I'm selling a cheap and cheerful guitar on EBay at the moment to raise some funds. Here's a genuine message exchange I've just had:
Hi...
Funny how time shows how the now legendary Japanese consistency of quality is really a very recent phenomenon.
I too had experience of the Sumbro brand in the early seventies (mainly SG copies) and while I have seen some nice examples subsequently, the dozen, or so I handled were assembled using what were without doubt the cheapest, nastiest, hardware fitted to any guitar at the time... The chrome on the pickup covers flamed off as they left he shop, the machine heads rattled when unstrung and the plywood bodies were as lively as concrete posts.
- b**dicus27
Dear b**dicus27,
Erm... thanks...
I would suggest not bidding then and perhaps making better use of your time? Write a novel perhaps? Break the elusive code in the Taman Shud case from Australia in the 1940s (Google it: well worth a read)?
Or better still, learn some manners maybe? Let me know if you ever put your house on the market and I'll pop over and point out faults in other people's guttering I have seen.
Regards,
Chris
Dear chris_summerlin,
Firstly, youll have to forgive the grammer and spelling, as this device has its own, strange predictive text system.
If you'd bothered to read my last message properly, you will see that I was remarking on the inconsistency regarding the quality of early 1970s Japanese manufacturing, while making it absolutely clear that the Sumbro guitars I came across after that dismally poor batch of a dozen, or so I had to sell were not of such a poor standard.
if youre going to spend your time exalting the quality of a marque in order to raise its standing in the eyes of those who know no better and may be about to give you money, and you actually care one jot about courtesy and manners, you should be prepared to be corrected and accept an equal amount of valid criticism when you perceive it instead of throwing a tantrum.
As for what I do with my time.... Not that it has anything to do with you...... If you believe it's wrong for me to point it out when someone makes blanket statements without giving a balanced view, then your opinion of what is and what isn't good manners requires serious adjustment.
My state of health means that I do indeed have too much time on my hands. I probably do spend too much time reading some of the drivel people write in heir listings and if you think that an Ill considered tirade from someone not even capable of reading a statement properly is likely to bother me more than an untreatable illness, your intellectual faculties are dismally lacking.
The only reason I took the time to read your listing is that I would have liked to have another 70s Gibson copy to go with my others, but I can honestly say that after your arrogant response to my previous message, I wouldn't buy a Gold plated Sheraton off you if it was advertised for free.
Don't bother replying, as I will delete any further communication from you without even reading it.
- b**dicus27
Dear b**dicus27,
Look pal - you messaged *me*. I answered. The listing says clearly what the pros and cons of the instrument are. Check my other sales of guitars - all positive feedback, all happy people, all fair prices. Hence this is 90 quid start, no reserve as opposed to the 250 quid or more that Sumbros, Mayas, CSLs, Kimbaras etc etc often get.
I *did* read your message carefully, it was speculating on the variable quality of these instruments. No question about the item, just a statement that somehow implies that I am being misleading in my description so excuse me if I failed to pick up on your interest. Fact is, I don't care about the variable quality of the instruments, I care about the quality of *this* particular instrument because that's the one I am selling. I'm not selling all of them ever made. I have described the quality more than adequately in the listing as opposed to "exalting" it. Warts and all with pictures to show them.
What you do with your time has everything to do with me if you spend it writing to me. Sorry to hear about your health but if you think that gives you carte blanche to be snooty about a listing for a 90 quid guitar, then I'd still recommend writing that novel I suggested - we all need to spend our time more wisely on this planet. Unfortunately, the internet is a handy distraction to that.
Sincere best wishes,
Chris
Auction is here if you want to critique my description too...
http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=290577836668&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT
Showing posts with label annoyance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label annoyance. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Open Letter To ITV
To: viewerservices@itv.com
To Whom It May Concern
I have now been alive for 9 World Cup Finals. 1978 and 1982 somewhat passed me by but I have vivid memories of the 1986 event and every subsequent competition since. What fun some of them have been with great ups and downs and wonderful shocks and surprises.
Yet, if there is one sure-fire dependable constant throughout it all (alongside England's expectation/achievement levels going further and further in opposite directions) it will be that your coverage of matches will be so uniformly numbskulled that, across the country, remote controllers will be hurled TV-ward in their millions. In some strange way it is almost comforting that, no matter how much cash you throw at your coverage, there will be several hundred moments in every game where I feel compelled to swallow my own tongue to put an end to the televisual experience being inflicted on me. You are always reliable. Like death, for example.
This year though, you really have outdone yourselves. Your coverage so far, especially the England v USA game, has far undercut even my own very, very slender expectations for your company's ability to organise the proverbial handjob in a knocking shop.
Firstly, the picture on standard ITV is a pixelated, shimmering whirlpool of confusion. I presume you're getting the pictures from local TV teams in the same way as the BBC? So why does ITV's coverage look like I am watching it on You Tube? On a phone. Behind frosted glass. With cataracts. I can only presume it's a cynical attempt to get us all to move onto your HD coverage instead.
It certainly worked here at any rate as myself and friends settled down with beers and crisps to watch England v USA on Saturday night on the HD channel. We are all hardened ITV watchers by now and know the subtle tricks needed to endure the 2 hours or so at the mercy of you hopeless goons.
Scientists would have a very good example of the theory of evolution in action if they just studied the relationship between the ear and brain of modern football fans in the UK. We have all developed a gland in the frontal region of our brains that allows us to filter out the sound of Clive Tyldesley and Andy Townsend and replace them with a gentle buzz. It used to be that we could just mute their inane chatter and listen to Radio 5 instead but digital TV's minor delay has put paid to that. So we struggle through.
Would it really be too much to ask for ITV to employ someone to commentate or comment on football who just does precisely that? Call me old-fashioned but my concept of a commentator is to give me an audio overview of proceedings with occasional tactical observations I myself would not have noticed or been knowledgable enough to pick up upon. I really don't need them to poetically set a scene for me or to stir my heart to action. I do not need wistful quips. I do not need musings on life delivered by a cretin. I just want to know, in as transparent manner as possible, what is happening on the pitch and, if possible, why.
This is especially crucial when the footage concentrates more on endless, very, very slow-motion replays of minor events than it does on what is actually happening in the now. I understand (or hope for you guys) that you have no control over the pictures as mentioned already. When the local producer chooses to give us a truly bizarre 30 second clip of David Beckham on the bench looking confused (more of an art film really than coverage of a football match), how about the commentary team do their job and let us, the confused people not present at the game like they are, know what is happening? I think that would be nice.
The quality of punditry and commentary on BBC is hardly perfect. Alan Hansen is the human embodiment of a very tighly clenched sphincter and Mark Lawrenson looks and acts like he's been poured into his seat like a Salvador Dali drooping clock with the demeanour of a sulky teenager but at least they offer some insight that is thankfully devoid of bullshittery.
