Friday, 30 May 2008
1. INT. A BUSY BUS.
A WHITE TEENAGE BOY GETS ON. HE'S CARRYING A LUDICROUSLY MASSIVE PILE OF EQUIPMENT. HE STRUGGLES DOWN BUS AND SITS ON BACK SEAT.
HE PICKS UP A MEGAPHONE AND SHOUTS ACROSS OTHER PASSENGERS TOWARDS THE WINDOW.
It's me. I's on me way now, innit.
PASSENGERS TUT, SHUFFLE.
OUT OF THE WINDOW WE SEE A SECOND TEENAGE BOY WITH MEGAPHONE.
2. EXT. A STREET CORNER.
THE SECOND TEENAGE BOY IS SHOUTING THROUGH HIS MEGAPHONE
SECOND TEENAGE BOY:
It's Lee. He's on his way now, innit.
WE PULL BACK TO SEE IN THE DISTANCE A THIRD TEENAGE BOY, ALSO SHOUTING THROUGH A MEGAPHONE.
THIRD TEENAGE BOY:
It's Lee. He's on . . .
3. INT. BUS.
(STILL SHOUTING) Yeah. Laters.
HE PUTS DOWN MEGAPHONE. PASSENGERS RELAX. THE BUS STOPS. A SWEATING, OUT-OF BREATH, MIDDLE-AGED MESSENGER JUMPS ONTO BUS. HE RUSHES UP TO TEENAGE BOY WITH A PIECE OF A4 PAPER.
PASSENGERS TUT AGAIN. TEENAGE BOY READS PAPER QUICKLY.
Gaylord. (PICKS UP OLD-FASHIONED HEAVY MANUAL TYPEWRITER AND TALKS AS HE'S TYPING) M8 r u having a laff. LOL. i said 2nite "colon P".
HE RIPS THE SHEET FROM THE TYPEWRITER AND HANDS IT TO THE MESSENGER. MESSENGER LEAPS OUT OF EMERGENCY EXIT DOOR.
SFX. SCREAMS AND SCREECHING BRAKES.
TEENAGE BOY PUTS DOWN TYPEWRITER. ALL IS CALM. CAMERA FOCUSES ON ONE PASSENGER RELAXING AGAIN.
LOUD CRACKLY SOUND OF COLE PORTER'S CHEEK TO CHEEK STARTS. PASSENGER ANGRILY TURNS ROUND.
TEENAGE BOY HAS AN OLD WIND-UP GRAMOPHONE. ITS TRUMPET IS PUSHING THE HEAD OF A SECOND PASSENGER AGAINST WINDOW.
(TO PASSENGER) What?
I bet that's exactly how it was.
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
They've invented a card that allows anyone to refuse treatment in a medical emergency. Here is the BBC banging on about it. Have a little read, by all means, then pop back.
What frankly worries me is that, by signing the card, you might be entering into a written contract. And they are very difficult to get out of.
I can imagine the scene. And here I am, imagining it . . .
EXT: An ambulance arrives at the scene of a road traffic accident. The driver has a nasty cut in his arm and is stuck behind the wheel.
PARAMEDIC 1: Hello, my name's Stephen. What's your name?
PARAMEDIC 1: Right, then, Tom. Let's see about getting you out of here. Ooh, bit of a nasty gash there.
DRIVER: Yes, it is a bit tender. (Laughs weakly)
PARAMEDIC 1: I bet. Right, oh, there's a bit of metal stuck in your thigh. Should be okay. Finbar! Tell the fire bobbies we'll need to cut him out.
PARAMEDIC 2 (who has been standing behind): Right you are, Stephen. (Walks off).
PARAMEDIC 1: Right, let's get that arm sorted out (opens medical bag).
PARAMEDIC 2 comes back
PARAMEDIC 2: What are you doing?
PARAMEDIC 1: I'm going to bandage him up, lest he bleed to an untimely death.
PARAMEDIC 2: (Sucks teeth) Have you checked his wallet?
PARAMEDIC 1: Yikes! Nearly forgot. Could have got into serious lumber. (Leans across DRIVER and pulls wallet from pocket).
