Gift-Wrapped Kitty Cats.

We went to see Girls Aloud!

There was:

• Boobies and legs. Legs more so. There was quite a bit of arse too. Obviously no crack, that would just be vulgar. But they wore short shorts.
  
• Live singing. Ooh er... But no! They pulled it off really well. Some bits were so good that I thought they'd started to mime, only for the odd missed line to reassure me they hadn't.
• Some nonsense at the very beginning involving an unconvincing mad scientist (i.e. a 20 year old dancer in a wig) "creating girls aloud". Apparently this was like Weird Science. I didn't know what that was. Dan told me off.
  
• Cheryl Tweedy's magic debut, where she disappeared into thin air. Seriously! Debbie McGee can fuck right off.
• A cover of I Predict A Riot which quite non-literally kicked the Kaiser Chiefs in their nutsacks. Even though "to borrow a pound for a bus-stop" sounds shit. Speaking of which, they actually sung "shit" during No Good Advice. How edgy.
  
• The unsubtlety of Cheryl Tweedy - "Aww look at yas all. We love ya with all ya merchandise."
• Wake Me Up hair swishing that could have had your eye out.
  
• The realisation that I know every single word to virtuaally every Girls Aloud song.
  
• Two girl bands as support acts. Possibly actors paid by the record company to make us appreciate The Aloud even more.
• A frankly brilliantlyshit backing video for I'll Stand By You - featuring individual zoom into close-up and panning shots of each girl - where Nicola looked disabled.
  
• Sarah totally kicking the other girls' asses in the best hair awards. Nadine had a Something-About-Mary-jizz-fringe to accompany her £3.50 Boots blonde dye job, and Kimberley had just had a bath with a toaster.
• Lots of cheering from me whenever Nicola was shown.
  
• Dancing druid monks!
• Confetti! Fireworks! Shiney-bright lights! Dry ice! Catwalk! Trapdoors! Buff dancers! Lab coats!
  
• Generally great choreography. Especially for Waiting. Although having to hold microphones meant there was no cat move during Love Machine. Sob.
  
• A graveyard of an audience. Everybody seemed funfilled, yet still remained seated. Fools. This meant I was regulated to dancing like a quadriplegic, though I obviously got up and did the obligatory jumps during Jump. I soon sat down when I realised it was just me and the comedy gay next to me in our whole block.
  
• A musicals medley (Fame! Flashdance! Footloose!).

There was no:

• Political messages.
  
• Songs being sung by the folk who'd written them.
  
• Drabness.
• Tawdry "let's split the audience up into two parts and see who can cheer the loadest" competition.
  
• Life Got Cold.
  
• Swinging London Town
  

Hooray x 5. Booo x 1. (Respectively.)


So all in all, it was a bit well good.


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How can the light that burned so brightly, suddenly burn so pale?

It does seem quite absurd for me to cover a second animal burial in the space of about 3 days, but I thought I should mark the passing of a member of the family. Any more though and I will have to change the name of this place to "The Pet Cemmetry".

Yes, Tonto Thebunny King - beloved pet of however many years it's been now - died yesterday of death. He passed on in his winter run surrounded by lots of grass. We don't think he suffered.

It is true that we never really saw eye to eye, after the unfortunate biting Gareth incident that led to him being left outside with the foxes all night, but only a few weeks ago we agreed to put it all behind us when I took him a bit of toast and some tasty salad.

Last night at 8:45 me and the old man gave him a non-commital burial service. Due to immense grief and the fact that it was a bit nippy out, my mum elected not to attend.

I wore black and held a candle, which the wind blew out the moment Tonts' body was placed in his grave (a nice spot in his extended summer run, where he spent many a happy sunny day). We then played, rather ironically at this point, Candle In The Wind and disbanded.

I've been to a few funerals, and of all the dead rellies I've seen buried, this was by far the most moving.

RIP Tonto a.k.a. Tonts a.k.a. Mr Bunnikins a.k.a. The Rabbit a.k.a. That Hairy Little Fucker Who Bit Me a.k.a. "Oooh you've still got Oakley?" "Oh no no no, that's Tonto. Oakley got killed by a stray dog years ago".

You will be missed.


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Eebie Jeebies

I'm about 4.

