wants to try her hand at comedy script writing and so we met to discuss possible projects that we might be able to collaborate on. She's got a sit-com idea (yeah I know, 'doesn't everyone?'), which is intriguing. It's called No Man's Land and is basically about three girls in a house who are all in that wasteland after university when you still don't know what you want to do. Grow up? Carry on messing about? Get a job or get a career? Settle down? Play the field?

In true sit-com style you'd have the incredibly driven one, the dappy one, and the party animal.

I suggested that it would need a male character in it somewhere and we hit upon the idea of the three girls having a neighbour in the flat below that they never meet, nor have ever seen, but all have different ideas of. They all see him in a different way. So for example if there's a buzzing sound coming up through the floor from his flat, the driven and professional girl imagines a business man standing at the sink in an immaculate bathroom brushing his teeth with a buzzing electric toothbrush. The dappy one imagines a hunky DIY bloke using an electric saw and cutting up some wood, and the party animal imagines him sat on the floor playing with a Scaletrix. Maybe the other way around - the dappy one sees him with the Scaletrix? You see, writing sit-coms is the hardest thing ever invented. Climbing Everest is easier.

"I could write Two Pints Of Lager And A Packet Of Crisps. In my sleep. With no hands."

Yes, you could, but I mean it's hard to write a really good one.

Thursday 15th June 2006

Posted by on June 15, 2006 4:05 PM

Despite being a pathetic football nerd I'll be keeping things pretty World Cup free on these pages, save for the England matches and today was pretty much all about watching them tease us into thinking they were rubbish and incapable of beating even the lowly if heroic Trinidad And Tobago until eventually scoring with seven minutes to go and then sealing it with an amazing goal seconds before the end. People might think that it's impossible to dream of doing well in this competition if we can't score against such a tiny nation in 83 minutes of football, but it's clearly an elaborate and amusing ruse to make other teams think we'll be a walkover until making the game safe at will whenever we want. Yes, that is what's happening. It's not that we were fantastically fortuitous, more that we are masters of guile and deception. Any fool can see that.

If only, if only. There was a frustrated air in The Lion, alleviated with pure relief rather than joy when the ironically named giant Peter Crouch forgot he was supposed to be firing balls high and wide of the goal all afternoon and accidentally powered a header straight in. You could see his annoyance at having hit the target, instead of smacking it yards wide off his shin as he had been doing all afternoon, but then pretended he meant to score all along and accepted the plaudits of fans and fellow players alike. Similarly, Stevie Gerrard had been doing an admirable job of blasting balls several miles over the goal all afternoon to marvellous effect but, in aiming for the back of the crowd in the last minute, accidentally hit his effort far too low and it curled into the goal quite beautifully. He too hid his mistake by smiling and pretending that's what he had intended to do all along.

Wednesday 14th June 2006

Posted by on June 14, 2006 4:04 PM

I've never been a big one for shopping, I don't particularly enjoy it, and mercifully I've never got a buzz or rush out of it, but today's shopping expedition was rather tasty. Out by The Lowry in Salford Quays exists a place called The Salford Outlet Mall which offers discounts over high street prices because it's full of 'outlet' shops, and whilst I'm unclear what exactly this means (is it stuff they couldn't sell?) it spells bargains and today's purchases will be all the most prized for their value.

There comes a point in every man's life when he needs to be the owner of a good tuxedo. I believe the educated classes refer to them as dinner suits, but I like the word 'tux'. People say "Why buy one, how often are you going to wear it? Just hire one when need be." No. For one thing, hired tuxedoes are rubbish and have been dry cleaned several hundred times after continual wear by oafs at Christmas parties and weddings. You don't want that. Two, you can get huge amounts of wear out of a tux if you have one at your disposal, because far from being 'occasional wear', the dinner suit can be used for all manner of occasions, or simply worn on a whim.

I know we've touched on this subject very recently, but I reiterate this to help justify myself buying one today. They can be worn in the local pub, as people will assume you've been to a function and now just fancy a pint, they can be worn to any other hostilely for the same reason, and they can gain you access to any function you're not invited to. Who's going to turn you away? If you're wearing an immaculate tux it's clear you've been invited. They are the golden ticket. And Jabba The Hut would look good in one, they make any bloke look exactly 5.4 times better looking than he actually is.

Tuesday 13th June 2006

Posted by on June 13, 2006 8:50 PM

I rang Byrd, the literary agent in New York this afternoon about The Power Of Ten (I'm writing on Wednesday 14th and all copies to those who volunteered to read it have now been posted, so look forward to that tomorrow - thanks for waiting) to discuss the project. I dreaded calling slightly which is madness because he couldn't be more helpful, friendly, and constructive but I feared he'd say there wasn't much future for the project. Quite the opposite, he's got faith in it and loves the premise, but has some radical suggestions for a re-approach. Basically he's suggested doing it as a novel, exactly the same idea but written as a narrative, which would mean a complete restart which is pretty daunting but has given me a fresh batch of ideas. I still like the idea of it being a faux self-help book if possible, and indeed it's just occurred to me there could be two approaches, the self-help version and a kind of autobiography, and just to have a fresh professional perspective he's put me in contact with a Mr Copeland in London, a literary agent from another firm.

Kindly, he's contacted Sam Copeland to tell him I'm going to be in touch which should get me through the door, and so the next step is to talk with him and try and form a strategy which he, Byrd and I agree on.