PARAMEDIC 1: (Opens wallet) Just checking. (Pulls out card) Blimey! Cheers, Finbar, that was a close one!
PARAMEDIC 1: You've got one of those Right to Die cards. (He reads) STOP! I want to make an advance decision to refuse treatment. Look, you've signed your name here.
PARAMEDIC 1: (starts putting away bag) There you go. (hands back wallet and card) Well, good luck, Tom.
DRIVER: Hang on. I didn't mean . . . It's only a cut. I meant if I was unconscious.
PARAMEDIC 1: You will be in a minute, if that's any consolation.
DRIVER: Okay, okay, I'm giving you permission now. Treat me.
PARAMEDIC 1: Sorry mate, more than my job's worth. We put so much as a plaster on, and you're straight off to your brief to sue us.
DRIVER: But . . .
PARAMEDIC 2: He's right, mate. You say we've got permission now. But that's not going to stand up in court.
DRIVER: But . . .
PARAMEDIC 1: (Points at watch, clears throat) Finbar, Casualty.
PARAMEDIC 2: Tut, we'll miss the first five minutes. All the best, Tom.
PARAMEDIC 1: Yeah, cheers, Tom.
PARAMEDICS walk back to ambulance. They meet firefighters with cutting equipment and have a short discussion. Then all drive away.
You see, they've opened a can of worms there.
Monday, 19 May 2008
It's all very well the likes of me telling you all what I think about Gok Wan and plastic domes, but if it weren't for the plucky efforts of green eye-shaded editors and thrusting reporters with notebooks in their pockets the likes of me would be telling you all about the contents of my pockets, or wondering aloud why the alphabet is in the order it's in.
Now, one of the things about newspapers is that, when you're reading them in public, you are acting as an advert for the publication. You may think you're just sitting there reading, but you're not. Oh, no.
People, other people, are looking at the front page of your paper and thinking "Goodness me, Amy Winehouse looks a bit of a fright" or "Gosh, that's clever, the way they've used a picture of a sandal next to a twig to vividly depict the plight of the endangered Cambodian tiger under the headline In The Name Of All That's Holy . . . WHY?" (if you're reading The Independent).
"Gracious," the next thing they think is. "He/she is getting a top-quality news service from the Mirror/Times/Beanotown Echo. I must buy a copy myself, post haste." Then they pop to the shop and buy a paper and help in a small way to pay for the livelihood of journalists.
Of course, when we're all reading our news on our iPhones or Amazon Kindles or whatever other mad device they're about to dream up, how are the online newspapers going to advertise themselves? They can only coast on past reputation for so long. The hits will dry up, the advertisers will walk away and there'll be no news.
Blogs will be like this.
That would be a catastrophe. What we need is someone to come along and save the news and, by extension, the internet itself. That someone is me.
For a reasonable fee, payable by the world's various news organisations, I will employ a small army of professional Noseybonks (TM).
These ladies and gentlemen will travel on public transport, look over the shoulders of those using internet viewing devices, and shout out things like "This man is reading http://www.liverpooldailypost.co.uk/. It is a story about the trams." or "This lady is reading the Daily Mail. It is a story about how women should look nice and know their place."
"Goodness me," the other passengers would say, "I shall point my browser at that site straightaway." And the problem would be solved.
Now, I can hear the civil liberties lobby*. They're saying "What about civil liberties?" as is their wont. Fair enough, I say. What if somebody's reading http://www.ladiesintheirpants.co.uk/, or the Daily Telegraph? They won't want people shouting about it on the bus or train.
Simple, I will be supplying, for a reasonable fee, high-visibility yellow tabards, bearing the legend "I'm reading some questionable internet content". Then, if they're reading something a bit spicy, they can slip the tabard on and the Noseybonks (TM) will pass them by.
It would definitely work. I think I've been touched by genius.
*I can, too. Ironically I've bugged them.
Thursday, 15 May 2008
"It all started to go wrong when they brought in plastic domes."
Plastic domes - the proof that the West has become just that bit too decadent to survive.
