Sunday, 26 February 2017

The great CV conundrum

Well hello there my reader chums,

So it looks like I'm going to be on the move again. Mainly because, in a few short months, I'll be looking for work. Because the government and society doesn't really like people sitting around not doing very much. And I don't like Jeremy Kyle.

Which leaves me with two choices..
1: Stay in Scotland and try to get a new job up here.


2: Look for a job back down in deepest darkest Cheshire.

Now, unfortunately for Scotland, there are more job opportunities for my line of work in the North West of England so that's where I'll be concentrating my search.

Either way, it's a bit of a bugger. Well, quite a lot of a bugger. In fact, it's a major bugger.

Mainly because I've had to put together a cv. Which is about as much fun as having toothache and getting kicked in the knackers at the same time.

I mean, you only have to look on this t'interweb thingy and see there are hundreds of sites. No not that type of sites you dirty sods. The ones telling you what to put on the cv so that it will get you noticed by a potential future employer. And what not to put on it. Apparently I'm not supposed to put that I was the last man to go into space in a home made rocket, made first contact with an alien race, married their princess and stopped an interplanetary conflict by getting another alien ambassador completely bladdered. Just because that might not have ACTUALLY happened. I mean, really? They can't prove it didn't happen and if they go looking for any evidence then I could just say that the government have covered it up and the details are all locked in a vault for the next two hundred years or something..

'Surreal comic flights of fantasy are a no no' seems to be the message.

So I have to make myself sound windswept and interesting without lying about it. See, told you it was a tough one. Wonder if I could show them this blog...

Friday, 8 January 2016

A quick story - 8th January 2016

Yes, I'm back my lovely little friends. With a bit of an experiment. Each week there will be a bit of monkey writing after getting a random word form a word generator experiment.

This is the plan.
1: Get the word
2: Write the first thing that comes into my head
3: Type it up and put it on here very quickly.

Now it doesn't have to be right good. In fact it probably won't be. It won't be very long either. There may be inconsistencies from one sentence to another. And it might not make a lot of sense. But to hell with it. 

So here we go:
The word for this week was : SPEAKER

And here is the story:

Three words. That's all. Three words. A voice through the speaker, Every speaker all over the world. Saying the same thing over and over and over. Everyone heard it. But everyone heard it in their own language. Wherever they were. Which ever country they were in, at home or on foreign soil, they heard it in their own mother tongue.
There was panic. After all it isn't everyday that an alien fleet enters your planet's atmosphere and parks a fleet of ships over the capital cities of the world. Then all the signals went dead. Simultaneously, all over the globe, communications were lost for five minutes. Only to return as if nothing had happened.
Then the voice over every speaker. A cold, metallic computer voice.

"Prepare to die"

So what do you think?

Friday, 28 November 2014

Short, fat hairy legs... (my attempt at a review)

Hello my little reader friends,

Bit of a change for this one. As you know I've been to the theatre a few times this year and someone recently said that I should write a review. So I thought I'd give it a shot.

And here it is.

'Eric And Little Ern'
Kings Theatre, Glasgow

Jonty Stephens as Eric Morecambe
Ian Ashpitel as Ernie Wise

Not to put too fine a point on it, this is the closest you're going to get to seeing arguably Britain's greatest and best loved comedy duo Morecambe And Wise short of inventing a time machine. But it will be well worth a visit to anyone 

A hospital bed would seem to be an odd place to start a play about Eric and Ernie but start there it does. And it's a poignant reminder that the two people this play is centred on are no longer with us. And in our increasingly cynical times, that they are missed. Possibly more than they ever were. It begins at Nuffield Hospital near Slough where a very ill Ernie Wise gets a visit from a rather unusual doctor...

Of course the doctor is none other than Eric Morecambe and then we realise that he has come back to help his old friend so they can perform one last hurrah. And it's this realisation that gives the play a note of sadness amongst all the laughter.

To say any more about the plot would be to give too much away and spoil the play for anyone wishing to go see it at a later date but something must be said about the performances of the two actors. While Ashpitel is excellent as Ernie Wise, it is Jonty Stephens's Eric that really makes the show. Even when he isn't saying anything, merely wandering around the stage looking bored, he is Eric Morecambe. Always ready to be the clown and, as pointed out by Wise, always in comedy mode, always 'on'. A point, the two lament, may have had something to do with Eric's untimely death. 
The jokes are pretty good. Some of the old favourites are played out brilliantly much to the eager anticipation of the audience. At one point a siren is heard from outside the stage 'window' and the audience almost starts to laugh before Stephens can utter the line 'He won't sell many ice-creams going that fast'.  It can hardly be a surprise to anyone reading this though, that the biggest round of applause, apart at the very end of the performance, was when Stephens utters the immortal words "I'm playing all the right notes..."

