Sorry to make my first post for a couple of weeks a meme. I was much busier than I expected last week, and with a grand prix this week my blogging activities were focussed on vee8. I’ll still be busy this week but Steven Hill has tagged me in a meme and these are quick posts to do so I may as well do it.

I have to say where I was when each of these events happened.

Princess Diana’s death - 31 August 1997

I was in bed. I first heard about it when my brother came into my room wanting to play the PlayStation but ended up watching the television a bit instead. At first I thought it must have been the Queen Mother who had died, and when I found out it was only Princess Diana I struggled to see what the fuss was about. Never liked her.

Margaret Thatcher’s resignation - 22 November 1990

No recollection whatsoever. I did know of a time when Thatcher was Prime Minister, and I of course remember John Major being in charge. But I remember nothing of the transition.

Attack on the twin towers - 11 September 2001

I remember this very clearly. I was at school in my German Writing class. The first time I realised something was up was when the lesson hadn’t started after we had been sitting there for ten or fifteen minutes. Our teacher was constantly moving between the classroom and the staff room. I didn’t mind because German Writing was my least favourite subject at that time.

Eventually our teacher wheeled the television through and said, “I’m going to show you this because it’s very important and there will be a lot of consequences” (or words to that effect). I was a bit peeved that he chose ITN over the BBC, but never mind. One of my strongest memories is the fact that one certain person in our class particularly struggled to grasp what was happening. In retrospect, I suppose he was right to be so sceptical of the idea that people would be mad enough to delibrately crash planes into buildings.

Of course, we did not get any learning done in that class. Of course, not everyone’s teachers wheeled the television through like ours did. I suppose most teachers will have been completely oblivious. It was the major talking point among my classmates after school, but people from other classes thought we were tacking the mickey.

It was also strange going home, and I got the feeling that I could kind of tell who knew what was happening and who didn’t. I remember seeing a few people driving cars who obviously looked like they were listening to what was happening on the radio. When I got home my parents were both in the living room watching the television (my dad had the day off for some reason that I can’t remember). I carried on watching it for around two hours.

England’s World Cup Semi Final v Germany in - 4 July 1990

I have no recollection of this match in particular, but I was aware of Italia 90. I liked the mascot, ‘Ciao’! I also took in the design of the graphics used during the matches — an early example of my interest in television presentation.

President Kennedy’s Assassination - 22 November 1963

I was 23 years away from being born.

I now I need to decide who to tag:

• Onebrow
• Jack Deighton
• MatGB
• Colin Campbell
• Mr Eugenides

This week a university lecturer, Ken Smith, suggested that spelling “mistakes” should be accepted as variants. This has upset Ideas of Civilisation and Colin Campbell among others.

I side with Ken Smith on this occasion though. I hate spelling mistakes and love to point them out. Only yesterday I saw a greengrocers’ apostrophe and instinctively growled. But that is only because I am a cheeky wee pedant. Deep down, I know that the rules of the English language are strange and, ultimately, pointless.

What is the purpose of language? I would say language is what allows people to communicate with each other. Accordingly, rules should develop naturally, and as long as the two parties communicating understand each other all is well. However, for grammar fascists, language rules are just an opportunity to crack the whip.

It is worth remembering that a strict one-size-fits-all suite of language rules is a very modern concept. Standardised spellings only came in when some smart fellow decided to become the first lexicographer and hoodwink people into believing his services were vital.

William Shakespeare did not even have a standardised spelling for his own name. Was he wrong? If we follow the joke that the easiest mark in an exam is for spelling your name correctly, it looks like Shakespeare himself would have failed his English GCSE.

Now, hopefully you have noticed that I like to take care over my spelling and suchlike. But this is a personal choice that I took because I believe that adhering to these rules allows me to reach the widest audience possible. That, and it means I don’t get bombarded by complaints from snobs.

If someone else is content to spell things incorrectly but can still convey their message to its intended recipient then that is their personal choice. There is nothing wrong with people deciding how they can speak and write for themselves.

Language has always evolved naturally, and I see no reason why that should stop now. The purpose of a dictionary is to record language as it is written, not to tell people how to write it. If different people spell things in different ways, then that is just part of life’s rich tapestry.