And talking of the BBC, can you please point the ITV graphic design team in the direction of the BBC's visual presentation please? It seems like if there is an opportunity for over-design and over-complication where easy-to-read simplicity would do then ITV will grab it with both hands. The studio set resembles the results of someone shooting the contents of an abbatoir and a fireworks factory at the inside of a Portakabin with a cannon. Easy on the eyes it is not. Even the on-screen score looks like someone smeared a fly across the glass.
The pre-match build up: an hour and fifteen minutes of pure crud before the USA game. An hour and fifteen minutes. 75 minutes. 75 minutes of fluff and ad breaks. 75 minutes that make The Sun newspaper's football coverage look intelligent and insightful. And all of it looking like it was put together for GCSE Art & Design.
Of course I understand that the BBC have the advantage of not having to show adverts to pay for everything and the build-up gives you more ad break time. But do you have to cram quite so many into the programme? My urinary tract is trained to only tell the brain of impending flow issues when the little advert break thing flashes in the top corner. If I watch the full build-up and the match I'm taking a piss every 20 seconds. Perhaps says more about my age than anything but come on, help me out here. I fully expect you to have worked out a way of advertising mid-game by the time the next World Cup comes round. I look forward to it. In fact, it seems like you're already doing it but I'll get to that in good time.
I'm not even going to delve into the "James Corden Presents A Tribute To TFI Friday" programme where footballers, ex-footballers and popstars sat in the middle of a truly squirm-inducing hire-a-party staring vacantly into the middle distance, perhaps looking for their last shred of dignity as it disappeared over the horizon. Or perhaps their agent so they could dispense a swift and justified ass-kicking.
Anyway, I am sure you get my drift. My point is that we expect nothing less than a total joy vacuum from ITV's coverage. We expect it so much that we have developed ways of dealing with it that make it just about bearable. We have no option to watch it elsewhere so we are forced to watch it on ITV and like going to the dentist, or being bummed as payment for an unpaid debt to a loan shark, we can endure it for the greater good just as long as you give us the one thing crucial to watching live football: footage of the match as it happens. But no.
Minutes into the HD coverage of the England v USA game, ITV suddenly exceeded all known parameters of incompetency by switching to an ad break for Hyundai mid-match. The game eventually comes back on and England have scored in the meantime.
What is the meaning of this cruel joke? Was I part of a collective hallucination?
It appears not. I found myself surrounded by grown men in a state of confusion and hurt. A hurt swiftly replaced by anger, vows to never buy a Hyundai (as if it were their fault) and some very unsavoury statements about Mr Tyldesley's personal life that I am not proud of but endorse fully, even in the cold and calm light of day. And to make matters worse, we had to watch the rest of the game in standard jerky definition as the HD seemed to bite the dust with the unplanned ad break.
We can put up with the truly awful and unhelpful commentary; we can let the endless waffling pre-match build-up and punditry wash over us zen-like as though a cool untroubling breeze; we can take a slash in the ad breaks and maybe go to the fridge but for the love of God if you get one thing right just make sure it's showing the match. Please. I beg of you. The 2010 World Cup is now forever tarnished by my missing our country's opening goal. Like stepping in a dog egg on the way to a dinner date. No matter how good the dinner is and how well you clean yourself up, you always think in the back of your mind that you can still smell poo.
So, what I am suggesting is as follows: as penance for this heinous foul-up you do the right thing and hand over all broadcasting to the BBC.
Canvassing the football-watching public I doubt you would find one single person who would disagree with the inherent wiseness of this plan. It would have the added bonus of warming the public's collective heart towards ITV and perhaps you can bounce back from this and make some decent non-football-based televisual matter in the future.
I seriously fucking doubt it but, you know, you could.
I expect this to be implemented with immediate effect and look forward to your agreement on this important matter.
Yours Sincerely,
Christopher Summerlin.
To Whom It May Concern
I have now been alive for 9 World Cup Finals. 1978 and 1982 somewhat passed me by but I have vivid memories of the 1986 event and every subsequent competition since. What fun some of them have been with great ups and downs and wonderful shocks and surprises.
Yet, if there is one sure-fire dependable constant throughout it all (alongside England's expectation/achievement levels going further and further in opposite directions) it will be that your coverage of matches will be so uniformly numbskulled that, across the country, remote controllers will be hurled TV-ward in their millions. In some strange way it is almost comforting that, no matter how much cash you throw at your coverage, there will be several hundred moments in every game where I feel compelled to swallow my own tongue to put an end to the televisual experience being inflicted on me. You are always reliable. Like death, for example.
This year though, you really have outdone yourselves. Your coverage so far, especially the England v USA game, has far undercut even my own very, very slender expectations for your company's ability to organise the proverbial handjob in a knocking shop.
Firstly, the picture on standard ITV is a pixelated, shimmering whirlpool of confusion. I presume you're getting the pictures from local TV teams in the same way as the BBC? So why does ITV's coverage look like I am watching it on You Tube? On a phone. Behind frosted glass. With cataracts. I can only presume it's a cynical attempt to get us all to move onto your HD coverage instead.
It certainly worked here at any rate as myself and friends settled down with beers and crisps to watch England v USA on Saturday night on the HD channel. We are all hardened ITV watchers by now and know the subtle tricks needed to endure the 2 hours or so at the mercy of you hopeless goons.
Scientists would have a very good example of the theory of evolution in action if they just studied the relationship between the ear and brain of modern football fans in the UK. We have all developed a gland in the frontal region of our brains that allows us to filter out the sound of Clive Tyldesley and Andy Townsend and replace them with a gentle buzz. It used to be that we could just mute their inane chatter and listen to Radio 5 instead but digital TV's minor delay has put paid to that. So we struggle through.
Would it really be too much to ask for ITV to employ someone to commentate or comment on football who just does precisely that? Call me old-fashioned but my concept of a commentator is to give me an audio overview of proceedings with occasional tactical observations I myself would not have noticed or been knowledgable enough to pick up upon. I really don't need them to poetically set a scene for me or to stir my heart to action. I do not need wistful quips. I do not need musings on life delivered by a cretin. I just want to know, in as transparent manner as possible, what is happening on the pitch and, if possible, why.
This is especially crucial when the footage concentrates more on endless, very, very slow-motion replays of minor events than it does on what is actually happening in the now. I understand (or hope for you guys) that you have no control over the pictures as mentioned already. When the local producer chooses to give us a truly bizarre 30 second clip of David Beckham on the bench looking confused (more of an art film really than coverage of a football match), how about the commentary team do their job and let us, the confused people not present at the game like they are, know what is happening? I think that would be nice.
