Happy Birthday, Darlin'

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Application Form

Dear The Doctor,

I heard this morning that your friend Rose Tyler will no longer be able to travel with you through time, space and various parts of Cardiff and Swansea, due to her being dead. This is an awful shame, and please accept my condolences.

However! Do stop crying, because this presents you with a unique new business opportunity.

It just so happens that I have very little to do over the next two years/ the rest of my life, and would love to come with you in your tardis. Reasons why I am a kickass companion for you:

- None of that "PMT" nonsense.
- I can eat virtually anything without getting sick. Perfect for all those foreign alien foods.
- I am prepared to cut down on all the swearing, thus enabling your 7pm family documentary format to stay in tact.
- I am fluent in both welsh ("Bore Dah!", "Pobol Y Cwm!", "Fuckin' English!") and cockerney ("Cor blimey!" "Shine yer shoes, guvnah?", "You ent maa muvvah!"), so will fit right into all the locations we visit.
- I can bring my Boppit Xtreme and chuffin' great music collection for all those long hours a travelling.
- Normally, when in a group of people, I'm wishing at least half of them dead. Whenever you meet new people, at least half of them tend to die. Therefore me being a horrible people-hating bastard is actually a blessing here, as I won't get all upset.
- I'll fit into Rose's clothes, thus saving you the bother of lugging all those binbags to the charity shop. I've got my eye on that red hoodie of hers, and that blue thing she wore when visitting New Earth.
- I won't get all huffy and file for sexual harassment if you try it on with me. Unless you regenerate into Bill Nighy or something.
- None of my family will really notice if I die.
- I am more qualified than anyone else for this, due to the hours I've put in practicing with my action figure of you.
- My Godfather is a black, and would be more than willing to travel with us everyone now and then to fill your ethnic minority quota, ala Mickey.
- Though I will very rarely be arsed to run, I can go up stairs three at a time, thus being the perfect opponent for the Daleks. As long as we go back before they could fly.


You can pay me in chewing gum and apples.

Best wishes,
Gareth


x


P.S. I suspect you've already been following me and know all this, since I'm sure I heard your tardis when I was in Birmingham the other week.

Well look who it is...

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I want to see this:

... now.

Even though it probably won't be as good as the first. But if it's more of the same (Captain Jack beng funny, lots of swashbuckling, Keira Knightley's heaving femmiesacks, Orlando being pretty, general pirateyness...) then I won't be complaining. And then I want the third one in a month or so, since I just don't do deferred gratification.


Other films currently making me pant with anticipation:



Stormbreaker

Now this looks dead good, I've read two thirds of the Anthony Horowitz (my favourite author!!) book n' everything. It's really not his best.

Basically it's just James Bond for kids, which means it should be a bit more nimble and lacking the cackey sexual inuendo, which Are You Being Served? always did far better anyway.

It's set in Blighty and the cast includes Stephen Fry, Ewan McGregor, that guy who played Gollum and King Kong , along with Jimmy Carr for some reason. Plus there's him ^^^ with his lovely golden hair.

Marie Antoinette

My GCSE English course taught me two words - "juxtapositon" and "eponymous". If I wanted to look a bit clever I could use the latter to describe Kirsten Dunst's character in Sofia "quite good at making films, but still probably not as good as her dad is" Coppola's latest film. Although normally I'd say "titular", because the first three letters are like booby. Teeheehee.

It's meant to be all postmodern and have a nice contemporary soundtrack (including "I Want Candy" and stuff by The Cure), plus Antoinette seemed like an interest fella, so how can it be rubbish?

Except apparently it is, and was booed into next week at the Cannes screening. I still want to see it though, and most films are shit if we're being honest.





Superman Returns

I don't really like Superman - he's a bit nerdy/dull and Clark Kent's disguise of wearing glasses is just so rubbish that I can never get over it and tend to spend most of the time shouting "Are you fucking retarded??! Look at him!! He's quite obviously Superman!!" at all the characters too simple to work it out.