After all, we tolerate and even celebrate — and rightly so — variations in pronunciation in the English language. Only the snobbiest of snobs would demand that everyone speaks RP. In this age where regional accents are celebrated, we usually find we have no trouble understanding people. So why should people also be expected to write in the same bland, standardised, colourless RP all the time?

What gets me is the sheer snobbery of some people who insist on “correct” spellings. Who is to say that you are right and they are wrong? Closing your ears and stomping your feet complaining about how thick the other person is does not get anyone anywhere. Is there not room for some give and take, just as there is when having a conversation with people who have a different accent?

Ideas of Civilisation attempted to show how ludicrous Ken Smith’s suggestion is by filling his post with a myriad of misspellings. Of course, were Ken Smith’s idea to take hold and language was allowed to evolve naturally, we almost certainly would not face a wholesale dumping of the dictionary, with standards completely replaced by arbitrariness. Instead, new standards would emerge while the most common misspellings would be tolerated.

Txt spk is the perfect example. Snobs may turn their nose up at it, but there is no denying that this development which emerged naturally has had an important influence in simplifying the language and removing barriers to communication. In fact, it is an ingenious solution to the problem we all face, stuck with the QWERTY system which was originally designed to slow typists down. What is wrong with people using their initiative to speed things up again?

Then there is the text message itself, where brevity is key. Messages are limited to 160 characters which means you have to keep it short if you want to avoid being charged double or even triple your normal rate. The new standard of abbreviations is a clever and natural way to evade this restriction.

That is not to mention instant messaging, where speed is as important as clarity. When you are having a fast-paced IM conversation, it is only sensible to take the odd short cut. It should be no surprise that in an age where we rely more heavily than ever on inefficient keyboards and restrictive technologies that new standards should emerge.

Moreover, what is wrong with “embarassing”, “beleive” or “pleasent”? Or even the odd “there” instead of “their” or vice-versa? You would still know exactly what I meant were I to use those spellings. Any exam marker with two brain cells to rub together would know that as well. If he were to mark down someone for putting one ‘r’ instead of two even though the meaning is still perfectly clear, then that would make him a petulant, authoritarian shit.

• Prince William makes first solo flight
• Plane crash-lands at Heathrow

It doesn’t feel like they’ve been away for long enough for a proper reunion. But when you think about it, the last album Blur recorded with Graham Coxon was released almost nine years ago! This should make every Britpop fan feel really, really old.

The rumours have been going for a while. Just last year I had heard that all of the members of Blur were suing each other. Now it seems confirmed that they are all — including Coxon — going into the recording studio very soon.

The fact that Graham Coxon is back is the real news though. He was pretty central to Blur. You could tell that just by listening to the sans-Coxon Blur album, Think Tank, which felt really empty and half-arsed. After a lacklustre album, it wasn’t a surprise to see Blur fizzle out.

Meanwhile, Graham Coxon’s solo career sky-rocketed. And who could blame Damon Albarn for not being too bothered given the success (and, let’s face it, damn good music) of Gorillaz. (The less said about Alex James’s WigWam, the better. At best the song sounds like an awful re-hash of ‘Girls and Boys’. And worst it sounds like the consequences of too many drugs.)

Think Tank and the death of Blur was a disappointment because their previous album, 13, is for my money one of the best albums of the 1990s. I still feel that the was completely overlooked by the media and the public, who at the time were too busy still fawning over OK Computer to notice anything else.

Listening to some of the older Blur material, it is easy to see why everyone got so excited about the whole Britpop thing. Blur wrote so many of the great pop songs of the 1990s. You can see this by looking at the tracklisting to their Best of album — more notable for the omissions than the inclusions (where were ‘Popscene’, ‘Chemical World’, ‘Stereotypes’…?).

To celebrate the news of the reunion, it is time for a Blur with Graham Coxon Nostalgic YouTube Extravaganza! (This means a bunch of videos that I will post and will stop working within a week as they get pulled off.)

Coffee and TV

The height of Graham Coxon’s powers as part of Blur.

Click “Click for more” for more.

Click for more »

I always wondered how Mr Eugenides got that effective picture in his header.

Via Fazed. Thanks Alan!