The quality of punditry and commentary on BBC is hardly perfect. Alan Hansen is the human embodiment of a very tighly clenched sphincter and Mark Lawrenson looks and acts like he's been poured into his seat like a Salvador Dali drooping clock with the demeanour of a sulky teenager but at least they offer some insight that is thankfully devoid of bullshittery.
And talking of the BBC, can you please point the ITV graphic design team in the direction of the BBC's visual presentation please? It seems like if there is an opportunity for over-design and over-complication where easy-to-read simplicity would do then ITV will grab it with both hands. The studio set resembles the results of someone shooting the contents of an abbatoir and a fireworks factory at the inside of a Portakabin with a cannon. Easy on the eyes it is not. Even the on-screen score looks like someone smeared a fly across the glass.
The pre-match build up: an hour and fifteen minutes of pure crud before the USA game. An hour and fifteen minutes. 75 minutes. 75 minutes of fluff and ad breaks. 75 minutes that make The Sun newspaper's football coverage look intelligent and insightful. And all of it looking like it was put together for GCSE Art & Design.
Of course I understand that the BBC have the advantage of not having to show adverts to pay for everything and the build-up gives you more ad break time. But do you have to cram quite so many into the programme? My urinary tract is trained to only tell the brain of impending flow issues when the little advert break thing flashes in the top corner. If I watch the full build-up and the match I'm taking a piss every 20 seconds. Perhaps says more about my age than anything but come on, help me out here. I fully expect you to have worked out a way of advertising mid-game by the time the next World Cup comes round. I look forward to it. In fact, it seems like you're already doing it but I'll get to that in good time.
I'm not even going to delve into the "James Corden Presents A Tribute To TFI Friday" programme where footballers, ex-footballers and popstars sat in the middle of a truly squirm-inducing hire-a-party staring vacantly into the middle distance, perhaps looking for their last shred of dignity as it disappeared over the horizon. Or perhaps their agent so they could dispense a swift and justified ass-kicking.
Anyway, I am sure you get my drift. My point is that we expect nothing less than a total joy vacuum from ITV's coverage. We expect it so much that we have developed ways of dealing with it that make it just about bearable. We have no option to watch it elsewhere so we are forced to watch it on ITV and like going to the dentist, or being bummed as payment for an unpaid debt to a loan shark, we can endure it for the greater good just as long as you give us the one thing crucial to watching live football: footage of the match as it happens. But no.
Minutes into the HD coverage of the England v USA game, ITV suddenly exceeded all known parameters of incompetency by switching to an ad break for Hyundai mid-match. The game eventually comes back on and England have scored in the meantime.
What is the meaning of this cruel joke? Was I part of a collective hallucination?
It appears not. I found myself surrounded by grown men in a state of confusion and hurt. A hurt swiftly replaced by anger, vows to never buy a Hyundai (as if it were their fault) and some very unsavoury statements about Mr Tyldesley's personal life that I am not proud of but endorse fully, even in the cold and calm light of day. And to make matters worse, we had to watch the rest of the game in standard jerky definition as the HD seemed to bite the dust with the unplanned ad break.
We can put up with the truly awful and unhelpful commentary; we can let the endless waffling pre-match build-up and punditry wash over us zen-like as though a cool untroubling breeze; we can take a slash in the ad breaks and maybe go to the fridge but for the love of God if you get one thing right just make sure it's showing the match. Please. I beg of you. The 2010 World Cup is now forever tarnished by my missing our country's opening goal. Like stepping in a dog egg on the way to a dinner date. No matter how good the dinner is and how well you clean yourself up, you always think in the back of your mind that you can still smell poo.
So, what I am suggesting is as follows: as penance for this heinous foul-up you do the right thing and hand over all broadcasting to the BBC.
Canvassing the football-watching public I doubt you would find one single person who would disagree with the inherent wiseness of this plan. It would have the added bonus of warming the public's collective heart towards ITV and perhaps you can bounce back from this and make some decent non-football-based televisual matter in the future.
I seriously fucking doubt it but, you know, you could.
I expect this to be implemented with immediate effect and look forward to your agreement on this important matter.
Yours Sincerely,
Christopher Summerlin.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
That Brass Band At England Games
My unbridled optimism going into the 2010 World Cup has surprised even me. As a matter of record, before the tournament starts, here's my prediction:
England are going to win the 2010 World Cup.
What's more, we're not going to deserve to. Not really anyway. We're going to witness a vast outpouring of years and years of accumulated good luck and we are going to take the trophy in the spawniest manner ever witnessed. It is going to be excellent.
I can't see anything getting in the way of this except for one ever-present beacon of shitness that ruins every single international game for me, sitting at home watching the TV with a Red Stripe. And I don't mean ITV broadcasting the game (though it frequently makes me want to eat my own ears).
No, I mean that FUCKING BRASS BAND.
A quick search of the net reveals them to be The Wednesday Band. So annoying that their own club (Sheffield Weds) had to take a poll to decide whether to ban them from their own games.
Perhaps if they learned the rest of The Self Preservation Society it might be tolerable. Or a harmony part to their new "hit" The A-Team Theme. But just repeating the same 4 or 5 note phrases over leaden drumbeats only serves as a reminder of how uncolourful and flairless our national side can frequently be and how Mum-and-Dad-with-a-packed-lunch the travelling support always appears.
So, I beg of you brass band, leave the instruments in England for this World Cup. Or, if you're the poor bastards who have re-mortgaged their house to be in S.Africa and you get sat next to them then do the decent thing and pass on the news that the whole of the country's genuine football fanbase wishes they would shut the fuck up and stop making us all look like retarded xenophobic hand-clapping monkeys. It's our surefire way to winning this thing.
COME ON ENGLAND!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
You Tube Dismay Pt 3
The 3rd in a series of ongoing pieces of research into the despair-inducing phenomenon of You Tube comments by the public. Eventually, the governments of the world are going to take away the democratic vote and the evidence they will give to prove that people are not responsible enough to make informed and intelligent decisions will be the comments found on You Tube. Mark my words.
Anyhow, here is Harvey Milk's lumbering, wonderful, strangely touching but extremely heavy song I Do Not Know How To Live My Life as audio only on the 'Tube:
And, like a morning on the toilet follows any truly excellent night out, here are some choice comments:
cyurisich (2 days ago)
damn, this is some seriously bad music
daltondeuce (1 month ago)
Yup..this sucks...
PunkOutProductions (1 year ago)
Creston Spiers is my best friend's dad her name is Audrey Spiers!
fraublucher (1 year ago)
Their music is fucking PHENOMENAL but the mush-mouth vocals get on my nerves after awhile. I like the guttural screaming it's just that he sounds like he has a speech impediment like Elmer Fudd sometimes.