This one pretty much carries on from the other films, hence the fact that they've pretty much cast Christopher Reeve MkII. I only wanna see it because it's being directed by the genius Brian Singer, who made the first two X-Men and The Usual Suspects so ace.





Also:

• Southland Tales - Director Richard Kelly's apocalypse-set follow up to the nearly perfect Donnie Darko. Early buzz suggests that it's mind blowingly awful :( It's got Sean William Scott, Sarah Michelle Gellar and The Rock in it though, so this isn't too suprising.
• Babel - Palme D'Or winner starring both Brad Pitt AND Gael Garcia Bernal. Which is just really lovely.
  

Film geek and proud.


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Long Hot Summer

Even though I actually left over a week ago, I thought I should probably blog that the first chapter of my uni trilogy is now over forever and ever. Unless I have to redo the year. But that simply cannot happen, since it's a Film & TV course and the shame of failing such a thing would be tantamount to that of some sort of OAP date-rape scandal.

But yeah, it's been quite a good year. I've made lots of new friends, a couple of whom will probably be kicking around in my life until I or they die, and lots more who I'll probably get Christmas cards from every year and wonder if the new name since last year's is a new child or pet (I'm basing this all on my parents by the way). I'm expecting to enjoy next year more though, since I won't be in the single most rancid, uncomfortable halls in the country. Seriously - they're like the lebanese orphanages you see on Comic Relief.

My course looks set to get a lot better too by becoming more practical and less theoretical. Although a clash has led to me having to pick a replacement module (tactfully called "Bent Screens") that focuses on the potrayal of the gaymosexuals in the media :( But it was either that or Canadian Film. Plus I've picked the modules that contain no exams whatsoever. Yesssss!

So I've now got well over three months to fill back here at home. I had intended to get some sort of job to fill the days, but after a bit of a think I realised that this was quite frankly a ludicrous idea, since me wearing a uniform, being told what to do and having to be nice to people, along with the whole having to do work think, are as good a mix as White Spirit and Vodka on a night out. I'll get one next year though, honest.

Instead I plan on lying in bed and on a sunlounger and generally doing very little. I may start watching Home and Away too.

Just how will I fit it all in??!



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The firey vortex to hell has been opened

...and Paris Hilton is the saviour of pop music.

Well, her debut single - which you may or may not be able to download here - isn't the total shit-fest that you might have expected. Even though it does sound a bit like UB40. Which you wouldn't expect.

But yes! I love it!

Well done Paris, though I doubt you've even heard it.


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PS - Do you remember last year, when Charlotte Church was the saviour of pop? Ha!


PPS - Lily Allen's probably better. But of course you already know that, 'coz lots of folk have been telling you like it's some big exclusive secret that they're so in touch for knowing about.

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.


x


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.


x


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.


x

Just because.


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Dry dreams.

Right. This has got to stop.

I tend to always have weird dreams. It's a side effect of spending 80% of my time sleeping and I'm used to it. But suddenly I'm having incredibly strange dreams about obscure laydee celebs.

It all started a month or so back when the sleeping me met Kelly Osbourne. There were a few of us sat on beanbags in a room watching episodes of The Simple Life which Kelly had burned onto disk from the internet. She was lovely and said she'd see me around.

A few days later, in what I thought was my subconscious collecting the whole family, I saw Sharon Osbourne in a play (Acorn Antiques: The Musical) whilst on a school trip. Although Sharon was actually Rula Lenska (she had at least Rula's body and hair, but it was somehow definitely Sharon).

Earlier this week I dreamt that I'd had a phone call off my mate Kayleigh to say that she'd just seen the legendary Midlands Today weather girl, Shefali Oza, buying tights in Marks & Spencer.

And then last night I had the weirdest one of the lot.