Apparently there are proposals for BBC Scotland to get its own dedicated television channel after the digital switch-over is complete. I applaud this proposal — because then we could watch proper BBC One, instead of having to deal with BBC Scotland messing around with the schedules and failing to show our favourite programmes.

I think this is why I am no longer a nationalist. Throughout my years growing up I had my favourite programmes taken away by some stranger speaking a foreign language. Regional variations have been the bane of my life. I was especially annoyed at the weekly Gaelic slot that interrupted BBC Two’s pristine schedule at 6 o’clock.

The 6 o’clock slot was finely honed back in the 1990s (by both BBC Two and Channel 4) as a place for youths like myself to watch top-quality programming while our parents were watching the 6 O’Clock News. While BBC Two later slipped into constantly repeating The Fresh Prince of Bel-End in the slot, years ago it was the home of The Simpsons. In other words, top-quality entertainment that couldn’t be matched in its slot.

BBC Scotland butchered the whole plan by depriving viewers north of the border of an episode of The Simpsons to accommodate Dè A-Nis?, or Machair, or some similar rubbish that was of no interest to anyone south-east of Mallaig. Every. Single. Week.

Here is a handy map, provided by Wikipedia, that demonstrates who was thwarted on a weekly basis by a dying language. White and light blue areas wanted to watch The Simpsons, whereas dark blue areas contain some children that might have understood Dè A-Nis? but probably would have preferred to watch The Simpsons.

Lest you think this is just me having a dig at Gaelic, it is not. All regional variations are inexcusable. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten stinkers like McCoist and MacAulay, Caledonia MacBrains or The Karen Dunbar Show. Or River City for that matter. Something tells me there is a reason most of these weren’t shown on the network.

I think Armando Iannucci and I must have a special connection. When I first saw this sketch on television (on Channel 4, a channel free of regional variations, except for those poor Welsh people who don’t get it at all), I was so glad. Somebody else felt the same way about regional variations. I’m sure everyone north of the border must have had a dream like this at least once in their lives.

I know I’m not the only one who thinks this now.

Lolcats. At first, funny. Yes?

Now, about as funny as having your nuts put on a skewer.

Part of this is just frustration with the fact that Twitter is down quite a lot at the moment, but that bloody error page, with a cutesy cat with a screwdriver and “lol im fixin ur Twitt3rs”, it’s just bloody annoying now.

I would join Sarah’s support group.

Genuine caller on Radio Five Live this morning, in a discussion about good things that are British: “When you move to other countries you find out that all countries have the same problems, like immigration.”

If I could do impressions I would phone up Rory Bremner posing as Kevin Lygo. I would tell him that his programme was being axed, because he is shit, and his programme hasn’t been funny for at least ten years and those John bores are about as entertaining as sitting on a fire.

So I guess that means that after their next “Closing Down Sale”, they will actually be closing down!

I can’t stand the smugness of those Get a Mac adverts with Mitchell and Webb in them. I especially hate the one that says Macs never crash. That’s just bullshit. I’m sure OS X is better, but the last Mac I used crashed all the time. As for this PC with Windows XP — for all its faults — it crashes far, far less often.

It’s like when Labour blame the state of the NHS on the Conservatives. Maybe that was so ten years ago…

Anyway, I saw this banner ad on Comment is Free and I can’t help but wonder if these adverts are really sending out the right message. I mean, if you were undecided between purchasing a Mac and a PC, would this advert really sway you?

I mean, surely if you wanted fun you’d just buy a Wii wouldn’t you? Moreover, this makes ‘Mac’ look like one of those awful people that go around the place telling everybody how fun they are.

With these adverts, David Letterman got it right.

Razzamatazz complains that everybody who dies is described in nothing but glowing terms. They are never described as a shithouse (Via Scaryduck). But there is one person whose epitaph is rather disrespectful. Now, who can come up with an acrostic that spells ’shithouse’?

It’s this sort of behaviour that makes me really hate drivers.

I mean, really. How desperate to save time do you have to be to try this sort of stunt? Would it even save you any time? I bet these drivers have been sitting there for about five minutes waiting for a bus to come along. Sometimes I suspect drivers never have any intention of sticking to the rules. Infact, they get a serious kick out of breaking them. And then abusing the poor traffic wardens who uphold them.