GlowStormLion (1 year ago)
translating 'getting stoned' into sounds.... blasted!!
orangespear (10 months ago)
harvey milk are the best band that has ever existed period since The Smiths.
easeone2 (7 months ago)
The Smiths are just gay.
stjreid (5 months ago)
not sure how the smiths and harvey milk got compared to one another... the smiths was a europop band that was great during the eighties and Harvey Milk is a current awesome sludge band out of athens georgia... that's like comparing Depeche Mode to Crowbar or something...
Oh well. Watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XoYhwHu3mDk and remind yourself why You Tube can be good.
Anyhow, here is Harvey Milk's lumbering, wonderful, strangely touching but extremely heavy song I Do Not Know How To Live My Life as audio only on the 'Tube:
And, like a morning on the toilet follows any truly excellent night out, here are some choice comments:
cyurisich (2 days ago)
damn, this is some seriously bad music
daltondeuce (1 month ago)
Yup..this sucks...
PunkOutProductions (1 year ago)
Creston Spiers is my best friend's dad her name is Audrey Spiers!
fraublucher (1 year ago)
Their music is fucking PHENOMENAL but the mush-mouth vocals get on my nerves after awhile. I like the guttural screaming it's just that he sounds like he has a speech impediment like Elmer Fudd sometimes.
GlowStormLion (1 year ago)
translating 'getting stoned' into sounds.... blasted!!
orangespear (10 months ago)
harvey milk are the best band that has ever existed period since The Smiths.
easeone2 (7 months ago)
The Smiths are just gay.
stjreid (5 months ago)
not sure how the smiths and harvey milk got compared to one another... the smiths was a europop band that was great during the eighties and Harvey Milk is a current awesome sludge band out of athens georgia... that's like comparing Depeche Mode to Crowbar or something...
Oh well. Watch this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XoYhwHu3mDk and remind yourself why You Tube can be good.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Don't Trust Brainwashed
Brainwashed's End Of Year Poll results are in here: Clickety-click
Not only does the this-is-pretty-good-but-I-really-wish-it-was-better-I-mean-how-hard-can-it-be? Om record God Is Good make it to number 4 in the Top 10 Albums Of 2009 but Brainwashed reader Anthony D'Amico has this to say about Bellini's The Precious Prize Of Gravity:
"All I remember about this album is that I put it on for a couple minutes, shrugged, and turned it off."
Thanks for that Anthony.
Not only does the this-is-pretty-good-but-I-really-wish-it-was-better-I-mean-how-hard-can-it-be? Om record God Is Good make it to number 4 in the Top 10 Albums Of 2009 but Brainwashed reader Anthony D'Amico has this to say about Bellini's The Precious Prize Of Gravity:
"All I remember about this album is that I put it on for a couple minutes, shrugged, and turned it off."
Thanks for that Anthony.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
BE AFRAID!
Genuine headlines from the first issues of the Daily Mail and the Daily Express after Christmas Day. Everyone stay calm!
- BEWARE THE BOXING DAY PARKING LOTTERY
- NEW ICE BLAST ON THE WAY
- "YES, HE HAD HIS FAILINGS - NOT LEAST HIS OBSESSION WITH FALLEN WOMEN - BUT HOW BRITAIN NEEDS A LEADER OF GLADSTONE'S STATURE NOW"
- COMPENSATION CULTURE MAKES LOSERS OF US ALL
- BIN BULLIES' SECRET PLAN TO END WEEKLY RUBBISH COLLECTIONS
- OUTRAGE ON £250 TAX ON MOBILITY SCOOTERS
- SNOWBALL MURDER CHARGE
- REALITY TV GHOULS TARGET INJURED SOLDIERS
- VAT RISE COULD JEAPORDISE THE RECOVERY
- XMAS TRUCE? NO CHANCE...BUT EVEN THE TALIBAN CAN'T STOP US ENJOYING OUR TURKEY DINNER
- SEX ATTACKER, 11, SECRETLY SENT TO PRIMARY SCHOOL
- HEADS ENJOY 32K TRIP DOWN UNDER AND WE PAY
- A VERY YOBBY CHRISTMAS
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
FUCKING FUCKING FUCK
My lack of recent entries is down to moving house and the related internet set-up hassles that go with living on a road that's not actually a road (long story). I can deal with that. I can deal with the poorly insulated front room that's like a meat locker. I can deal with acid jazz floating in from next door. I can deal with all 200 of the neighbourhood cats using my lawn as a shitpot. I can deal with doing tons of DIY despite being awful at it. I can deal with paying for everything while my g/f goes to work but yet pays for fuck all. I can deal with having no fridge.
And so on.
But I couldn't deal with a central heating system that appears to have been designed by Laurel and Hardy. So I called out a heating engineer. He concluded that, whereas I picture a relationship with my boiler that involves cosy nod-offs on the sofa and strolling round the house in my pants in February, what is actually going to happen is either this:
or this:
Leading to it being turned off forever and stickered like this:
Leading to another December like this:
unless I can find enough of this:
to buy one of these:
Bah.
And so on.
But I couldn't deal with a central heating system that appears to have been designed by Laurel and Hardy. So I called out a heating engineer. He concluded that, whereas I picture a relationship with my boiler that involves cosy nod-offs on the sofa and strolling round the house in my pants in February, what is actually going to happen is either this:
or this:
Leading to it being turned off forever and stickered like this:
Leading to another December like this:
unless I can find enough of this:
to buy one of these:
Bah.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Lawyer Tone
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS CRAP?
Get back to the office lawyer-boy, your secretary has scheduled a meeting with the Good Taste Police for 3pm!
Monday, September 14, 2009
Hmmmm...
I've seen a few bits of illustration work that look ever so slightly like I might have done them but I'm always very wary of thinking it outright because the work I do is so small scale that I can't ever believe anyone would see any of it let alone be influenced by it in anyway. What I do is hardly unique either. But I can't help looking at the latest poster for comedian Jimmy Carr and wondering...
Thursday, September 03, 2009
TV Adverts
Working from home means sitting in front of Dave all day in my pants eating eggs. There, I admit it. It means I have become very familiar with TV advertising to the point where I can recite certain ads word for word. I'm not proud of this. Here are a few that have been making me consider a career change of late:
Glade Air Freshener
"I want to do a poo in Paul's bathroom"
"No problem kid. Here's what's going to happen. Fuck off to Paul's house and have a poo and then when you're done see if Paul's Mum will wipe your shitty arse because I seriously fucking doubt it"
Optimax Laser Eye Treatment
This one is on the Freeview channels more than Jeremy Clarkson and it makes me wish someone would invent the mind eraser from Men In Black so I could wipe clean each of the twenty thousand times I've heard this woman say:
"I really do just bang on about it to anyone"
Do you? Do you maybe stop to consider they might not care? Isn't talking wildly about one subject to anyone indiscriminantly a sure sign of impending madness?
Amazingly, I couldn't find it online, save for this You Tube clip that appears to have been made by someone I feel a deep kinship with.
