Channel 5

Popular opinion seems to say that no-one ever watches Channel 5 (ok, that'll have changed in under a year . . . football . . . Thursday nights . . . Man. U . . . ITV must already be in tears) . . . but I digress.
Those US movies that they show on weekday afternoons: wouldn't it be an idea to show the first ten minutes, in which the conclusion becomes clear, then the last five, just to wrap things up and prove the point? God forbid it'd leave more time for their news broadcasts (as produced by Sky News, the most vulgar of news channels), the male presenter of which can't be arsed to wear a tie . . . and why ad breaks ten minutes into a movie? Need to adjust the aerial, I think . . .

9/11

To coin a phrase, it was one of those 'once-in-a-lifetime' moments . . . but you can't class a day as a moment? Or can you? I was in Germany that week, staying with relations near Hanover.
We'd spent the best part of three hours assembling a black ash computer desk for the kids, using the instructions which consisted of just line graphics with a few words of Italian . . . but we finished the task, and with a sense of accomplishment, cracked open a couple of well-deserved beers. As we raised our bottles, Stuart came in, with the seemingly unrelated words "Quick . . . TV . . . two planes . . . Sky". On went the TV, followed by what must have been 30 minutes of stunned silence . . . and the rest, as they say, is history. Has that really been 10 years today? Time is both our friend, and our enemy . . . God rest all those who perished that day.

The song remains the same . . .

I'm always interested in asking people "What was the first single you ever bought?" . . . The answers I've received in the past vary from the revelatory to the downright embarrassing! And then I thought: shouldn't it be mandatory that, at funeral services, the music should include the deceased's first single? This could prove reasonably appropriate under the circumstances . . . I've a friend in Bath whose first single was 'Touch Me' by Page Three 'stunna', Samantha Fox . . . well OK, but an open coffin would be an idea here . . . (no offence, Frank!).
   Consider this: someone in their teens in at the end of the present decade dies in the future, and cremation has been decided upon - and it just so happens that the song in question is 'Fire' by Kasabian . . .
isn't it great when a plan comes together??

Dinner Parties

I'm sure many of us have been asked the following question: "If you could invite six people, living or dead, to a dinner party, who would you choose?" (The most obvious smart-arsed answer would be 'living' - well, dead people tend to lack certain social skills . . .) . . . however, one of my guests would be Lee Harvey Oswald, for the sole reason that I'd be able to ask him the question "So, do you remember what you were doing on the day President Kennedy was shot . . .?" . . . I just think this might clear up a few issues, that's all . . .

With Christmas in mind . . .

Having worked during the 1980s for a Swindon company dealing with advertising agencies, I can appreciate the purpose of their trade, to coin a phrase, "the power of advertising" . . . so, here we are, in the middle of October and the commercial TV stations have inevitably started their insidious broadcasts of various retailers' seasonal adverts . . . but there are none more annoying than the major furniture retailers (who shall remain nameless - although that remains pretty obvious) . . .
   "Order Now In Time For Xmas!" - for f**k's sake, WHY? So, you've got your lovely new sofa ensconced in your lounge on Christmas morning - and one of the kids smears most of the contents of a selection box over it, because they're so excited that they can't shit! But it's begrudgingly cleaned up, in the spirit of the season . . . come Boxing Day, among your visitors is the relative of a friend who spills a drink . . . and so on, and so on: in the words of that Greg Lake song "The Christmas we get we deserve" - well, as inanimate as the sofa may be (unless it's on castors . . .), it's blameless . . . and the people who fall for this do get what they deserve . . . and, furthermore, why do WH Smith insist on still using Ruby Wax for voiceovers . . .?

Recycle often!

You'd think by now we'd have come to terms after years of recycling (kudos to the Germans on this one, they led the way some years ago - a far more people-friendly form of participating in the fate of the planet than instigating two World Wars!) that the planet is effectively screwed anyway . . .
   However, I do my bit like everyone else . . . every other Tuesday evening, the recycling bin gets religiously put out on to the pavement, waiting to be emptied in accordance with the council's policies the following morning. . .
   When this evening I went to bring the (empty?) bins in, one solitary wine bottle had not been collected: the screw-top had inadvertently been left on . . . silly of me, very remiss, I admit: but I surely can't be any more of a fuckwit than the person at the council who decides that such a bottle cannot be collected for recycling . . . it's enough to make me want to pay my council tax late (which I do
anyway)!

On the road . . .

. . . yet nothing to do with my raucous exploits with West Wilts' top light entertainment & pop combo: it's this - personalised number plates on cars . . .
   I've never really understood the need for these - are they a token of the owner's supposed wealth, or just something completely empty? I very often see a BMW driving around the area with plates that read D1JDE - looks like 'dude' (geddit?) - although when I see the person behind the wheel, perhaps he should get new plates that read C1JNT . . . or is that a little harsh?
  So, today at lunchtime, I'm strolling down Stallard Street, on my way to the TIC to do my usual Monday afternoon voluntary bit, when this vehicle passes by: a two-door saloon (didn't get the make) with the following plate: T4 PUS . . . why in God's name would anyone choose that? I've been chewing this over throughout the day . . . now, the driver was a middle-aged female, possibly named, let's say, Pamela Smith - OK, so that takes care of the 'P' and the 'S': can anyone think of a female Christian name that begins with 'U'? OK, maybe Una!!
  The point is this - so your personalised number plate says something about you . . . but a little more thought should have gone into this: after all, why would you choose letters that bring to mind acne . . .?