This is evident in my reading patterns, with my magazines of choice mainly being Doctor Who Adventures and whichever poprag has Girls Aloud on the front. I also came out of Waterstones the other day clutching a fresh copy of Mr Bump (coz we never found our original copy) and a Charlie & Lola sticker book, which just so happens to be my favouritest programme of the moment.

Of course this can all be attributed to an interest in childrens things (most definitely not in the aging-rockstar-panting-at-a-computer-screen sense) since they're so much cooler, simpler, funnier and generally happier than the stuff for my age group. Perhaps there's also some retardation of my mind that has stopped it progressing in some areas since reception, a bit like Michael Jackson. But again, to reiterate, I AM NOT A NONSE.

More worryingly, it has come to my attention that I'm a proper wimp. Take last night for instance. There's a programme called Supernatural, about some ridiculously fit brothers, who it's still nice to think are going at it, driving around America in an old car fighting various demons and generally scary fuckers. Despite being brilliantly-pap, I've only ever watched it twice due to its awkward scheduling. Both times however it has scared me shitless.

Last night it was about some sort of evil Doctor-witch-demon who comes through your window at night and feeds on you. As a result I had about two hours less sleep, lying in my room with a lamp on, curled up in a phoetal position so nothing could get to me. Plus when I was watching it I had to turn a light on and keep looking behind me at 30 second intervals. The same thing happened when I saw an eppy a month or so back, along with whenever I watch Crimewatch. Or when I read Voldemort-heavy chapters of Harry Potter. This isn't normal, right?

I suppose it's another reason why I should stick to pre-school shows. I'm sure it's irresponsible broadcasting though. If the TV studios are ganna keep unleashing evil threats into my paranoid mind, they could at least send the aforementioned brothers round with their big guns to protect me.


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It's all abaat faaam-lee.

On Sunday I was dragged to a family do-thing, because my rents reckon that "Gareth's at Uni working hard" only works as an excuse to get out of it when I actually am at Uni. Which is just a technicality.

I always hate these things. They tend to be so sedate, yet rigidly pompous with a hint of smugness thrown in for good measure. Plus I have to dress up smart. And I don't do smart.

Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of my family I like. It's just that these tend to be the younger generations and not the fossils who are in charge. I have absolutely nowt in common with them, and am never keen on the way that they like to point out what a dissapointment I am to them, before finding me little jobs to do around the house. I do quite well at avoiding them though, as I hadn't seen my grandparents in a good 2 years.

In the end it wasn't as bad as I expected. Age seems to have softened Granny and Grandad a bit, terrible for them but great for us. It means that Granny has gone from talking none-stop about the Neighbour's scandalous hose-pipe use and the general decline of the country to quietly sitting slumped in a chair, looking confused. Grandad also seemed more mellow. Though of course he still told me to get a haircut and a job. At least he didn't go on his rant about there being "a n*gger in every television programme" for once.

Both also seemed generally pleased to see me. Though I suspect that this may have been a spot of acting, as when we were later back at their house I noted that the shelves containing numerous pictures of their aleged six Grandchildren, didn't feature me or my sister once. The bloody cheek! I know I'm no oil painting but neither are my cousins.

My stomach was churned a few times. Firstly during the twotoomany conversations I was trapped into having with the 90 year old great (but not in any other sense) uncle, who wreaked of embalming fluid and couldn't resemble Lord Voldemort any more if he tried. I was seriously scared. Especially when he stopped talking and froze for a good 10 seconds, making me think that he'd actually died on me. He told me off for not liking sport, but congratualted me on loosing "a few ounces" since he had last seen me. A few ounces? Six stone more like, you cheeky fucker.

Then secondly when my Grandad forcefully made me sit with a cousin and talk to her about my uni course, because she's wanting to do something similar. Later he revealed that he was playing match maker because he thought I had my "eye on her".

:(

I didn't think we were that posh.


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Woolly Mammoth.

This picture shows the funeral of Cassie the sheep.

Narrowly behind Shaun, Cassie was my 2nd favourite sheep of television and film, so today I shed a tear for her. Even though I thought she'd carked it years ago.

RIP Casserole Kennedy.


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Oh my! Look!

Thousands of people being brutally murdered!


Kerching!


As a person who had lost someone on that day, this is the last thing I would want.

As a film fan, this is the last thing I want.


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Bastardos!