Peter Halpin's Cornering Of The Market
I am sure Peter Halpin is a nice guy. I hold nothing against him. And I know that the people in adverts are actors and actresses, even the ones for washing powders that are filmed shakily to make it more 'real'. I understand that. But I see this guy so many times in a day that when I dream he's started taking the place of my Dad.
Actually I just found this: http://www.youtube.com/user/peterwhalpin
and within it this:
I take it all back. Has someone superimposed END DAYS over the top of this montage or am I seeing things?
Samsung
"Act like a cunt to whoever you meet as long as it benefits you". As though anyone anywhere is doing anything remotely constructive with any of the time they have gained back by using faster technology. We use Broadband and hi-speed communications in order that we can sit around doing nothing more often, complaining that we're bored. Fact.
And you know when an advertiser uses a regional accent it's to soften the blow of an evil message by making it more friendly, more down-to-earth. Until they start using Norfolk accents in adverts for any other reason than comedy, I will remain unconvinced.
Berocca
Hard day at the office advertising guys? How on Earth did you think of this? That awesome dance routine, with treadmills and a vaguely 80s style pop song? Oh wait a second...
If sitting around all day on the internet is what it takes to work in advertising then where's my job?
Grrrr. More soon. Unless I do get a job of course.
Glade Air Freshener
"I want to do a poo in Paul's bathroom"
"No problem kid. Here's what's going to happen. Fuck off to Paul's house and have a poo and then when you're done see if Paul's Mum will wipe your shitty arse because I seriously fucking doubt it"
Optimax Laser Eye Treatment
This one is on the Freeview channels more than Jeremy Clarkson and it makes me wish someone would invent the mind eraser from Men In Black so I could wipe clean each of the twenty thousand times I've heard this woman say:
"I really do just bang on about it to anyone"
Do you? Do you maybe stop to consider they might not care? Isn't talking wildly about one subject to anyone indiscriminantly a sure sign of impending madness?
Amazingly, I couldn't find it online, save for this You Tube clip that appears to have been made by someone I feel a deep kinship with.
Peter Halpin's Cornering Of The Market
I am sure Peter Halpin is a nice guy. I hold nothing against him. And I know that the people in adverts are actors and actresses, even the ones for washing powders that are filmed shakily to make it more 'real'. I understand that. But I see this guy so many times in a day that when I dream he's started taking the place of my Dad.
Actually I just found this: http://www.youtube.com/user/peterwhalpin
and within it this:
I take it all back. Has someone superimposed END DAYS over the top of this montage or am I seeing things?
Samsung
"Act like a cunt to whoever you meet as long as it benefits you". As though anyone anywhere is doing anything remotely constructive with any of the time they have gained back by using faster technology. We use Broadband and hi-speed communications in order that we can sit around doing nothing more often, complaining that we're bored. Fact.
And you know when an advertiser uses a regional accent it's to soften the blow of an evil message by making it more friendly, more down-to-earth. Until they start using Norfolk accents in adverts for any other reason than comedy, I will remain unconvinced.
Berocca
Hard day at the office advertising guys? How on Earth did you think of this? That awesome dance routine, with treadmills and a vaguely 80s style pop song? Oh wait a second...
If sitting around all day on the internet is what it takes to work in advertising then where's my job?
Grrrr. More soon. Unless I do get a job of course.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
You Tube 2
The second in an ongoing series of tremendous and inspiring You Tube videos juxtaposed with a genuine comment or comments posted about them by You Tube users.
jimmycage316 (2 months ago)
this is gay this faggit sounds nothin like arnie
mrbenholmes (2 years ago)
dude, good attempt but that is a shit arnie impression. Try harder, good concept but shit impresion. Do it again properly
kieren69 (2 years ago)
fuck off his arnie impression is the best on youtube. U aint got a clue pal
mrbenholmes (2 years ago)
As for you, keep liking ass & being an ignoramous that knows nothing of what he talks. Unless your talking about doing your mum as im sure you (and the entire navy) know a lot about that.Oh and why am i using swear words in an attack on you. Because you did.
mrbenholmes (2 years ago)
What the fuck would you know? Seriously? Are you an voice over artist? Probably not, am i YES. Get back in your hole dip shit. Its a good attempt.He does some difficult words but the structure of his impression isn't right. With more work he could do an awesome one. contd....
kieren69 (2 years ago)
lol u fuckin prick... ''the structure'' lol u aint got a fuckin clue u faggot. ''I'm a voice over artist'' are u fuck, your a little cunt who sucks his fathers cock.
mrbenholmes (2 years ago)
affraid its you who are the cock sucker, that is of course when your not doing you mountain gorrila mother in a 'kieren 69'. If you wana c whether im a 'lil cunt' or not i will happily meet up and kick the shit out of you... then cum over your mums face!
kieren69 (2 years ago)
anytime mate. Where ya from il kick the fuck out of you. Maybe you could do a little girls voice for when im stamping on your nugget head
mrbenholmes (2 years ago)
London, come down to peacocks kickboxing gym and i will happily slap the fuck out of you after a training sessoin.... dont worry i will go gently on you, not like i do when im ass fukin your mum
jimmycage316 (2 months ago)
this is gay this faggit sounds nothin like arnie
mrbenholmes (2 years ago)
dude, good attempt but that is a shit arnie impression. Try harder, good concept but shit impresion. Do it again properly
kieren69 (2 years ago)
fuck off his arnie impression is the best on youtube. U aint got a clue pal
mrbenholmes (2 years ago)
As for you, keep liking ass & being an ignoramous that knows nothing of what he talks. Unless your talking about doing your mum as im sure you (and the entire navy) know a lot about that.Oh and why am i using swear words in an attack on you. Because you did.
mrbenholmes (2 years ago)
What the fuck would you know? Seriously? Are you an voice over artist? Probably not, am i YES. Get back in your hole dip shit. Its a good attempt.He does some difficult words but the structure of his impression isn't right. With more work he could do an awesome one. contd....
kieren69 (2 years ago)
lol u fuckin prick... ''the structure'' lol u aint got a fuckin clue u faggot. ''I'm a voice over artist'' are u fuck, your a little cunt who sucks his fathers cock.
mrbenholmes (2 years ago)
affraid its you who are the cock sucker, that is of course when your not doing you mountain gorrila mother in a 'kieren 69'. If you wana c whether im a 'lil cunt' or not i will happily meet up and kick the shit out of you... then cum over your mums face!
kieren69 (2 years ago)
anytime mate. Where ya from il kick the fuck out of you. Maybe you could do a little girls voice for when im stamping on your nugget head
mrbenholmes (2 years ago)
London, come down to peacocks kickboxing gym and i will happily slap the fuck out of you after a training sessoin.... dont worry i will go gently on you, not like i do when im ass fukin your mum
Friday, June 12, 2009
You Tube
The first in an ongoing series of tremendous and inspiring You Tube videos juxtaposed with a genuine comment or comments posted about them by You Tube users. When the aliens land and take Earth to some universe-court-of-law (I imagine it to be like the futuristic chamber in Bill & Ted) then You Tube comments will be Exhibit A in the case for the mass cull of humankind. Anyway, I give you Washington DC's Nation Of Ulysses performing in DC in 1991 as a 4 piece without Steve Kroner who had been packed off to do medical experiments*:
biggayUtube (8 months ago)
Where's all the fucking dancing and good times and subversively making out promised in their album cover screeds? It's just a bunch of too-cool shy kids standing still and watching a ponce fall down.