I think I was watching Finding Nemo, because it had (possibily cgi) fish and I was seeing it all through a television screen. It started with what looked like a plate of spare ribs but actually turned out to be two fish pretending to be spare ribs. They then put a sign in front of the remaining plateful of food saying it was free, and suddenly a fat version of Irene from Home & Away (!) was sat behind it, with a napkin tucked into her top and being speedily fed to food by the two fish.

This is not at all right.

I haven't even watched Home & Away for 6 years, nor thought of Irene since. I remember her as the slighty "council" lady who looked after all the spare kids. Like Susan Kennedy, but with gold hoops and on 30 a day. Apparently she's still in it.

BUT:

1. Why am I having these dreams?
2. Will they stop?
3. What do they mean?
4. And why can't I have nice dreams about buff hotties?

I'm hoping they do come to an end before it all gets out of hand and I end up waking up in a cold sweat after witnessing Janet Street-Porter doing her trick with the ping pong balls.

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Mr Needstogrowthefuckup.

At 4 this morning I was woken up by a fox redecorating our front lawn with a pheasant's insides. I couldn't get back to sleep and ended up reading 32 Mr Men books.

Here are my favourites:

I then spent a good hour or so looking for our copy of Mr Bump (one of my all time favourites), to no avail. I was nearly crying.

The 4 year old me learnt a helluvva lot from the Mr Men. I'm sure it's symbolic that I never took to the Little Miss series.

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Who rah.

Once upon a time there was a god. His name was Noel Edmonds. He lived in a big house and every Saturday night he'd have a great big massive fuck off party. It was great. There was lots of gunge and every now and then the door bell would ring and it'd be someone from The Bill, or Barbara Windsor. This was all shown on TV and everyone was happy. Until some Beebcunt decided to axe it.

Then there were wilderness years, where Saturday nights were filled with darkness (or actually going out) until:

Oooo-weee-ooooh...

Yes, tonight sees the return of one of last year's greatest shows - Doctor Who. I am very excited.

This series will be even better than the last one, I can feel it in my waters. That and the fact I've been watching the red button previews enough times to qualify me for geek status. A lot of this series' greatness will be because of the new Doctor, who's not as gormlessly happy, northern or "a bit crappy" as the last one(who I'd say was the most annoying character in series 1, if it wasn't for the absofuckinlutely awful Mickey*). David Tennant would also definitely get a dicking, which certainly doesn't harm things.

Tonight's eppy sees Lady Cassandra back, and a race of evil cat-nuns. Smashing.

x

*As Mickey happens to be black, I should point out that I'm not a racist - some of my best friends know black people.

Dear The Man in Gap,

You overcharged me by 15 quid for those jeans this morning.

Obviously my total fear of confrontation meant that I said nothing to you about this, and wished you a good day before leaving, but please know that I'm a teensy bit pissed off with you.

It's this type of behaviour that'll see you working with the peroxided gays in Topshop.

Bestest Wishes,

Gareth


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Easter is cancelled.

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My heart will go on.

INT. OFFICE AT FILM STUDIOS, LOS ANGELES USA.

The head of 20th Century Fox is sitting at a big desk, covered in lots of executive swinging ball toys. There is a knock at the door and Dallas McSwizzle, hotshot film producer, comes in and sits down.

STUDIO BOSS

So, have you come up with my summer blockbuster yet?

DALLAS

(confidently) Yeah, I think so.

STUDIO BOSS

Well, let's hear it. I'm counting on this to be the hit, after "Dunblane: The Musical" didn't really pay off for us.

DALLAS

Well it's about a Nun - a diabetic nun.

STUDIO BOSS

Oooh.

DALLAS

Well one day Lorraine, that's her name, eats too much sugar. She has lots of Christening cake, or whatever it is that those nuns eat. We'll iron out the details later. Anyway, as a result she has to have her leg amputated. BUT! Due to an hilarious mix up at the hospital she ends up having the recently severed leg of Linford Christie - coz he'd been in a car crash- attached to her. So when she wakes up, this leg has power over her, and she can't stop running. And she runs and she runs across america - well mosly New York, L.A. and Vegas - until the army have to shoot her in the head. Six times. In slow motion. But it's all really sad because on the way she's fallen in love with a struggling single father of an autistic child, and taught him to love life again.

