A Poorly Constructed Cartoon About ‘The Apprentice’

I Always Thought the Voice Over Said “Candidates Have Come From Across The Country To Fight For a Job With a Stick Figure Salary”

 

For @MoreUtterPiffle

John Peel – A Memory

Today marks the sixth anniversary of John Peel’s untimely passing away.

I’d guess the increased Cowell-ification of the charts in that time would have John spinning in his grave – possibly at the wrong speed – but I wanted to c&v part of a previous blog post originally about 6 Music:

“Do you remember the band Bennet?

No, of course not. You’re all young hip cats who’s worlds are made up of iPods and MP3s and have no truck with obscure Britpop bands from the mid-to-late nineties.

If you do remember them, you may recall their minor hit “Mum’s Gone To Iceland”. Not their finest hour.

But “Someone Always Gets There First” WAS their finest hour. I heard it on a Peel Session many years ago and I instantly fell in love. As a doomed romantic, it spoke to me.  In these days before the internet, I managed to track down a copy and order it from a local record store.

That song is a stone cold Dave’s Desert Island Disc. It’s made me smile, shake my booty and – in all honesty – it’s got me through some tough times. Hell, it was the first track on a mixtape that I made for the Better Half for reasons too complicated to go into here.

I’ve never heard it on the radio before or since that John Peel broadcast. If I’d not been sat by my radio for precisely those three minutes, my life would not have been enriched by that power-pop number in the way that it has been.”

And that, in a badly written nutshell, is what made John Peel great for me.

Thanks John.

Self Indulgent Pretentious Wank-Fest

Actually, this was going to be a long and self-indulgent piece about what it is to be a writer. Why do we do it? What is the purpose? When do you feel you can call yourself ‘a writer’ in polite company?

Then I realised that the answers to the questions were simply; “Because we have to”. “Blah Blah Blah Something about being human”. And “I have recently come to the conclusion that a writer writes. You write? You’re a writer. End of.”

That’s all that sorted. Didn’t take long, did it? Can’t be bothered to change the title, though.

So, instead, here’s a picture to mentally and emotionally scar you:

Another Star Wars Book

Look, you have @Banalyst to blame for this one because he emailed me the title and I giggled.

I can only apologise that my MS Paint skills can’t do it justice.

Yoda Went Into Self-Help Publishing

“Cutting Edge” Technology

Movember Needs You!!!

I’m an important man. I own many leather bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.

But how does one outwardly display one’s sophistication and love of the finer things in life? Cigars? Fine wines? The works of John Grisham?

These are all fine options, but the finest of all is the moustache.

Whether the handlebar, the Chaplin or the ASBO bumfluff (my own personal choice), man has been able to show his debonair streak ever since the razor blade was invented.

“Yes, Dave. I am a man of the world and I wish to take part in the most manly of pursuits and cultivate a luxuriant lip warmer,” I hear you cry. “But how can I do this without incurring the ridicule of my less cosmopolitan friends and relations?”

Simple. Do it for charity.

Every November, thousands of suave men around the world take part in Movember to raise awareness of and money to combat prostate cancer. And this year, I and – I hope – you will join them.

Not for us the undignified run around a city park. All that is required is to shave on November 1st and then grow the best moustache your testosterone can provide. Possibly while lounging around sipping port.

If you feel that perhaps you are not urbane enough, then I’d be very grateful if you could donate to this worthy cause (I’ll badger you nearer the time as well). Thanks.

So, please. Donate your face. Donate some time. Donate some money.

Who’s In?