* Possible fib.
biggayUtube (8 months ago)
Where's all the fucking dancing and good times and subversively making out promised in their album cover screeds? It's just a bunch of too-cool shy kids standing still and watching a ponce fall down.
* Possible fib.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Actual Conversation
Overheard at a gig...
Band member: "Hey man, have you got any jams?"
Promoter: "What?"
Band member: "You know, like, jams. That you could, you know, play before we play?"
Promoter: "What?"
Band member: "You know, like, jams. Party jams. That you could, you know, like, play over the you know, like, system before we play"
Promoter: "Oh. Like what?"
Band member: "You know, like, jams"
Promoter: "Such as?"
Band member: "Oh. Like, anything really".
Band member: "Hey man, have you got any jams?"
Promoter: "What?"
Band member: "You know, like, jams. That you could, you know, play before we play?"
Promoter: "What?"
Band member: "You know, like, jams. Party jams. That you could, you know, like, play over the you know, like, system before we play"
Promoter: "Oh. Like what?"
Band member: "You know, like, jams"
Promoter: "Such as?"
Band member: "Oh. Like, anything really".
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Monday, June 01, 2009
Ultrapenis
Having promoted gigs since the late 90s, I've noticed a few changes to the way things work with bands coming over from the USA. It used to be that the bands were largely the same as me, they were involved in similar exploits to me back in their hometown and it had the cosy feeling of camaraderie.
Then the booking agents got more plentiful and the guarantees got more unrealistic. Then the bands themselves started seeming like alien creatures who no-one could relate to operating in microcosms of the larger mainstream rock industry.
Somewhere along the line of ATP reformations, NME-covered guerilla gigs and 'emotional hardcore' becoming the musical norm, the tag "DIY" has shifted from meaning "do it yourself" to being more of a term of description for a musical style or, worse still, a type of dress. If this all makes me sound like an old fucker then fair enough.
The economic climate and the way money is made from music means that bands can't live off touring and recording anymore. And by 'live' I mean make a minimum wage, barely. So the bands that tour are people with some financial security and it's fucking the music world right up. Because of the intense documenting of behaviour that the internet affords, gigs become almost tribute nights. Even the photographers at the front are there to replicate something they already saw from a gig that already happened. Couple this to only seeing bands who are fortunate to be able to afford to live out fantasies of bands they liked when they were growing up and you can work out why I'm grumpy.
Worst of all is American bands using the DIY network to further their own asses. The worst of the bunch is Wavves. Maybe I misread them? Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick? Could be.
But read this:
"I think in the back of my head I knew I wasn't exactly mentally healthy enough to continue to tour the way I have been since February. Honest truth is this has all happened so fast and I feel like the weight of it has been building for months now with what seems like a never ending touring and press schedule which includes absolutely zero time to myself. I'm sorry to everyone who has put effort into this and to everyone who supported me. Mixing ecstasy valium and xanax before having to play in front of thousands of people was one of the more poor decisions I've made(duh) and I realize my drinking has been a problem now for a good period of time. Nothing else I can do but apologize to everyone that has been affected by my poor decision making. I made a mistake. Not the first mistake I've made and it for sure wont be the last. I'm human. Don't know why I chose the biggest platform I could imagine to loose my shit, but that's life. You live and you learn."
and tell me you don't want to punch the face right off this overpriviliged, typically-American little whiner.
Then the booking agents got more plentiful and the guarantees got more unrealistic. Then the bands themselves started seeming like alien creatures who no-one could relate to operating in microcosms of the larger mainstream rock industry.
Somewhere along the line of ATP reformations, NME-covered guerilla gigs and 'emotional hardcore' becoming the musical norm, the tag "DIY" has shifted from meaning "do it yourself" to being more of a term of description for a musical style or, worse still, a type of dress. If this all makes me sound like an old fucker then fair enough.
The economic climate and the way money is made from music means that bands can't live off touring and recording anymore. And by 'live' I mean make a minimum wage, barely. So the bands that tour are people with some financial security and it's fucking the music world right up. Because of the intense documenting of behaviour that the internet affords, gigs become almost tribute nights. Even the photographers at the front are there to replicate something they already saw from a gig that already happened. Couple this to only seeing bands who are fortunate to be able to afford to live out fantasies of bands they liked when they were growing up and you can work out why I'm grumpy.
Worst of all is American bands using the DIY network to further their own asses. The worst of the bunch is Wavves. Maybe I misread them? Maybe I got the wrong end of the stick? Could be.
But read this:
"I think in the back of my head I knew I wasn't exactly mentally healthy enough to continue to tour the way I have been since February. Honest truth is this has all happened so fast and I feel like the weight of it has been building for months now with what seems like a never ending touring and press schedule which includes absolutely zero time to myself. I'm sorry to everyone who has put effort into this and to everyone who supported me. Mixing ecstasy valium and xanax before having to play in front of thousands of people was one of the more poor decisions I've made(duh) and I realize my drinking has been a problem now for a good period of time. Nothing else I can do but apologize to everyone that has been affected by my poor decision making. I made a mistake. Not the first mistake I've made and it for sure wont be the last. I'm human. Don't know why I chose the biggest platform I could imagine to loose my shit, but that's life. You live and you learn."
and tell me you don't want to punch the face right off this overpriviliged, typically-American little whiner.
Ouch
Just got back from a week in Les Forges, near Poitiers, in France.
It was a week of excellent tranquility with one exception. After an evening spent exploring meadows, petrified forests, pastures, woods, lakes and the like, I settled down to watch a James Bond film only to suddenly feel a very painful concentrated pinch to the base my erm... "chap". It was enough to make me jump. I feared a pube entanglement until a repeat occurrence sent me scurrying to the loo to check inside my shorts.
Good job I did because one of these was clamped onto my groin:
I had no fucking clue what it was and immediately dissolved into a liquid-like mess of panic based around the quite reasonable assumption that this spider/scorpion thing had just laid it's eggs in my penis. This panic was enhanced by the discovery that not only had whatever it was bitten me, it was hanging on for dear life too. It took me about 3 goes to detach it from my flesh and then throw it down the sink like a big girl before whimpering at the sight of two freshly bleeding teeth marks in my youknowwhat.