The end, as it was in the tv show and, I assume, their stage act ,was, of course, 'Bring Me Sunshine'. And the whole audience was singing along. The same audience that came out of that theatre with big grins on their faces. The audience that have just watched a fitting tribute to two comedy legends.

If you were being harsh then this show is nothing more than a tribute to an act long since gone. But that would be somewhat churlish. For this is more than that. A tribute maybe. But also a reminder of a time long gone. The jokes maybe simpler but they have retained the ability to make an audience laugh. And, in the end, isn't that all that matters.

A time long gone. You can't be there. But this show gives a glimpse of what it must have been like to have been in the company of  comedy greats.

As for this review...


What do you think of it so far?


Saturday, 8 November 2014

Where does the time go? (resurrection of the blog)

Well hello my little reader friends,

It's been a while hasn't it? What do you mean I haven't been missed? How very dare you! Right everyone who said that has to now go and sit on the naughty step and think about what you said..

Where's everyone gone?

Oh alright, you can come back. Didn't realise the naughty step could fit that many people on it.

So what's everyone been up to? And this time class, keep the answers clean. This is a family show you know.

And what's been happening with me I hear you ask. Well, alright you haven't asked, but I'm going to tell you anyway. Briefly.  And I've locked the doors

It's been the usual up here at Paisley towers. Still waiting for Karen Gillan to throw herself at me declaring her undying love and devotion (So if you're reading this Karen, you know what to do)

(It could happen. Stop sniggering at the back).

Actually still waiting for any nice young lady to do that. 

Oh and the Chester Grosvenor park open air theatre was back with another set of productions so, even though I'm up in Scotland, I went to another performance. This time it was MacBeth. And this time my lovely little readers I went with friends. And it was good fun.

(Yes, I have friends. Right who is sniggering again? Security! Remove that person! What do you mean "Which one?" Who are you anyway? I called for security, not some snot nosed little squirty sixteen year old. Oh... you are the on)

Actually I've been going to the theatre I lot more regularly since I moved up to Paisley and it has been mentioned that I should write some reviews of the plays and musicals. Maybe, maybe...

And then we had the Commonwealth Games. A rather brilliant exhibition of sporting competition held in the rather brilliant city of Glasgow. I had tickets for a couple of the events and although there were some very early starts (I mean who even knew there was a six-thirty on a Sunday morning?) it was an excellent experience.

And of course we have just finished the latest series of Doctor Who. The first of hopefully quite a few with Peter Capaldi taking over the Tardis. He's just keeping it warm for me you know. I mean, who doesn't think I should be the next Doctor? I'd be well cool at the job. Anyway more on this later..

Ta ta for now

Sunday, 27 April 2014

5th Entry into Room 101

Well hello there my little reader friends.

Now then spring is in the air. Lighter nights, warmer weather, flowers starting to bloom, buds on the trees and the sound of birdsong filling the morning air. The time for renewal and rebirth so you might think that this is the time of the year to start again with hope and a new sense of  cheerful optimism.


Rest assured my little friends, I'll still be the grumpy git you've all come to know and love.

Starting now with the next entry into Room 101. And this time its going to be an article of clothing that all sensible, normal, down to earth people will recoil in horror at the very sight of...

The Onesie

I mean, seriously, who in their right mind would wear one? Or maybe I should rephrase that. Who, in their right mind, would wear one in public? More specifically who would wear one in a supermarket? There is a reason why I said supermarket.

It happened this time last week my little reader friends. I had gone back to see Mum and Dad for Easter. It was also the weekend before my dad officially became a pensioner (no really it was). Now I left them on Sunday afternoon for the drive back up to this here flat. Normally I do my weekly big shop on a Sunday morning but this time I had to do it on a Sunday evening. So there I am, pushing a trolley around the various isles deciding what I want, innocently minding my own business when I spotted her. And to be fair she was spotted. For it was a leopard print onesie my friends. She looked, well, stupid. Now, to be fair, I myself generally have all the sartorial elegance of someone who has been dragged through a hedge... backwards....several times. I think the phrase 'scruffy little git' was pretty invented just for me.


At least I can manage to put on some jeans and a jumper before heading to the milk section of Asda so I don't see why everyone else can't manage the same.

So I urge anyone who currently owns such an offending garment to burn it at the earliest opportunity and bring a semblance of sanity to the world.

So now, without further ado, its time to commit The Onesie to Room 101.

*A couple of minutes later there was also a bloke who looked like he was wearing his pajamas and don't get me started with that one...

Ta ta for now. :)

Saturday, 29 March 2014

In Praise Of The Sidekick

Well hello once again my little reader friends,

Everyone alright? Good. What about you lot at the back?