STUDIO BOSS

(stunned silence)

I LOVE IT!!! I'm imagining Charlize Theron as Lorraine, with Sean Penn as the spakka's Dad. They'll do anything to get another Oscar. (Stops to think, and starts to look deflated)

But wait, hang on. The middle-class religious pressure groups would reject to a nun having a black man's leg. It'd be commercial suicide to make it.

DALLAS

Oh. Shit.

How about we just do the Titanic sequel then?

And so it came to pass.

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"He's my favourite paedophile."

Goodness me.

Usually when a new band adds you on MySpace, they're guaranteed to be shit. Quite why I get hundreds of fake angsty shouty bands from the rough suburbs of Shropshire thinking that I want to be their friend when my music list includes Abba, Girls Aloud and Savage Garden is beyond me.

But today I got a friend request from a band who can only be described as "refreshingly different". The two songs on their page are both totally kickass, which means that I'm liking 100% of their material and by rights makes them my favourite band of all time. Or something.

There's the brilliant Paedom - aka "Gary Glitter: The Musical", which just demands the stage show treatment and includes Gitter being executed to the sounds of Celine Dion. And there's Christmas Anthem which totally blows that Slade song we end up playing every year out of the water.

It's all terribly immature and reeeaaally tasteless, but that's no bad thing.


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I am fucking terrified.

Bird flu schmird flu. My life is currently underthreat from a different animal danger.

I haven't seen a single spider since last August. Being severely scared of the spindly fastmoving deathlords, you may think that this is a good thing. I did too until recently. But then I realised...

This is far too good to be true.

There's aproximately gazillions of spiders in this world, and for me not to run into (and subsequently away from) one in 8 months in frankly absurd.

They've changed tactics. After realising that one of them running across my bed when I pull back the duvet is not enough to destroy me (and only make me scream like a girl and spend the night in a spare room), the spiders have retreated to gather together an army big enough to wipe out mankind. Thousands of them will soon march through our cities, making the streets run red with blood and, y'know, covering the place in unsightly cobwebs.

I urge the government to drop everything and act now. The dead swan was obviously just a spider planted decoy.

Personally, I'll make sure that my trusty spider catcher* is never out of reach. And I'm hoping that the secret spider army hq is not inside of me, perhaps as the result of all the ones that I've swallowed in my sleep getting jiggy. It's one of my major fears to start coughing up spiders.

Do not dismiss these as the paranoid rants of an unstable boy. Be afraid. Be very afraid.


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*Honestly, it's not a sex toy.

We're all ganna die!!! etc...

Well that's what you'll think if you pay any attention to ITV News, or similar sensationalist scare mongering media sources, such as The Sun. As a result the lower class housewives are shitting their Velour tracky-b's, and phoning in to ask if they can still feed the ducks and serve their kids chicken nuggets.

Honestly, talk about over-reacting. And even if we are all going to cark it, it's much easier to do so in a laid back manner.

I'd have preffered a big comet - chickens with the sniffles just aren't exciting enough.


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Made merry man.

How exciting.

Autumn 2006 sees the return of Robin Hood to our tellybox screens. He'll be filling Doctor Who's slot for 13 weeks.

This will be brilliant. Here is why:

• It's ganna be on the BBC, who do this type of thing quite well.
• It's written by the brother of that guy who directed that film with Jude Law and Matt Damon, and that film with Jude Law and Nicole Kidman. And those other film's with people in.
• As seen from the above picture, Robin Hood is well buff.
• Pretty much any Robin Hood media so far has been brilliant. Examples include Disney's Robin Hood and Maid Marrion and her Merry Men.
• Friar Tuck won't be in it. This is no loss whatsoever - he's all fat and holy.