Turns out it was a Tick; an external parasite that lives off the blood of mammals. They like woodland areas, especially those with deer and human track areas. They like humid, slightly damp conditions and they basically hang around waiting for something nice and living to be a host for them. The warmth emitted from my flowing short leg was enough to convince this one that my genitals were prime Tick real estate. I'm flattered.
The bad news is they carry all kinds of fucking hideous diseases (mainly Lyme Disease) and there are horror stories online of people being paralysed or going mad as a result of an untreated bite.
The good news is they can sometimes hang about on you for over a day without you noticing and can be next-to-impossible to detach after getting this comfy so good job it chose a particularly sensitive spot to sink itself in and I managed to get rid of it within a few minutes.
Pleased to report no side effects, temperature, swelling or mentalism as yet. Will update with any breaking developments.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Sleep Paralysis
I'm off on holiday to France tomorrow for a week. It's the first non-musical, non-friend-visiting holiday I've taken in I don't know how long.
Now, I'm not exactly a workaholic but then again I'm also not adverse to pulling an all-nighter if the occasional job requires it.
Unfortunately for me, it seems the first couple of weeks of this month have been the busiest time in recent memory and so the occasional all-nighter has turned into "practically no sleep for nearly 3 weeks".
A sudden barrage of artwork jobs (to be posted soon once the proofs are approved by the people approving them) took me by surprise. Then there was the sorting out for Lords playing at ATP to erm... sort out. Then, to our surprise, we managed to score a record and publishing deal with Felix and being managerless I had to take a crash course in "spotting hidden clauses". Luckily, we seem to have associated ourselves with two of the best in the business.
I then finally plucked up the courage to go to the dentist after 10 years and the diagnosis wasn't as bad as I expected. Turns out my cracked and crumbling teeth aren't because I'm rotting from the inside out but are instead down to grinding them in my sleep. Stressed? You bet.
I made a few quick runs to get some as-yet-unprinted poster designs printed and managed to fit in a Felix photoshoot for the album on the way in Milton Keynes or thereabouts. This was immediately followed by a back-and-forth batch of emergency Lords practises in Leeds.
Just as I sensed critical mass approaching, it was time for ATP which was essentially a 3 day bender in the middle of which we apparently played a gig.
Because I hadn't seen enough bands, I booked a ticket for The Jesus Lizard's London show on the Monday after ATP. I didn't think it through. I went to bed at something like 5am on Sunday, got up at 9 to drive back to Nottingham via first Kenilworth and then Burton to drop passengers off. As soon as I got back to Nottingham I met Hoppy from Stage Blood and then met up with Paul Crick who was kindly driving us down. I felt like Ray Liotta in Goodfellas in the scene where he's making dinner for everyone whilst simultaneously being tailed by the police helicopter. But without the cocaine. The only way to deal with it was to crack open a beer in the car.
It was a long day to put it mildly. The only person who looked more tired than I felt was Creston Spiers whose amplifier seemed to have been built to further compound his situation and instead of emitting the sound of absolute rock thunder instead emitted an apologetic cough that accurately summed up the inside of my head.
I got in at about 4am like a zombie and went to bed. I cannot describe how much I was looking forward to going to sleep and that's exactly what I did.
Shortly afterwards I was woken up by what I though was a car outside my window. I remember I could hear the stereo playing Derby radio station Ram FM really loudly. The car lights shone through my blinds onto my wall. I opened my eyes and felt a bit weird. The presence of the car made me really agitated. My gut instinct was that I had to sit up and see what was going on.
But I couldn't.
I could look around though. I could see what was happening but no matter how hard I tried to move (and trust me, I tried hard) I couldn't do it. It was like the moments in dream where you want to scream but can't. But I was awake.
As suddenly as it happened, I was able to move as per normal and when I sat up and put the light on there was no car. No lights. Just my room.
I drifted off again. What seemed like a few minutes later I heard the stairs creak from over my shoulder. I figured Hoppy, who was staying over, was going for a piss. Then I heard the door handle to my room go and someone come in. This completely freaked me out. I was exasperated and wanted to sleep and still a little unnerved by the car incident anyway and then I found I was locked still again. This time was worse as I was sure someone was in the room. I concentrated my efforts to move out of the paralysis but I couldn't do it until suddenly I broke free like before to find no-one was there and my room was normal.
I shit you not, this then happened about 5 times in the space of what seemed like an hour. I almost got used to it.
The following day I looked it up online and it's known as Sleep Paralysis. Essentially it's when the brain chemicals that shut your body down and your waking senses aren't in harmony and your mind wakes up before the rest of you.
It's mentioned in folklore from around the world with fascinating consistency and has even been used to explain away the generic out-of-body alien abduction experience. I can see that. I seem to remember having similar confusing experiences as a kid too.
It may even explain away my broken teeth.
Apparently, it happens a lot to people who are severely sleep deprived which figures.
Thankfully, it's not happened since then but I have still been up until godknowswhen each night trying to finish things off for deadlines. For example, last night I was up till 3am putting the finishing touches to a poster and then today we recorded 2 songs with Lords starting at 10am in Derby, not counting the time it takes to load all my stupid amps into a car and drive there. Which I had to do slowly as I got a speeding ticket last week too.
So, in essence: FUCK THIS.
If you want me for the next week then; tough shit: I'm on holiday.
Now, I'm not exactly a workaholic but then again I'm also not adverse to pulling an all-nighter if the occasional job requires it.
Unfortunately for me, it seems the first couple of weeks of this month have been the busiest time in recent memory and so the occasional all-nighter has turned into "practically no sleep for nearly 3 weeks".
A sudden barrage of artwork jobs (to be posted soon once the proofs are approved by the people approving them) took me by surprise. Then there was the sorting out for Lords playing at ATP to erm... sort out. Then, to our surprise, we managed to score a record and publishing deal with Felix and being managerless I had to take a crash course in "spotting hidden clauses". Luckily, we seem to have associated ourselves with two of the best in the business.
I then finally plucked up the courage to go to the dentist after 10 years and the diagnosis wasn't as bad as I expected. Turns out my cracked and crumbling teeth aren't because I'm rotting from the inside out but are instead down to grinding them in my sleep. Stressed? You bet.
I made a few quick runs to get some as-yet-unprinted poster designs printed and managed to fit in a Felix photoshoot for the album on the way in Milton Keynes or thereabouts. This was immediately followed by a back-and-forth batch of emergency Lords practises in Leeds.
Just as I sensed critical mass approaching, it was time for ATP which was essentially a 3 day bender in the middle of which we apparently played a gig.
