28 July 2012


Ever heard the phrase "a fish out of water"? After relocating about as far South from battered Mars Bars and hard daytime drinking as humanly possible on this isle of ours, Devon was proving a hard place to call
home for Liza.

Ok the cream teas were n't to hard to live with and there was an abundance of locally produced Cider should her old habits ever return but the pull of the Highlands still tugged at her heartstrings. Sure Devon was Green but it wasn't Scottish Green.

As the months rolled by in an uneventful entirely Devon-like way Liza began to notice this homesickness begin to manifest itself a little deeper.
Fiercely patriotic as seems a pre-requisite with Scots she was well versed with her countries history and tainted with the hatred of the English all kilt-kin have embedded in their genes. So when a certain Hollywood blockbuster focusing on one of her countries most famous sons hit the big screen, Liza found herself first in line.
Since purchasing said epic in blu-ray, Dvd, VHS, mp4 and even the written adaptation on mp3 (read by Sean Connery no less) it could be said she was something of a fan of William Wallace.

Now in the movie, Big Willie (as his fellow soldiers probably never referred to him as) is played by everyones favourite anti-semitic Mel Gibson. He's known to be somewhat of a hit with right wing middle age women everywhere and Liza too was finding herself getting more and more attracted to him, but not in the conventional way. She'd seen Mad Max and decided Leather wasn't his thing. She'd seen Pay back and decided talking in a low whisper for 96 minutes wasn't really his thing either but boy could he work the hell out of kilt!

So, she placed an order with a costume outlet online for a shaggy unkempt ruffian wig (dirty brown), blue/white face paint and a kilt.

When she asked her husband to wear aforementioned attire with the promise he could do anything to her in the bedroom and he declined she was somewhat surprised.

When she went online in search of women who encourage their men to dress up for a bit of nookie she found only the usual emergency service based fans, a few trekkie nerds and one woman who insisted her man dress up as a pantomime horse.

Disappointedly she decided to take matters into her own hands, and when one night her husband returned to find Liza with a blue and white painted face, dirty brown wig, kilt hitched up just over her knees and a seductive smile on her face, citing temporary insanity in her part he fled the house and later filed for divorce.

And so what initially seems a sad story ends well for out Liza. She returned to her native land, shacked up with a burly whisky drinking Loch Ness Tour Guide and had several red haired children. Home is where the heart is, even if it needs to tell you by scaring the living hell out of your middle class insurance salesman husband from Swindon first.

25 July 2012

White men can jump (and rap)

I ve decided my future involves copious amounts of rap. If theres one thing pop music needs its another middle class white boy from the countryside throwing shapes and keeping it "real".

Here for you edification are some if mu future hits (in progress)

I gotta a lotta herb

"so i'm plowing ma field like I work my bitches,
Gatheing crop and adding to ma riches,
I'm most at home cruising in my tractor,
Make sure I sky plus mother fuckin x factor,
I keep it real when i hang with my bro's
Only bling I got is my spades and hoes,
I dont drink crystal, only home made cider,
So makes sure theres plenty on ma bitch ass rider"

Will add more as and when

11 July 2012

X men First Class - Criticus

Faced with the choice of watching this film again or having 100 fire ants nibble at my junk for the 132 minutes running time the fire ants would win outright.

An insult to the marvel universe, Xavier is portrayed as an English dandy, Magneto a silent, stoic psychopath who only shows his intellect in his sudden heel turn at the end. Don' t even get me started on beasts laughable transition from foot freak to crappy fancy-dress attired superhero. He looked like he belonged on a stag weekend in Blackpool rather than the front line of a potential Cold War. Honestly I thought Kelsey Grammar was the final insult but all is forgiven for that one.

X-men First Ass.

Pixeljunk 4am - Criticus

I am blessed with superhuman powers. The real deal. However far from having an innate ability to heal myself, fly or read minds I can save you, the people, hard earned cash. I am able to harness my ultra critical eye, cut through the crap and tell you whats worth your time, be it games, books or film.

First up: PixelJunk 4am

Its friday night and I've just fired up pixeljunks latest offering via the psn store. I ve been playing a mere 5 minutes and I have an audience of 58 already. Suddenly the pressure is on to deliver an audio delight.

Best described as a virtual sequencer, you take pre recorded loops using your move controller and through muting/un muting and use of fx arrange your composition in real time. Oh and anybody worldwide can log on and listen live.

Its not quite a complete music creation kit but for a shade under £7 you cant really complain - but a few more loops would be nice (hopefully via a free update).

Its not a game, but the rush you get when you see your audience count rise and see their positive reactions to you efforts (via real time feedback bars) is hard to beat. It wont make you the next Moby, but it'll make you waggle your move more than most motion inspired efforts.

Buy it.

4 July 2012

Easier in the olden days...

Driving is a lot like having sex. Any fool can go forwards and backwards but it takes hours of practice, tears, tantrums and a patient mentor to get to a standard deemed satisfactory.

So armed with 25 hours tutorage and a stomach full of knots I embarked upon my first driving test.

Fate and I have a somewhat turbulent past. In this day fate decided my examiner would be "Deadly Dean", Newcastles own answer to Gordon Brittas and whom my instructor referred to as "a bit picky" and " not who you want for your first test". Deadly seemed to sniff out my weakest manoeuvre as soon as we settled into the car as we were barely out of the trs centre gates when he requested I kindly pull over and reverse around the corner behind.

I Won't lie, I sort of nailed it, but my frail confidence took a kicking as I had to correct the manoeuvre and received a minor.

The rest of the test should if been plain sailing if wasn't for stupid 30mph roads masquerading as 40mph roads. Who knew that would be an instant fail?

I did.

And so i sit here today, license less and feeling a lesser man. Things could only be worse if I took Viagra as a necessity and not erm...hmmmmm.