This little piece of madness, as you might have guessed from the title, is about the supporting characters that shine out of the little box in the corner of the room. Or wherever you put your tele these days. And it might not be so much of a box anymore. Might be more a flat screen. And it might not be so little either. Seriously, on my so far one and only trip to the Braehead shopping centre (more on that later) I saw a tv that was roughly the size of my flat. You could lay it down on the ground with the screen facing upwards, switch it on and the international space station could probably see what you were watching. But more on that later.

We're talking sidekicks and supporting characters.

The friend of the hero. The dependable one. The stalwart comrade.

Now I'm going to name a few of my favourites here. You may notice a common theme in that they are all women. So this little thread could also be called 'The Horn Factor' and yes, there may well be a few of you out there who will deem this to be sexist.


It's my blog so there.

Anyway, we're talking about (and these are just from the tele):

Willow (Buffy The Vampire Slayer)
Gabrielle (Xena: Warrior Princess)
Amy Pond (Doctor Who)
Annie Cartwright (Life On Mars. The British version)
Maid Marion (to be exact Lucy Griffiths in the BBC version of Robin Hood a few years ago)
Agent Simmons (Agents Of S.H.I.E.L.D)
Guinevere (Merlin)

So there you are. The lovely ladies that catch the more discerning eye that looks beyond the hero's shenanigans. Though to be the Amy Pond, Annie and Marion choices don't have much competition given that their respective lead characters are all blokes. Well, time lord in Amy's case. But take the case of Willow. She has to put up with both the far more glamorous Buffy and Cordelia. And I still prefer her to the both of them.

I have no idea what this all means and Freud would probably have a field day psycho-analysing these choices but what the hell. They're my choices and I don't care.

Ta ta for now.

Friday, 7 March 2014

Flash Fiction Friday - Yes its back!

Hello my little reader friends.

Now, are we sitting comfortably. Good then I'll begin.

As you know, my little friends, from time to time I like to entertain you all with a little story that I have wrote using a word supplied from random word generator as the inspiration. Tonight I have had another go.

Stop groaning. You're in this for the long haul so you might as well like it. Besides, I've locked the doors so you can't get out.

As you remember as well, this is the just the first draft as well with no changes being made. Its a fast process designed to get the story on paper.

Anyway, tonight's word was:


And here is the story, entitled 'Read All About it'



Read All About It.


Sarah sat at the kitchen table, her hand absently rubbing it lightly and tears streaming down her cheeks. No one would believe her. No one should. No one could. She looked at the newspaper sitting next to the now lukewarm teapot and the uneaten toast. Sarah had lost her appetite when she had seen the headlines.

It had started innocently enough a few months earlier. After returning home from the morning school run Sarah had allowed herself ten minutes with that days newspaper which had been delivered. The headline that day, in big black bold lettering, read:


MP in sex, drugs and blackmail scandal resigns.

Sarah had remembered being puzzled. The MP in question had been the representative for her constituency and, being an active member of the political party, she thought she would have heard something before it was reported in the news. Such a high profile politician would surely have made the television news as well but there had been nothing. Sarah had put the story out of her mind. Until she was watching the early evening news a week later when the story was the main headline. She remembered the look on her husband’s face when she told him she had seen the story a week earlier. He hadn’t believed her so she had dug out the newspaper only to find the headline had changed. It had been there she had insisted. You must have dreamt it he had replied.

That incident had been forgotten until it happened again. Again after the school run she had settled down with the paper and a cup of tea and seen the headline.


Motorway pile up on Thelwall Viaduct. 30 dead.

Sarah had looked at the page with horror and dread. There had been no accident. Again it would have been on the news. Certainly one of that magnitude. Maybe this time she could do something about it. Warn someone. Prevent this tragedy from occurring. She glanced at the date on the front page and her eyes widened. She had one week until the disaster was to take place. She formulated a plan. The night before she had studied the evening weather forecast. There was to be a lot of fog in the area in the early hours of the morning which wouldn’t clear until around midday. She waited until everyone in the house was asleep until she crept out into the night to make a phone call.

Sarah had recalled how the accident had still taken place. The call had either been too late or dismissed as a hoax. Could she have ever prevented it? If not, why was she being sent these strange messages? Was someone or something just playing with her head? Was someone sending messages from the future trying to alter history for the better? And why just to Sarah?

Sarah wiped the tears from her eyes. There had to be a reason for all of it. This time she couldn’t fail. The laptop sat a few feet away from her. She needed to do some digging and quickly so she reached over, brought the machine closer and switched it on.

Logging on to the internet she glanced again at the day’s paper with its headline:


Man-made virus unleashed. Death toll: 4 billion.