Saturday, 11 October 2008

A list- the last resort of a blogging scoundrel...

No I haven't given up on this blogging malarky... not entirely. Although I don't believe anyone's reading this rubbish.

Anyway, as indicated a list:

1. Squirrels.

2. Other people's blogs. Surprisingly emotionally honest.

3. Peggle. Surprisingly emotionally honest.

4. Other people's Facebook photographs. It doesn't matter if YOU DO ACTUALLY READ THE NEWS, it's funny if you're dressed as a newsreader.

5. Financial crisis.

6. George Borrow's Wild Wales.

7. What makes a 'Forgotten Cheese'?

8. The unmistakable aroma of Liverpool's Tate gallery.

9. The music of Telex.

10. The unexpected religious symbolism discovered hidden in a bottle of Fentiman's Victorian Lemonade.

Right, that's all for now. If you can make any sense of any of that, please get in touch at the address indicated. Remember we read all the letters we are sent, even if we can't return your drawings.

Tuesday, 2 September 2008

The persistence of 'future-wife' telephone spammer.

It probably breaks all the rules of good writing, but I'm going to begin this piece by commenting on how much I like the title I have given it. It might not be everyone's idea of a good title, but I like it- and anyway who else is reading this? It sounds like a title that Philip K. Dick might use, or something you might find in a modern art gallery- but it also does describe a true incident that occurred to me this very day.

"Hey bbe. Its ur future wife. Hopefully. Tb. Ly. x x x"

This message I received, on my mobile, this evening. Whilst I am nearly always open to consider proposals of marriage, mysteriously ambiguous text messages are not the way forward. May I suggest future applicants for this position send me some form of written application, preferably with a detailed CV.

Clearly this was some sort of spam message designed to lure me into sending a return message. Or worse actually giving the sender a call. Undoubtedly if I had done this I would have found myself somehow enabling villains to steal my bank account details or, perhaps, MY VERY SOUL. At the very least they'd probably spam me a lot more, or get me to call some kind of premium-rate future wife hotline.

The real frustration with this kind of thing is that it is actually fairly tempting to reply to the message. Surely that would only cost me 10p? Surely? No... I daren't. SOMETHING BAD, although undefined, IS SURE TO OCCUR. But who sent the message? Why? What does "Tb. Ly" mean? (Tuberculosis Lately?) I must leave these questions unanswered; and as an inquisitive sort of person, this is deeply unsatisfying.

But then, mere moments later... the spammer rang me! But not long enough for me to answer. A schoolboy trick. I'm not falling for that. I WON'T CALL!

Then, as a final act of appallingly desperate phone criminality, a final message:

"Y u nt textin me bk"

As if that question needed a reply.

Sunday, 31 August 2008


"Well if you think this duck curry is tasty, wait until you see the bill."

Wednesday, 27 August 2008

A beginning...

Why I have started a blog? Someone thought that I was the sort of person that should have one. Blame Meera. And so, just because I'm easily lead and curious to know what happens when you sit a bonobo at a typewriter, here I am. Typing words. On a. Page. When I should be packing.

What am I going to talk about... well I'm ruling out being paticularly revealing about my life. I'm not going to write thinnly veiled commentaries about people I know (Meera!). I'm just going to... well, let's see. I may never write again...

One reason I'm having a shot at this is that I've heard so many writers say that to get good at writing, one has to write. A lot. While I'm sure this is good advice, I'm not sure this blogging counts. I don't have to edit. I don't have an audience. Or at least not much of one. Starting a blog feels like talking to yourself, and I'm pretty sure talking to yourself is frowned upon.

"Yes Chris, you're right."

I know I'm right, thanks.

Anyway, let's have a list...

List of Fascinating (or not so Fascinating) Moments in an Otherwise Mundane Existence

Someone shows me Gerry Anderson's phone number on their mobile phone. I do not obtain it for myself.

2. Conservation overheard in Headingley chip shop between youths:
"You can get some fucking quality jeans for A FIVER!"
"Yeah, but are they the REAL THING? You've got to look for the little R in a circle on the logo. It stands for RIGINAL."