Right, I'm off into the attic to dig out my childhood Robin Hood costume. Although it's got no arrows with it because Mum confiscated them. She had a great uncle who lost his eye after being shot with a toy arrow. Which is hardly a valid excuse I'm sure you'll agree.


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The hair and now.

Well that was weird.

Today for the first time since ever, I had a positive experience at the hairdressers.

Me and hairdressers have never really gotten on. It probably doesn't help that I despise my head-mop, but they always make this ten times worse by not listening to my instructions and making me look a brunette dulux dog with alopecia.

Take last time, for example. I went in and asked to simply have my hair thinned a bit, and came out sporting a Charlotte Church style bob.

To stop myself from looking like the voice of an angel, I then went to a different salon and asked the lady to keep the length pretty much the same, but to break up the ends and make it more manly. However, she heard "Yeah, cut a good 4 inches off and make me look like Ellen McArthur", which is just what she did. I went home and cried. And then I wore a cap for a month.

But today, on the spur of the moment, I went in and asked for it to be thinned, with the length keeping the same. AND THE NICE LADY (SENT FROM HEAVEN) DID JUST THAT! And she didn't even bore me with the usual questions of holidays or tell me about her eight kids (naturally named after soap opera characters). I could have kissed her. Well I could have tipped her, which I would have done if I'd worked out where to put it.

She did such a good job that nobody even realised I'd had a haircut :(


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P.S. While waiting for my hairgrope, another hairdresser at the salon caught my eye. She obviously spent lots of time on her appearance, since she was caked in make-up and had dyed blonde hair... yet she had a moustache. And I mean a proper one, visible from a good 10 metres away (and possibly outer-space). If you were a preened lady with a tash, you'd get rid of it. Surely?

I love cats and I love sinks.

I love Cats in Sinks.


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Willing to donate.

Fucking hell! Despite having only had about 4 hours sleep in the last 40 hours or so (as opposed to my usual 20), I still can't get to sleep no matter how hard I try. Even though I feel tired.

But anyway! I've decided to do something else for a while (which is what the "sleep experts" I'm always seeing on itv day recommend if you can't get to sleep at first) and have just given itunes a good seeing to.

I bought Prototype by Bodies Without Organs:

... and c'blimey, it's 100% bloody brilliant.

They're unsuprisingly from Sweden, the best country for music these days due to it seemingly still producing lots of upbeat, shiny modern music by nicely styled stars. Unlike this country.

The members (l-r):

• Alexander Bard - funny looking popgod, previously behind Alcazar and Army of Lovers.
• Martin somethingorother - ridiculously pretty lead vocalist who would most definitely get it.
• Milfy woman - there really aren't enough 40-something glamorous lady keyboard players in the music industry, are there?.

I'm already loving this whole album, despite hearing half of the songs only once. It's just that catchy. And the good news is that BWO's second album is out in a month or so. "Woot".

Thank christ for the internet. Without it I'd probably be sitting here listening to The fucking Stereophonics or something as equally beige.

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Hissy phitt.

This Summer sees the release of possibly the most brilliantly-shit film ever made. It's about an assasin who decides to bump someone off by releasing a cratefull of deadly snakes on board their plane, and has for some reason been called Snakes on a Plane.

Quite why this particular assasin chooses such an elaborate and less-effective method of despatch for his target is a bit of a mystery, although"Man Gets Shot" isn't such an ace title.

The trailer is currently living here and is AMAZING.


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Ball play.

So tonight at 8 we find out the lineup for the Aber Uni May Ball, which for some reason I'm going to this year.

In 2004 the mighty Girls Aloud played, followed by Jools fuckin Holland last year. So it could go either way, although I'm hoping that there's a fuckingreat-wellshit-fuckingreat pattern emerging and this year I'll get to try and molest one of these:

• Charlotte Church (she's been rumoured).
• The Aloud again!
• Dr Karl Kennedy's band.
• Rachel Stevens.
• Bananarama.