Ok I and we are drunk but I'm ganna leave this up so GARETH OF THE SOBRE FUTURE YOU HSVE TO LEAVE THIS UP

anyway we are angry coz me and girl sam/ femmiesam and tiwds wanted to watch the incredibles on dvd BUT SOMEONE HAS BORROWED IT AND LOST IT THE FUCKING CUNT SMEAR STAINS so we cant watch it and i am abgrysad. we left a note in the kitchen so hopefully it'll be back, Otherwise i'll hae to get a yelloe trackysuit and go "killbill" on everyone's asses. Oh i forgot sian woulda watched it5 too but we were looking in the kerfuffle for so long like when jack wouldnt answer his door that she got tired and went to bed or see Matt.

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EDIT: I realised my belt had gone but dont stop i worried but it was in blodwens' room im am happy my trousers didnt fall down and she didnt see my cock. we saw pete Wentz's cock on popbitch. he is flat and under and under my bed from gwens magazine from where i ripped it. stop anicking that is all we will now watch the magic roundabout BECAUSE AS I MENTIONED SOME ONE STOLE THE INCREDIBLES. bye now for now. please dont delete this whe you are tomorrow gareth.

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Veggie did.

I realised today that it's been exactly one year and a bit since I took the plunge into the refreshing lagoon of vegetarianism and drowned myself in the goodness of animal love. Or something.

Anyway, I've not eaten meat since last May. Except for that one time the confused and, quite frankly, too old to be alive lady in the Uni canteen got the veggie and lamb burgers mixed up.

Woo. Go me.


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P.S. I'll probably go Vegan in a few years' time too.

P.P.S. That'll be the final dietary change though. I'm not going Fruitarian. They're fuckin' mental.

Mourning in Newcastle.

Terrible news. After 82 years on our screens, the BBC have axed Byker Grove. It's hard to believe that the show that gave us Ant n' Dec, and the (sadly) false belief that every Geordie has the supernatural ability to jump up into the air and stay there, suspended in animation, for two seconds will never be seen again.

It was a bit shit, but may it rest in piece.


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P.S. It's their own fault for killing off Geoff.

P.P.S. I'm still too upset to talk about the same fate meeting Footballers Wives.

I want a baby.

So yeah, the other day I was standing in a crowded train carriage on my way back to Birmingham. Everyone was stressy and miserable, and giving out that huffy "I'm better than you" stare that folk do in such situations. My stare was naturally superior, coz I actually was better than everyone. But anyway, all our mardiness was soon melted away by the presence of a young mum holding a baby.

It was the coolest and cutest thing ever.

It (I can't work out whether it was a girlbaby or a boybaby) just kept wriggling about and smiling and giggling and touching it's mummy's face. And then every now and then it would just stare out of the window in total wonder.

This all got me thinking about how amazing it would be to have another such life dependent upon me etc... And I came to the conclusion that I want a baby. So much so, in fact, that when I arrived home I even changed my MySpace "Children?" section from "Undecided" to "Someday", which is pretty much in the same league as popping into the adoption agency to pick up leaflets. Obviously not now, but when I'm older, and more financially and emotionally stable. And only if I'm in a strong relationship. So it's quite a stringent check list to meet.

But then I got thinking more, and realised that a bouncing baby would most probably turn into a nasty little shit, filling the rest of my life with stress and misery. Furthermore, babies are bloody hard work and I value my sleep a bit too much. That young mother on the train was probably even fighting an internal battle not to throw the fruit of her womb from the carriage window.

So instead I've decided that I'd quite like to adopt a rescue chimp instead. They're just as rewarding, cuter, and far less stressful.

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Stop everything!

They've axed blue Smarties, in favour of white ones.

Nestle are taking the artificial flavourings out of their sweets, so that parents can still give their kids colon cancer without that annoying side-effect of hyperactivity, but they can't find a natural blue colouring.

Carry on again!

I don't like MSN.

Yes yes, moan moan moan...

But I'm bloody sick of it. Mainly because I'm such a thoroughly anti-social bastard, granted, but it's not just the fact that it involves having to talk to other people that irks me so.

Firstly, what's wrong with just using your name as your MSN name?