Seeing these bollards heading straight towards the anus of these idiots is very satisfying. Maybe they should put these next to parking meters aswell. That would be brilliant!

Via Boing Boing.

Then you need the Jack LaLanne Power Juicer!

Phuckd is quite a funny blog. Like me, phucker likes to take the piss out of awful late-night television, except he has a lot more exclamation marks. His latest target is the classic teleshopping presentation for Jack LaLanne’s Power Juicer.

I had never heard of Jack LaLanne before I saw this commercial. Apparently he was some kind of muscle man in the 1940s. The commercial had led me to believe that he was a singer or entertainer of some sort. At the end he starts singing, and it goes split screen. On the left we have footage from about fifty years ago of Jack LaLanne singing some kind of song. On the right we have today’s Jack LaLanne trying to sing the same song, but he is now so bad at it that the original footage is mauled to pieces to get the pair to stay in sync.

Anyway, the Power Juicer purports to be “whisper quiet”, but when they demonstrate it, it is patently not whisper quiet. In fact, the presenters need to shout over it. (Incidentally, there is an episode of The Simpsons that is clearly inspired by this “whisper quiet” moment.)

They then make a big deal about how you can put whole vegetables and fruit in, because obviously these days people are just too bastarding lazy to peel an orange before they make home made juice. Yes, that’s right. Fruit goes into the machine, complete with skin.

And then, when the process is over, a load of sloppy gloop comes out of its spout. To be honest, it looks as though it has already gone through the entire digestive process, so there is no need to drink it.

But they didn’t endure that shouty loud motor for nothing. So they take their wares to the local supermarket and feed some poor unsuspecting customers their shit-juice. Clearly, the participants have been told that whatever they actually think of the juice, they must say it’s delicious.

You see, what they don’t tell you in this commercial is the fact that Jack LaLanne actually thinks that all good food should taste shit, at least according to Wikipedia:

When interviewed by Katie Couric on NBC’s Today show, LaLanne declared that his two simple rules of nutrition are: “If man made it, don’t eat it; if it tastes good, spit it out.”

So there you have it. Jack LaLanne himself tries his juice and goes on about how great it tastes, but he doesn’t spit it out. Still, since bad food is good and good food is bad, all of our sense of taste has been twisted inside out so that we don’t know what to think any more. So what are we to make of these vox pops in the supermarket?

There’s a nonplussed youth connecting his mouth to some brown pulp. “Delicious,” he says, unconvincingly.
Here comes a family! Let’s get the six-year-old child to try it. That’ll be cute! “Delicious!”, she says.

So far, so lame. But the peak is just around the corner. The next guinea pig is some poor elderly woman who actually grimaces when she takes a swig. “That’s delicious,” she says, with an immense gurn that under any other circumstances would look as though it had been photoshopped.

It’s worth sitting through the whole thing just for that moment. So if you happen to be awake at about 1am this morning, do take a look. If Jack LaLanne isn’t on, you can console yourself by watching the advert for the Brenda DyGraf Lateral Thigh Trainer (it’s so good because — get this — not only do you move up and down, but you also move from side to side! Genius!).

I’ve taken the piss out of the late-night television programmes for losers with not enough sex, ITV Playdate and SmileTV / Party People on this blog. For more on these nocturnal televisual travesties, read phucker’s take on: ITV Playdate; Party People.

Because I tend to stay up late and, frankly, I am a loser with not enough sex, I sometimes flick past these programmes, as terrible as they are. I’m starting to wonder if they are not elaborate projects devised by twisted comedy genii.

Last night’s edition of Playdate had a classic participant last night. She was 29 years old and her profile boasted that she has an 18 year old child! That exclamation mark isn’t mine — her profile actually said, “She has an 18 year old child!” as if it was bloody brilliant. But if, like me, you have done your maths you will have worked out that she was eleven years old when she gave birth. Attractive! How do I get in touch?!

Judging by her behaviour on the programme, her courting skills probably haven’t improved since she was 11. Her legs were permanently wide open. One of the other participants noted, “I think I’ve seen her crotch more often than I’ve seen mine.” The presenter had to literally force her legs shut!