And it had most certainly not be any of these:

• Son of Dork
• Journey South / Andy off X-Factor
• Fightstar

I love lists!


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...UPDATE...

So it's Liberty X and The Bodyrockers.

HOW WAS THIS A GOOD IDEA?!

The dullest pop group of the last 5 years and a one hit wonder who's one hit was the musical equivalent of a bucket of week old sick does not an entertaining lineup make. You know, I WOULD HAVE SETTLED FOR LISA SCOTT-LEE.

At least Chesney Hawkes is ganna be there too. Oh, wait :(


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The March 2006 Love/Hate Census

Currently loving:

• Muffins (bannoffee, choc orange, and double choc).
• Playgrounds.
• Desperate Housewives (back on form, even without the mystery).
• The kickass Burger King Spongebob "Lost In Time" toys.
  
• WKD Blue.
• Madbad Harold's secret tormenting of Paul on "Neighbours".
• Birmingham.
• The Mighty Boosh.
• Walking.
• Jake Gyllenhaal.
  
• Finding amazing songs that I'd never think to download myself on MyTunes.
• The fact that I get 3 weeks at home in 10 days time.
  
• Tanya Turner, back on Footballers' Wives.
• People, some of the time.
• Some people, all of the time.
  

Currently hating:

• Essay guilt.
• My constantly messy uni room. The floor is covered in hairs for fuck's sake.
• The imminent end of the wintery weather.
• Lecture guilt.
• Lavender scented Febreze.
• This sudden and uncharacteristic outbreak of big fuckoff spots.
  
• People, far too much of the time.
• Myself (body and mind), far too much of the time.
  
• Jeremy Kyle.
• The fact that my ipod is starting to die.
• Wanky, "credible" bands who take themselves too seriously and spunk out mundane dirge.
• My european film course.
  
• Hidden garlic in food.

And that's that.


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(taken from the brilliant HolyMoly! weeky mailout)


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In the last few months the pregnant fourteen year old inside of me has awoken.

I'm not getting weird food cravings or urges to drink White Lightning in the park before tossing off the burberry clad, but I am moodswinging.

It's fucking annoying to say the least. I can go from "meh" to hyper and sociable to angry and craving sollitude back to "meh" again, all in the space of a few minutes. And I've no idea why.

Take tonight for example. I was out with a group of people having a moderately enjoyable time, before suddenly beginning to hate it all and doing a disappearing act back to halls. I felt incredibly miserable for a while, but am now pretty much ok again.

Other times, I've agreed to go out but at the last minute have ended up locking my door and pretending to be asleep/somewhere else to avoid it. All because I get in an (often) irrational mood with myself or other people and just want to be alone.

This all makes less sense when I try and put it into words :(

Childhood.

So we all have stories and remnants of our younger selves that we'd rather forget about, and get a bit embarassed when our mums start clanging on about them for the millionth time.

For me it's the story about wetting myself in some old lady's shop. Or the time I wet myself in the middle of a doorstep whilst out carol singing (yes, I was quite piss-happy 15 years back). There's also naked picture of me in a paddling pool somewhere that I'd quite like to burn.

My "dear" sister doesn't like it mentioned about the mass tizzy she threw for weeks after I was born. On the day itself (August 7th - get me a card), she banged her head against a radiator and screamed like Linda Blair until being dragged away and sedated. Then at my christening she refused to appear in any of the photos and ran away. This upset KILLED MY GRANDMA. Well, she died a few months later and the link has never been disproven.

And then there's my Uncle who was caught "bashing one out" by his mother. What made this even worse was that in the following panic he jammed his thingy in the zipper, and it took my Granny and her visitting friend (both nurses) to free him.

However, I think all of this youth shame pales into insignificance when you take a look at this poor kid.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.


X

This...

