My mates were on the telly

My mates were on the telly last night. This shouldn't be exciting any more. It's 2014, for a start. Nowadays, anyone can be famous if they want to be, and entirely on their own terms. Beauty and lifestyle vloggers from YouTube are now so pulsatingly popular that a public appearance has been known to bring Covent Garden to a standstill. Being on the telly shouldn't still be such a big deal.

My mates, who were on the telly last night

Another reason why my mates being on the telly shouldn't excite me any more is because it's 2014 and this means that I should be old enough to know better. The day before my mates were on the telly (which was last night) was my 34th birthday. I am old. And wizened. Bits of me hurt and other parts smell and I can never quite guarantee which bits are going to fall into which category. I am older now, in fact, than Pete was when I first met him. Pete is one of my mates (who were on the telly last night).

But guess what? Your mates being on the telly is still exciting. Thrillingly so.

We decamped to their local boozer in Hove for the hottest premiere that Sussex has seen since the Norman Invasion to watch. Any locals hoping to watch the Arsenal -West Ham Premier League match were squirrelled away in a room upstairs so as not to bother the people who were watching a televised gardening contest. But no matter, the atmosphere we all created was just as giddy as any communal pub football-watching experience of my life and far more good-natured. Opposing contestants were booed like pantomime villains, and when our heroes prevailed and won the preserves making test at the end, the roof came off. All told, having the gardening on instead of the football may appear to be a bold shift in conventional pub dynamics, but it was an unreservedly successful one. If nothing else, there was a buffet.

Next week my mates will be on the telly again. I'm not sure how I'll cope not watching it in a pub. For a start I won't know when to cheer. I'll probably have to make up all my own chants, too.

Your mates being on the telly is still exciting. However, it's not quite the same as it would have been in the past, because Tim Berners-Lee invented the internet and the internet has allowed the invention of Twitter. Twitter is an instant feedback sluice, a ceaselessly-flowing pipe of data and opinions, thoughts and feelings. Put another way, it's a shitfunnel, and this shitfunnel is going off in your face. Trepidatiously, I began to explore what other people were making of my mates being on the telly last night.

As I have mentioned before, I am now old. Old enough, at least, to not be surprised by people. And I've been on and around the internet for over a decade, so pretty much nothing shocks or offends me any more. So imagine my surprise when this was the very first tweet I saw on the subject:

hashtag: ponces

I wasn't surprised that people didn't like them per se, as we all know that not everyone is going to like you or like your friends. Also, television programmes are by their very nature never the whole picture. They are edited and re-ordered to fit a third party's view of what the narrative should be, with one eye always squarely on entertainment. Someone who doesn't like what they see of you on TV may be pleasantly surprised if they had to deal with you in real time.

I also wasn't surprised that someone who didn't like something had said so on Twitter. It is, after all, a shitfunnel and it's going off in your face. No, what surprised me is that I actually bristled. I bristled! How dare someone I don't know not like my mates (who were on the telly last night). He doesn't even know them! How can you dismiss someone without knowing all the facts?

Oh god, what was I doing?

Against my better judgement, I took another handful of blood pressure tablets and yomped in yet further. Predictably, there were just as many nice comments as nasty ones. Naturally, I found myself agreeing with these and growing increasingly convinced that the people tweeting them and I could grow to be firm friends.

This is, as far as I am concerned, the only rational response any human being could have had

Meanwhile, Lincoln WI approve. Summer Fetes in Spalding may have special guest jam judges this year

I think the positive comments very much outweighed the negatives in the end and so my researches were, on balance, a nice thing to do. My mates were on the telly last night but now they also represent many things to many people. They are everyman heroes, tweed-wearers of the year, nascent gay icons and the beards that just won't quit.

The only one of these things which started to niggle me, in fact, was the use of the word "hipster". "Hipster gardeners", "fashionably-bearded" and "hipster ponces" are all terms I have seen used. As I see it, "hipster" is just the fashionable term for people who try and be fashionable. Being fashionable is a reactive process, whereas Gary and Pete are proactive people. They don't look or dress like they do out of any notion of kowtowing to current trends. They are bringing sexy back on their own terms. Or, to put it another way, they're both too old to be hipsters. A hipster in their 40s would be a pathetic sight, and I think it's impossible to argue that either of our heroes is a pathetic individual. If nothing else, they kicked all your arses up and down that jam tent. Their bouquet was under-rated, too. Renaissance men. Upstanding men. Real men. There's no artifice or pretension there. So bloody shut up with the "hipster" thing, you idiots.