Part of the Playdate format is that the participants will often have a bit of a chat with the presenter so that you get to know a bit about them. Unfortunately, there wasn’t an awful lot to know about the open-legged participant.

“What do you like doing?”, asked the presenter.
“I dunno… I like havin’ sex,” she replied, suggestively sucking her third Chuppa Chup.
“Okay, so what kind of guy are you looking for?”, the presenter pressed.
“Dunno… Actually, I like the look of Lee over there.” She pointed at one of the other participants, who was probably shitting about half his weight with fear. This relationship was never going to be helped by the fact that Lee is “looking for a man tonight.” (Was that the truth or just quick thinking?)
But that didn’t deter our pre-teen pregnancy champion. “Come over ’ere an’ play with mah fanny.”

That’s not the way to charm a man. It’s no wonder she is resorting to going on television to advertise her undoubtedly flappy flange. That chat-up line probably hasn’t worked with anybody above the age of about 15. Unsurprisingly, her microphone was turned off after that incident. Remarkably, she wasn’t hauled off air completely.

That wasn’t embarrassing enough though, so I switched over to Party People. The format is more straightforward: weirdos send their texts in as council estate munters witter on while trying to show a bit of shoulder. It’s a world where the producers and right-hand men of the programme are all called Partyboy. A typical text is: “Partyboy tickle her feet for AT LEAST TEN SECONDS.”

Not tonight. That simply isn’t weird enough. One text read: “Do either of you ladies need a poo?” He should have visited this blog instead.

Another text said, “My boyfriend wants to watch me go to the toilet but I’m worried that I’ll fart. What should I do?” To which the presenter said, “You can tell that text is from a bloke can’t you?”

Melua’s deep sea gig sets record

Singer Katie Melua has entered the record books by playing the world’s deepest underwater concert.

Unfortunately the gig was in an oil rig so she didn’t drown.

There is a highly amusing video doing the rounds at the moment. It explains public toilet etiquette, which is one of the most important things for a male to understand. This also reminds me of The Urinal Game — although it’s clearly not a game; it’s an issue of immense importance.

Apparently women’s public toilets are quite nice places where people have a general chitty-chat. But men’s public toilets are places of fear and suspicion. If somebody speaks in a male toilet, it is practically the start of World War III. I suppose this is because the chances of being buggered are much lower in a women’s toilet.

The rules are fairly simple:

• No eye contact
• Don’t use a urinal if it’s next to a urinal that somebody else is using unless it is strictly necessary to do so
• Never, under any circumstances, speak — not even to a good friend

They are kind of unspoken rules. You don’t even consciously follow the rules. You only become aware of the rules when somebody breaks them. This happens a lot in pubs. Picture it. I’m standing there taking a leak, and some drunkard comes in making some small talk about the weather or something as though we were in the queue at Tesco rather than holding our penises.

The thing to do here is to finish your piss as quickly as possible, and do everything in your power to end the conversation quickly. There’s no time to wash your hands. Just go. As quickly as possible. Inform your friends of the man who started a conversation in the toilets. Everybody agrees that it’s just not on.

Click for more »

Superficially Dundee might seem to be most useful as a place for old men to take a piss in doorways. But their Freshers Week definitely has the best events: Catchphrase with Roy Walker. Update: I have a friend who’s attended this. Unfortunately, he is adament that it was shit.

How can three little letters be so offensive?

Steve Jobs on his new gizmo (via Guardian Technology blog):

It’s called iTV. That’s a codeword. We need to come up with a better name.

Sir Peter Burt on the name of his company:

I wonder if we should change the name of the company from ITV. It would be easier if we were called something else.

What did those poor three letters ever do to offend anybody?

As Chris Applegate says, this was absolutely screaming out to be a meme. Jawbox has done it aswell. But I refrained from calling it a meme in my post because I didn’t want to be responsible for starting one. Looks like I’m getting the blame for it anyway. Uhh, it was his fault! No, his!

Anyway, at least this is actually an interesting one. I found both Chris’ and Ben’s posts fascinating — partly I think because they are at a similar-ish age to me (whereas my year was 1994, Chris lists Italia ’90 in his memories, and Ben recalls France ’98).