... makes me very excited.


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Caught in a web.

Bollocks. I can't sleep yet again.

Probably because I'm coming out of drunkville, along with the fact that I'm generally in a strange mood, due to life being a bit of a ten car pile-up at the moment.

Tonight was rather ace though. It was (may contain some) Comedy (if you're fucking lucky) Night at t'union, followed by a bit of Karaoke. Four of us performed a rendition of Madonna's Like A Prayer that would make the great lady cry tears of blood. I bloody love karaoke. It certainly makes up for Pearl Harbour. God bless Japan!

But what is there to do at 4 in the morning when curled u in bed with a laptop* for company??

All this cyber-shit! That's what!

• An amazing/ohgodmakeitstop song about Llamas.
• A bit of kickass airport mischief.
• Some cunts with too much time on their hands.
  
• A Neighbours rap.
• And there's always YouTube.
  

Tomorrow I get to write 2000 words on something comlicated and obscure that I know absolutely nothing about. I couldn't be more fucked.


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*I don't need your pity.

Academic.

So yeah, last Sunday was The 78th Academy Awards from The Kodak Theatre in Hollywood (I've been there! Eek!). I went home especially to watch 'em, coz I'm really sad and get overly excited about filmy things.

The results could have made me happier, but after a couple of years of suprise Oscar bliss (Lord Of The Rings getting everything in 2004, Clint Eastwood kicking Scorsese's ass in 2005) I can't really complain.

Except I will, because Brokeback Mountain is a far more accomplished piece of cinema than the justquitegood Crash. And Reese Witherspoon is fucking whiney, and should only be given an award if it can be guaranteed that she won't be able to attend the ceremony to pick it up in person. I also don't trust George Clooney. Not one bit.

The ceremony was sort of entertaining. It was quite nice to see Dolly Parton wheeled out, although I can't understand understand why she wasn't even nominated for Best Visual Effects. And the host, John "Who?" Stewart was moderately amusing, and far superior to that goofy twat from last year. It's still a shame it wasn't Billy Crystal, Whoopi Goldberg or even Robin Williams though.

Fashionwise, I thought Nicole Kidman, Keira Knightley and Felicity Huffman looked nice. Whilst Charlize Theron looked fuckin' awful, like some sort of Quality Street Doctor Who Monster. I never used to care about the clothes, which makes me worry that I'm getting gayer.


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Diary Products.

A thread on the fabtastic Life Itself about rediscovering old diaries years down the line has inspired me to start writing one for myself. Well it did for about 19 seconds anyway.

Then I remembered how shit I am at expressing my feelings, along with how mortified I'd be if someone read all my private thoughts. They'd be penetrating my mind fortress, the bastards.

I still feel incredibly bad about doing that to my sister when we were both in Senior School. I'd been sneaking into her room for a few months to have a good read/laugh at her (badly hidden) diary. Then one afternoon the bitch was winding me up on the school bus home and I ended up blurting out all of her deepest secrets in front of everyone. Including how she fancied one of the guys on board. She didn't thank me much for that, in fact she cried and scratched a lot.

But anyway, I have decided to try and keep this blog more update heavy. Because what with this being THE AGE OF TECHNOLOGY ... or summit, I can stumble across this page in however many years time instead. And as it's more public than a diary, it shouldn't be full of the usual self indulgent "Oh i hate my life and myself" wallowy boo hoo hoo shit.

So hello to Gareth of the future, if he's reading.


x


P.S. I've even had the builders in to renovate the place. By knocking through some of the walls I feel this page now has a much breezier, lighter feel. Of course it could all cave in at anytime as a result. But never mind, as there are polka dots. And the "well upholstered" style woman on This Morning has been harping on about how they're a must have this season.

Dear Local News Programmes,

Can we give the weekly stories about a baby who's been a bit poorly in hospital but has now been allowed to return home a rest please?

"Child doesn't die" is hardly fuckin' news now, is it?


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