Because I hadn't seen enough bands, I booked a ticket for The Jesus Lizard's London show on the Monday after ATP. I didn't think it through. I went to bed at something like 5am on Sunday, got up at 9 to drive back to Nottingham via first Kenilworth and then Burton to drop passengers off. As soon as I got back to Nottingham I met Hoppy from Stage Blood and then met up with Paul Crick who was kindly driving us down. I felt like Ray Liotta in Goodfellas in the scene where he's making dinner for everyone whilst simultaneously being tailed by the police helicopter. But without the cocaine. The only way to deal with it was to crack open a beer in the car.
It was a long day to put it mildly. The only person who looked more tired than I felt was Creston Spiers whose amplifier seemed to have been built to further compound his situation and instead of emitting the sound of absolute rock thunder instead emitted an apologetic cough that accurately summed up the inside of my head.
I got in at about 4am like a zombie and went to bed. I cannot describe how much I was looking forward to going to sleep and that's exactly what I did.
Shortly afterwards I was woken up by what I though was a car outside my window. I remember I could hear the stereo playing Derby radio station Ram FM really loudly. The car lights shone through my blinds onto my wall. I opened my eyes and felt a bit weird. The presence of the car made me really agitated. My gut instinct was that I had to sit up and see what was going on.
But I couldn't.
I could look around though. I could see what was happening but no matter how hard I tried to move (and trust me, I tried hard) I couldn't do it. It was like the moments in dream where you want to scream but can't. But I was awake.
As suddenly as it happened, I was able to move as per normal and when I sat up and put the light on there was no car. No lights. Just my room.
I drifted off again. What seemed like a few minutes later I heard the stairs creak from over my shoulder. I figured Hoppy, who was staying over, was going for a piss. Then I heard the door handle to my room go and someone come in. This completely freaked me out. I was exasperated and wanted to sleep and still a little unnerved by the car incident anyway and then I found I was locked still again. This time was worse as I was sure someone was in the room. I concentrated my efforts to move out of the paralysis but I couldn't do it until suddenly I broke free like before to find no-one was there and my room was normal.
I shit you not, this then happened about 5 times in the space of what seemed like an hour. I almost got used to it.
The following day I looked it up online and it's known as Sleep Paralysis. Essentially it's when the brain chemicals that shut your body down and your waking senses aren't in harmony and your mind wakes up before the rest of you.
It's mentioned in folklore from around the world with fascinating consistency and has even been used to explain away the generic out-of-body alien abduction experience. I can see that. I seem to remember having similar confusing experiences as a kid too.
It may even explain away my broken teeth.
Apparently, it happens a lot to people who are severely sleep deprived which figures.
Thankfully, it's not happened since then but I have still been up until godknowswhen each night trying to finish things off for deadlines. For example, last night I was up till 3am putting the finishing touches to a poster and then today we recorded 2 songs with Lords starting at 10am in Derby, not counting the time it takes to load all my stupid amps into a car and drive there. Which I had to do slowly as I got a speeding ticket last week too.
So, in essence: FUCK THIS.
If you want me for the next week then; tough shit: I'm on holiday.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Inevitable pre-gig activity
Transcript of text message conversation between myself and friend prior to last Friday's Stage Blood gig in The London:
14.14
Rachel: "Do you know what time you're playing later?"
14.15
Me: "I think we are second so half nine I would guess? Its all a bit vague though we are absolutely ready to rock so do come along"
14.16
Rachel: "I'm trying to, promised to do 2 other things already so sorting out order to do them in"
19.26
Rachel: "Any update on time? Trying to work out if it's worth me doing my "before" thing."
19.26
Me (by now stuck deep in London traffic in the van): "Not there yet. Of course its worth it. We've driven from scotland!"
19.27
Rachel: "I meant the pre-gig thing. What's the door tax?"
19.30
Me: "No idea I am afraid. Not much of a clue about anything apart from our rockness"
20.13
Rachel: "Any news on times?"
20.13
Me: "We are on at 9.30"
20.20
Rachel: "Oh Crap. Is there a chance of running late? We always put folk on at least quarter of an hour after we say we will, so hoping other people are the same..."
20.31
Me: "A little bit late yes. It's 4 quid. Now stop texting me and get ready to go out. Get andy to drive!"
20.33
Rachel: "Andy's gone out somewhere else and i'd have to leave the house 10 ins ago to get there on time"
20.33
Me: "Get on with it then!"
20.35
Rachel: "Think I may have to crap out"
20.42
Rachel: "Balls. Tried anyway. Just missed bus. It's 12 mins to the next one and an hour once I'm on it so i should arrive just as you're finishing. Therefore I shall fuck off to the work thing I was planning to blow off. Very sorry. I'm sure you rule."
20.50
Me: "After all that... If you'd spent as much time getting ready as you did texting me..."
20.51
Rachel: "Well you know, i'm a twat, what can i say?"
To conclude: if you feel like repeating any aspect of this text message nightmare with me (or in fact anyone, anywhere, in any band in a van stressing to get to any gig on time) then here is the default answer:
"I don't know when we're on. It starts at 8.30 like most gigs and it's not more than £6."
14.14
Rachel: "Do you know what time you're playing later?"
14.15
Me: "I think we are second so half nine I would guess? Its all a bit vague though we are absolutely ready to rock so do come along"
14.16
Rachel: "I'm trying to, promised to do 2 other things already so sorting out order to do them in"
19.26
Rachel: "Any update on time? Trying to work out if it's worth me doing my "before" thing."
19.26
Me (by now stuck deep in London traffic in the van): "Not there yet. Of course its worth it. We've driven from scotland!"
19.27
Rachel: "I meant the pre-gig thing. What's the door tax?"
19.30
Me: "No idea I am afraid. Not much of a clue about anything apart from our rockness"
20.13
Rachel: "Any news on times?"
20.13
Me: "We are on at 9.30"
20.20
Rachel: "Oh Crap. Is there a chance of running late? We always put folk on at least quarter of an hour after we say we will, so hoping other people are the same..."
20.31
Me: "A little bit late yes. It's 4 quid. Now stop texting me and get ready to go out. Get andy to drive!"
20.33
Rachel: "Andy's gone out somewhere else and i'd have to leave the house 10 ins ago to get there on time"
20.33
Me: "Get on with it then!"
20.35
Rachel: "Think I may have to crap out"
20.42
Rachel: "Balls. Tried anyway. Just missed bus. It's 12 mins to the next one and an hour once I'm on it so i should arrive just as you're finishing. Therefore I shall fuck off to the work thing I was planning to blow off. Very sorry. I'm sure you rule."
20.50
Me: "After all that... If you'd spent as much time getting ready as you did texting me..."
20.51
Rachel: "Well you know, i'm a twat, what can i say?"
To conclude: if you feel like repeating any aspect of this text message nightmare with me (or in fact anyone, anywhere, in any band in a van stressing to get to any gig on time) then here is the default answer:
"I don't know when we're on. It starts at 8.30 like most gigs and it's not more than £6."
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