God.

I mean, I might be biased. Next week I will probably be watching the show on my own with Twitter open and I can't guarantee that I won't wade in to any number of futile internet arguments. If this experience has taught me anything, it's that I've learnt nothing and can't be trusted to be rational when there are Feelings floating about. Now, disclaimers out of the way, I'm off to find some more proper, constructive appraisals of last night's show.

It's possible, but they'd only be their own bits that they'd severed by mistake

This is the sort of unnerved feeling you get just before you realise it is, in fact, lust

If you would like to know or see more (and by the way, you definitely do and should) then you can follow my mates (who were on telly last night) on Twitter here: @vegetablismuk, like their Facebook page here: Vegetablism or read their website here: Vegetablism.co.uk. You can also watch them being on TV thanks to the wise owls at the BBC who invented the iPlayer: The Big Allotment Challenge episode 1

Full online integration

It would be rather remiss of me to not point you in the direction of my sidebar, so that you might have a look at my links. I am often adding new ones, but even the old faithfuls are there for a very good reason. The one I am particularly keen for you to try out this week: Versus Sexboat, the venerable home of the podcast that I make in varying states of consciousness with 5olly and Betsy.

Today saw the excitement of the release of our second podcast, and it's even better than the first! If you can even imagine such a thing being possible.

Also this week, why not give Megan Belcher a visit, and have a look at her new series about great movie monsters? This is a rhetorical question, as I am sure you will all do this.

I am five

I am in a celebratory mood this morning for a variety of reasons, and at least one of them I can share with you now: today I have been on Twitter for five years.

Five years! I am rather proud of this. It means, for one thing, that I signed up to Twitter within about six months of its launch, which is an act of completely unprecedented foresight on my part. Normally I only join anything long after its best years were behind it. Like a man marrying into the French royal family on 13th July 1789.

But what I am really proud of, in an uncharacteristically serious way, is how many new friends I have made because of it. I could have used it to try and hawk my wares. It's arguable that I should do that more often. But Twitter for me is a reminder of my growth as a person and an example of my positive investment in myself, even if that investment is just time spent rattling out aphoristic bursts of grumpy, nonsensical bobbins.

In five years time I hope I will be posting here to celebrate my big 10, by which point I will be damn near completely intolerable.

On high alert

I am a fundamentally friendly sort, though a bit shy in real life. Online, though, this just translates to being a fundamentally friendly sort. Result!

I always like to hear from people, particularly my friends. People who like to hear from strangers more are weird and you probably shouldn't trust them with any of your valuables: house keys, children, hymen, wallet etc. As such I have things set up to tell me when I have a new email (it's up there in the corner, see?) and things that flash up from Tweetdeck when I am mentioned or direct messaged on Twitter. It's a good system. Mostly.

Because when I'm not scratching away at a bit of paper with my tongue stuck out of the corner of my mouth, I am doing things to the digital image I have taken with my scanner-ma-bob thing (it's there, look). I have to tweak things here and there. Tidy bits up (mostly because I am both too lazy and too stupid to just CLEAN THE SCREEN), tweak the contrast, sort out sizes and filenames and just generally be hugely autistic about the whole thing. This is when being firmly plugged in to the seething currents of electronic communication begins to properly stress me out.

LOOK! THERE'S AN EMAIL! BETTER ANSWER IT, SLACKMUND

Yesterday I was scanning my picture of a dog when I noticed that the previous picture, (C is for crocodile), had been wrongly sized. Because I am an idiot, the printable version was A5-size rather than A4. So I had to re-scan that one too, which meant just a little bit more work. But then the flashing messages and the little mail notifier are not so welcome. In fact they drive me mad. "PROD PROD POKE, come along dotmund, there's a message here, why aren't you answering me? Do you have any idea how precariously balanced all your friendships are? You are a fucking arsewit".

Luckily, as a grown up, I have been able to take a step back and work out what the problem is, so that I can take steps to solve it. The problem, as I see it, is that I'M A FUCKING FANNY. So, my solution - which I will now be trying to implement forthwith - is to STOP BEING A FUCKING FANNY.

This may well work.

Sunday evening round-up of new things

Hello. Today is one of those days that I am spreading myself thinly, like the serving suggestion on a jar of Marmite. I'm everywhere, folks.

Firstly, I have collaborated once more with 5olly and Betsy on another podcast. However, unlike our previous efforts which were to be honest the outpourings of purely diseased maniacs (plus Betsy), this new one has a theme and a structure and 5olly even did some editing on it. It's a bit rough and ready as many first things can be but given the fact that we refuse to even contemplate doing any project until we're good and drunk, that's only to be expected.