Even though I was only 4 or 5, there are a few things that I remember from Chris’ list. The biggest memory is the World Cup — although I only really strongly recall the Italia ’90 mascot (it looked a bit like Lego), and even that is a bit hazy. I do vaguely remember the fall of the Berlin Wall (maybe not from the time it actually happened), but I was not aware that West Germany and East Germany were actually separate countries until several years later!

I also remember a specific part of the Gulf War — the word ‘Baghdad’, which was always in the news. I distinctly remember one day thinking, “Whatever happened to that important place called ‘Baghdad’?”

I think I remember the completion of the Channel Tunnel, although maybe I only remember the opening. I definitely remember the opening. That guy with the moustache from Allo Allo was on the television, presumably because that was the only way to illustrate an Anglo–French connection.

I don’t remember Margaret Thatcher’s resignation, although I do remember Thatcher being Prime Minister. I don’t remember this, but apparently when I was young and Thatcher appeared on the television I used to say “of coouurse”, mimicking her condescending mannerisms. See? I was a hilarious satirist when I was 3! Where did it all go wrong?

What is kind of worrying about Ben’s list, as I said in the comments at his, is the fact that for him France ’98 is one of those dim and distant memories. That makes me feel very old. Even scarier is the fact that I don’t even remember all of the events that he lists! Canadian air crash? No recollection, although I never found aeroplane crashes that surprising when I was young. Big heavy lump of metal in the sky falls from the sky — what a big surprise! So goes the logic of a pre-teen Duncan at least.

Anyway, remembering news events from when you were nine is for pussies! Chris ups the stakes, and asks what is the earliest memory you have of the news, “not just in recalling it, but being able to have some understanding of the situation”?

I’m guessing the Gulf War doesn’t count because I only knew the word ‘Baghdad’ from it and nothing else. And I don’t think knowing what the mascot of Italia ’90 looked like quite counts as a news event, so I have to keep on looking.

Although I remember lots of things from 1990 and 1991, I obviously wasn’t watching the news. So we turn to 1992. And bingo!

George H. W. Bush is televised falling violently ill at a state dinner in Japan, vomiting into the lap of Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa and fainting.

I remember this well! Vomiting is something that young children do quite a lot, so I could kind of relate. But let’s not kid ourselves here. The reason I remember this story is because it is hilarious! The President of the world’s most powerful country does a sick on the Prime Minister of another powerful country! Bahahahahahah!

Okay, so I recall the event — but does it pass Chris Applegate’s all-important test — “being able to have some understanding of the situation”? It’s not too difficult to even have full understanding of the situation: Bush sicks up, it’s very embarassing, everybody points and laughs.

So there you have it. My earliest news memory, at the age of 5, is of George H. W. Bush vomiting. I was as keen on the most important stories back then as I am now.

I’ve just seen Ortis from CBBC presenting on Quiz Call. Bahahaha. I hadn’t realised he’d sunk so low. He is still as irritating a presenter as always. But Peter Simon will always be my favourite children’s television presenter turned Egyptian cotton towel flogger. Ironic thing is that Ortis used to present children’s consumer programme Short Change. Now he’s working for one of the scammiest channels in the business.

I’ve just read three reviews in a row of Snakes on a Plane. I definitely must go and see this film.

Just got back from Glasgow. It wasn’t my choice you know; my parents took the lot of us. My brother’s girlfriend is up here at the moment aswell, which meant that there was five of us squashed into the car. On a journey as long as the one between Kirkcaldy and Glasgow, this was nothing but a recipe for sore testicles.

I was under the impression that we were going to New Lanark, which would have been something different, new and interesting. But instead we were taken to Glasgow, which we have visited a hundred times before, and which we’ll visit a hundred times again. That’s seven hours of my life that I’ll never have back.

We went to visit Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. Being the total philistine that I am, it bored the knickers off me. I don’t actually mind art galleries, but this one was full of hyper kids. I tried to go to the toilet, and kids seemed to be breeding in the urinals.

Whenever I’ve been to Kelvingrove Art Gallery it has been pretty quiet, much like any museum. But for some reason everybody decided to each take ten “Little Terrors Bastards” with them today. My mother says it’s because it’s been closed for four years. Pah.