I'm not talking about plastic domes in general. Some of them are good, although I can't think of any at the moment.
No, I'm talking about the clear plastic domes used to protect the whippy top of certain creamy drinks purchased from the likes of Costa and Starbucks. What sort of namby-pamby bum of a world is this where we manufacture these little domes because somebody who works in an accountant's office A) can't drink their coffee unless there's a dairy homage to Margaret Thatcher* on the top of it, and B) can't bear to see the wind take the top off it?
The ones you get on ice-cream cones in freezer cabinets are even worse. Who decided there was a need for whipped Cornettos? Who thought that Cornettos were too hard?
I hate the human race for this. Not all the human race, mind you, just the ones directly responsible for this and some of those indirectly responsible.
* She invented Mr Whippy ice-cream, you know. True fact. It's probably on Wikipedia.
Wednesday, 14 May 2008
But I now firmly believe his nudey show on the television is nothing but a sham and a fake and a sham. Last night's episode featured a young lady who, while a bit chunky in the thigh department, was too shy to wear a swimming costume in a swimming pool AND was an actress, to boot.
So, let me get this straight. A young lady who is too shy to wear a swimming costume in front of a hundred people, who thinks she looks like a pink blancmange, is not too shy to appear in the nip on a television programme watched BY MILLIONS.
And she's an actress. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I was given to understand that actors are rarely shy, owing to their having to appear on stage and television in front of lots of people. I would imagine shy people would be more drawn to jobs where they get to stand behind a screen or a pillar or something.
None of this adds up, does it? It's all a bit inconsistent. If I were a cynical man, I'd suggest that How To Look Good Naked is nothing more than an attempt by the filthmongers at Channel Four to get lady bumps and bottoms on television before 9pm.
If they're not trying to kill us, they're trying to corrupt us. They're probably doing it for a bet. I reckon Gok Wan isn't even in the gays.
I reckon if there's another series, they should be forced to get that Lucien Freud to present it. That should sort it all out.
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
If you want me to be accurate, I am working on a project in an office on my own so I won't be disturbed. It's been about a week now and I'm starting to crave human contact.
It turns out I might even like being disturbed. I even miss Fat Brian a bit.
Possibly it's the heat. There are certainly a lot of people walking past my window in skimpy clothes. It's as if they have never heard the expression "Cast ne'er a clout till May be out".
They're going to feel like big fools if it starts raining.
In fact, I hope it does rain. That'll teach them, the outside people, showing off with their "walking, not working."
Friday, 9 May 2008
The television channel Film4 is running a season of films which, it tells us, one has to see before one dies. The season starts with the Francis Ford Coppola film Apocalypse Now.
We can use that knowledge to live forever, as far as I can make out. If we do not see these films, we are literally unable to die.
It's a shame really, as some of them are quite good. If only it were films like Joe Versus The Volcano with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. That was rubbish. Although I have seen that, so perhaps it's a good thing it's not on the list.
What does get my goat is the fact that Film4 is irresponsibly showing these films. If the powers that be really cared, they'd just publish a list of the films to avoid. Instead, they are screening them, effectively encouraging suicide.
How dare they? How bloody dare they? I'm not sure about euthanasia, but I certainly don't think that publicly-funded bodies like Channel Four Television should involve themselves in the whole distasteful enterprise. They make me sick.
Thursday, 1 May 2008
Busier than a Dewsbury social worker.
Busier than Boris Johnson's apology speechwriter.
Busier than the bluebird of happiness alighting on Everton supporters this morning.
Busier than the pigeon of woe alighting on Liverpool supporters this morning.
Busier than Teresa in the canteen when Fat Brian's in work.
Busier than Justin Timberlake as he pops around the world bringing sexy back*.
Busier than the chap in our office who rolls his eyes and says "Cuh! That flipping Myleene Klass is in the blooming paper again" every time Myleene Klass is in the paper.I shall leave you with a thought. If Liverpool Football Club are serious about winning the Champions League again, they should change their name to "UEFA Champions League FC", thereby ensuring that their "name is on the cup" every year.
*Surely he must have finished by now. He's been at it for months.