Don't get me wrong, I love Bryd's idea for a novel. The fault with the manuscript at the moment is (not that I want to influence any of you about to read it) that it doesn't carry the reader along. A novel could do that far better. But then there's my undentable and paralysing arrogance and complete belief that I'm always right that has probably hindered me my whole life. Of course Byrd's right! He's a professional agent and editor! He's more right than anyone could be! But then I still view it as a spoof self-help book... I am an idiot. I was talking to my friend Wade on the phone today - the idea of thinking you're right when a professional who's clearly correct says that you're not. He used to be a model (why not buy this excellent book, on which he's the cover star) and was telling me this afternoon how he'd get a portfolio together, then disagree with everything the professionals said, and doubtless ended up with far less work as a result.

Curse and damn to Hell our wretched tunnel vision and obstinacy.

Monday 12th June 2006

Posted by on June 12, 2006 12:58 AM

I was in Sefton Park today when I heard someone furiously calling their dog. The animal was making it's way over to me (which all dogs do - they can't help it. I'm hoping it's my Dr Dolittle skills and not the way I smell) and as it did so the owner continued to call it, getting angrier and angrier. I just continued to scribble in my notebook, laid out on the grass, but then realised too late that the dog was amongst my stuff and sat up to see it slobbering over my packet of Jaffa Cakes.

I know Jaffa Cakes are an unusual thing to be eating if you're trying to loose a bit of weight as I am, but apparently the England football team eat them and have had hundreds of packets flown out to their World Cup base in Germany. I now eat them because I too want to play football as well as the England team occasionally do. I am like them.

I shooed the dog off just as he got a Jaffa cake into his disgusting saliva flooded mouth and the owner called him even more furiously and he scampered away. But my Jaffa cakes were now inedible. I thought the owner of the dog, a middle aged woman, would offer profuse apologies to me for her dog's outrageous, if entirely natural behaviour, but not a bit of it. She simply scolded the dog for being disobedient as it ran back chewing on my orange flavoured biscuit and never said a word to me.

If I wasn't such a mild mannered gentleman I would have got up and beaten both her and her greedy dog to death with a rake, but instead I too said nothing. I'd just been robbed by a dog and received no word of apology from its owner, and I can't believe I was so English as to say absolutely nothing. If I was the woman and my dog had just run over and eaten some of a stranger's food, as well as ruining the rest of it, I think I would be so mortified the least I would have done is go to the shops and buy some more Jaffa Cakes, or even offer to shoot myself through the head with a crossbow. How can anyone feel it's okay for their dog to eat someone's Jaffa Cakes, but still be furious with it for not coming to heel when called?

Sunday 11th June 2006

Posted by on June 11, 2006 12:05 AM

I've spent a lot of time in Sefton Park recently, taking advantage of the weather, but whilst you might assume I am being lazy and hate me for my luxurious ways whilst stuck in your offices, let me assure you I'm working very hard and have a notebook full of scribbles for this new idea I've got. I'll not bore you with what it is as yet, although it's a TV script, but I've decided that - if you show the slightest interest - I might start sending out copies of what I'm writing to all six Pathetic Lot readers and use you as a sounding board in future.

I know I promised to do this with The Power Of Ten and to those people who applied to read it, I'm SO sorry about the delay in posting out the discs but I will do in the next couple of days I swear. There is not a post office in the park and this has held me up.

But in general I see no reason why I can't mail stuff out to be read by you lot, unless you plan to steal all my useless ideas and submit them to TV companies yourself, in which case remember I'll already have your addresses and will send some Ukrainian psychopath round to cut off essential parts of your face. I know I can trust you all, and trust your opinions, because if you take the time to read this banal and often boastful and annoying Blog every day then you must be gluttons for punishment and enjoy reading my poorly conceived ideas.

I really like the feeling of starting a project, even if it's ultimately doomed like all the others. You're always convinced this is the one. This idea is basically an anti-sitcom about a man who finds everything annoying. He is me. It's just about his day to day struggle with idiots and social situations. I think it will be called Tolerance. Anyway it feels very BBC4 at the moment. So when I've got a draft script together I'll let you know and if you're interested in reading something that is far funnier than anything on TV at the moment but will never get made into a TV show because commissioning editors don't know what the hell they're talking about then get in touch and a copy will land on your door mat. But remember the Ukrainian.

Saturday 10th June 2006

Posted by on June 10, 2006 3:34 PM

I'm not going to talk about the World Cup too much here if I can help it because I know some of you don't like it and also it could get a little repetitive, but today was only ever going to be about England's opening match against Paraguay and so it turned out to be.

The Royal Court are doing a wonderful thing whereby everyone pays £5 in, then all that money is put down the bookies on England to win, and if they do then the money goes behind the bar. Free drinks. So it was the Royal Court I went this afternoon to watch the events in Frankfurt but I'd arrogantly underestimated the appeal of this event and it was entirely sold old. 450 odd people. So that's... £2250 on England to win? Think so. Good bet. Even though I'm special I still couldn't get in and so I went to The Lion to watch it instead, which was strangely quiet. I hope people aren't planning on watching matches at home, just because they're all being shown on terrestrial tele? You watch the World Cup in the pub, and you most certainly watch England games in the pub. That has been a law for many a long year.

England won 1-0 by virtue of an own goal and any positives displayed in the first half were eradicated by a dreadful and negative second half. But a win's a win and we must remember that England always start tournaments poorly. It's how we operate. We huff and puff out a couple of narrow wins and a draw early on, then we start to play, and that takes us on a glorious tide of brilliance all the way to the quarter finals. That's our style.

Friday 9th June 2006

Posted by on June 9, 2006 2:35 PM

I was idly listening to the radio whilst driving today and discovered that the set had somehow become tuned to 'Rock