"Clever"/"hilarious" quotes that wouldn't look out of place on a scally-boy's t-shirt, or a menopausal's fridge magnet, just make you look like a tit. Worse still are the song lyrics, which are often mispelled and filled with the wrong punctuation. And there are the folk who like to show off what a fun filled and popular existence they have by having messages adressed to other people WHO THEY COULD JUST TALK TO as their name - OMG Melly mad night last nite! Remember when we fell over?! We gotta do it again sumtime!". Oh yeah! I almost forgot the folk with the " I (L) so and so". Dick heads. Each and every one of them.

Another MSN annoyance is all the small talk that has to start off every convo. It's a pain in the nips when it occurs in real life conversation, but on MSN it takes thirty times longer for the initial "hey"s and both parties to ask how the other person is and what they've been up to, despite not actually giving the slightest toss. There are even some people who will start a convo with me, only to not bother typing any more once this point has been passed.

If the conversation does manage to progress, the chances are that it'll be littered with so many smilies (the sign of a person too limited to express themselves with words), one word answers and abbreviations, that I'll soon get the urge to rip out my own intestines and hang myself with them. Or just log 0ff / block the person. One of these options anyway.

On the abbreviation front, "lol" is easily the most annoying thing since that Jordan and Peter documentary that was on the other week. How many lol-ers are laughing out loud when they type it? None of them! Some people type it more than "a" or "the", yet it's not like they're having a tea party on the ceiling with Mary Poppins and the gang. Grrr.

There are lot's off other annoyances worth mentioning, but I've been typing for too long and it's sunny outside. Don't get me wrong, I doubt I could live without MSN for more than a few days (another point I find particularly annoying), and there are some people I love talking to. It's just that I'd rather do it in person or cut out all the annoying stuff that MSN brings. Maybe I'll have a deleting spree, and just hope the deleted don't notice.


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P.S. My, aren't I a seething bundle of grump today?

Grown up stuff.

Now I don't pretend to know too much about British politics. Sadly, I find myself not caring about it half the time. I think it's because most Politicians tend to be such such smug, horrible, hypocritical people. What with all the negative energy of constantly sniping at the opposition, often for acting in exactly the same ways in which they themselves are guilty of - accepting bribes, porking the secretary/local sex worker, general job incompetence etc... Take your pick really.

I do wish that the major parties would get their acts together though. As seen in this past week's local elections, folk seem to be turning away from them and voting for alternatives. This is fine in order to teach them a lesson, and it's nice to give the political underdogs a chance to voice, but certainly not when it means more votes and more power for the fucking BNP.

What type of hateful and narrow minded bastard must you be to put a cross by the name of a party which discriminates against whole groups of society, based on skin colour, and wants to keep Britain just for "British" people?

You don't have to be the devil incarnate to vote for them, just fucking stupid in order to be seduced by their propoganda. We had one of their leaflets through our door last year, on behalf of their bigotted bored housewife representative, Michaela McKenzie. Well I think that was her name - "Hitler in slingbacks" would have been more apt. They managed to put quite a positive spin on their policies, even though it did still all boil down to "we don't like change and people different to ourselves" and "send the buggers back".

Sadly I can see more simple minded voters driven into the scabby arms of the British Nazi Party by the mistakes of Labour at least. Tony Blair has just had another reschuffle, which is fucking stupid to say the least. Won't giving ministers new, unfamiliar jobs increase the likelihood of more mistakes (such as Charles Clarke and the non-deported criminals) being made?


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I'm not dead.

I've just had a horrible few weeks.

Well, the Gareth version of horrible. It's not like I've had to walk 6 miles to a diseased lake every morning with a heavy vase on my head; or been made redundant, diagnosed with terminal cancer and engulfed with worry about how I'm to support my 4 kids and wheel-chair bound wife.

BUT!

I have had three big essays to do, and being a bit of drama queen I find it far more exciting to stress about them - "I can't do it! I'm ganna fail the year!" etc... - instead of actually doing them. Which could've been done in about a day, instead of the 2 weeks stressage + one night's caffeine induced jitter and paranoia fest when I actually typed them up.

But it's all good, 'coz now I'm finished for the year and no longer have to feel guilty about missing media and european film lectures in order to watch Trisha cure the nation. Although I have got one further week of feeling guilty about not revising for my two final exams, but I'm an old hat at revision guilt, what with going through my GCSE's, AS's and A2's on about two hours study combined. Plus, those exams were on proper subjects. Not Film and TV. Fabulous.

I really am due for a fall sometime.


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