When I was able to concentrate, there was only one painting that really caught my interest. Most of them seemed to be really old, boring portaits of posh people and people with boobs. Does the world really need to see any more of those? For me, there’s not much point in visiting an art gallery unless the art splits your eyes in two with its awesomeness. Banal portaits simply bore me rigid.

Later on we were taken along Byres Road. I have to admit that I’m actually quite jealous of Byres Road. That is one cool street! I feel a little bit cheeky walking along it because everybody else there is either in a smart suit or an unbelievably attractive studenty type with ridiculously cool clothes. The sort of person that makes me want to kill myself because I know I’ll never bag one.

Byres Road also has the best fish and chip shop in the land, the Uni Takeaway! The fish from this place makes every other fish you’ve ever tasted seem like mud.

And there is one other good thing about visiting Glasgow: the opportunity to tell lots of rude funnies about it!

When you pull up in Glasgow and park outside a nursery that looks like this, the opportunity is hard to resist. Unfortunately it’s difficult to see in this picture, but every window on the place is covered by a grill obviously designed to stop the local smackheads throwing bricks through the windows.

You can tell you’re in Glasgow when the local nursery looks like a prison.

My mother, unable to see anything wrong with the city of her birth, didn’t even notice the grills. She thought I was talking about those colourful railings! Even when I pointed out that I was on about about the windows she said, “They’re called vertical blinds.”

Earlier on, when I protested about being taken to Glasgow when I thought we were going to New Lanark, I said, “I only came along for the craic.” My brother piped up, “You’ll find plenty of that round here.”

All complaints should be addressed to onebrow.blogspot.com.

Update: I just remembered this conversation with my mother yesterday while we watched the news:

Reporting Scotland: Swords and machetes are to be banned from sale in Scotland blah blah…
Me: I thought that swords were already banned.
Mum: You can buy them in The Barras.
Me: Yeah, well I’m not surprised — it is Glasgow…

I seem to be having trouble posting a comment on Will’s blog, so I’ll say my bit here. He gives us advance warning that this week’s edition of Charlie Brooker’s Screen Wipe is a 50 minute long US edition, which means that it clashes with Time Trumpet! I wouldn’t have realised that!

Did they mention it at the end of last week’s Screen Wipe? I didn’t notice it. It’s pretty poor scheduling aswell. Surely there will be a lot of people who want to watch both Time Trumpet and Screen Wipe. I guess I’ll be watching the repeat of Screen Wipe then.

Update: Here is some related advice from Harry Hutton. Hear hear!

I can’t be arsed getting angry. But whilst terrorism is boring, civil liberties aren’t. So I’m just going to link to a lot of people who have got angry today. I did stick these on the linklog, but there were far too many good posts today so I thought I’d make a proper post to list them in.

• Bloggerheads (UK) - They’ll never take our freedaaaarrrgh!
• Europhobia: Oh, come on…
• Holyrood Chronicles: He postponed his holidays because of the crisis in Lebanon…
• Kitty Killer: Now is the time for salt, and pinching — What the media reported in the past during similar “security” “scares”
• Cage of Monkeys Weblog | Archived Entry | BE AFRAID, BE VERY AFRAID
• Coffee and PC: Abject terror — Is there ANYBODY who’s actually worried about terrorists rather than the government?
• Liberal England: John Reid: The cloven hoof pops out
  

  So [according to John Reid] the problems we face are the existence of politicians who disagree with the government, an independent judiciary and a free press. In short, the central institutions of a liberal democracy…

  This sounds so like a marxist patronising a liberal: Yes, elections and a free press and all that were imporant in their day, but time has moved on. It used to be poverty and the crisis of world capitalism that demanded we give up our freedoms. Today it is global terrorism.

  Whatever the supposed enemy, the conclusion is the same: Socialists hate freedom.

• Not Little England: Threats, attacks, terror and freedom

And some related light relief.

• whoopdedoo.net: A lot of people are having very dull flights today
• Chase me ladies, I’m in the cavalry: BRITISH AIRWAYS ARE A LEGITIMATE TARGET
• Boing Boing: Liquids on a Plane - aviation rules and Samuel Jackson
• 

Image via Fridgemagnet, which appears to be down… (Update: Don’t worry, it’s still on his LiveJournal.)

All-in-all then