It also features: a technical hitch which, due to dumb luck, probably proved to be the best thing that could have happened; 5olly and Betsy's cat Jerry asking to be let out; me receiving a text message, the unmistakable sounds of me eating tablet, 5olly cracking a tube of amber fluid and Betsy demonstrating once again that the world of librarians gain is the voiceover world's loss.

Anyway, our podcast addresses the thorny issue of how to decide which film to watch if they are both rated the same as each other by the esteemed organ, IMDb.com and is called Versus Sexboat for reasons which will become tragically apparent very quickly.

You can listen to and download our efforts here: Grease Vs. Sexboat.

We are sorry. But not sorry enough to not be planning more episodes in the future.

Edit: Versus Sexboat now has its own exclusive site, which you can see here: Versus Sexboat

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Also this weekend saw the launch of the new online art phenomenon, Draw Me A Daltrey. Anyone ever wanting the definitive gallery of Roger Daltrey portraits need look no further than this collection. As well as perusing their site and submitting your own Daltrey, you can also follow them on Twitter here.

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In a final magnificent twist, today also say the publication of this mighty anthology of questions and answers to which I contributed in varying states of sobriety last weekend. But as it is on Pleasing To A Mollbird and I have now told you several times you should be reading that blog, you will surely already know this, yes? Anyway, please read that and add your own answers to the questions in the comments section. Be warned, though, many of those questions are actually deceptively simple, and in fact represent deeply philosophical and existential quandries.

Godzilla - your questions answered

I am an expert on Godzilla. I have seen at least three different Godzilla films, not including the fact I've seen both the original Japanese and the updated original with added American scenes starring Raymond Burr as a scientist called Steve Martin. Also, I decided this morning that I was an expert on Godzilla. These days becoming an expert really is as easy as that. As long as you tick the right box on Wikipedia, you can be an expert on anything.

Being generous of spirit, I decided to use my newfound expertise on Godzilla for good and answer any questions that my loyal readers may have about Godzilla, plus the definitive answers to some more standard and basic questions. Thanks to all those who asked questions. Bigger thanks, in many ways, to anyone who didn't. I can only apologise in advance for what is about to happen.

What colour is Godzilla?
Many people believe that Godzilla is green. However, when in doubt, I always think you should return to the original source material. It's fairly clear from that that Godzilla is in fact dark grey.

What sex is Godzilla?
Opinion is largely divided on this thorny issue. Godzilla-watchers everywhere eagerly watch Godzilla's undercarriage to see if Godzilla ever does an egg or pops a boner. Until then, it's hard to make a definitive call. I think of Godzilla as female, like Mother Earth.

How does Godzilla get such powerful thighs?
Step aerobics.

Godzilla: HONK

And now onto your questions:

What was the name of the bloke in the rubber suit in Godzilla Raids Again and what did he have for lunch on the third day of filming? (@NobbyNobody, via Twitter)
The actor essaying the role of Godzilla has changed many times, but in the early Toho Co. films it was almost always Morris Woodman, a British-born character actor who found himself working in Tokyo following World War II. On the third day of filming his wife made him a bento box but he forgot it and was forced instead to bum a Billy Bear luncheon meat sandwich off of his co-star Minoru Chiaki.

What is Godzilla's view on Scottish Independence? (@ajholman, via Twitter)
Godzilla is in fact of Scottish extraction, Godzilla's grandmother having been Agnes Godzilluch. Godzilla believes that, whilst independence is broadly speaking a good idea, it would be better as a graduated process of devolution rather than a clean, sudden split.

Does Godzuki prefer Dairylea or real cheese? (Neil Porter, via Facebook)
Like all Godzillas, Godzuki is not fond of any dairy products. But if pushed, Godzuki favours a Dairylea Lunchables with a tram for dipping.

How much Um Bungo can Godzilla consume in a single sitting? (Chris Leate, via Facebook)
As with many of us, not as much as Godzilla used to be able to. At Godzilla's peak, Godzilla could happily drink up to 800,000 gallons in a single sitting. But bladder capacity is a variable thing and drinking that much now would have Godzilla having to get up every twenty minutes all night to pee. Also, Godzilla's dentist advises against too many fruit drinks. 300,000 gallons.

How large are Godzilla's testes? (Nina Tame, via Facebook)
This of course begs the question re. the sex of Godzilla. However, there must be a male Godzilla somewhere or there wouldn't be any more Godzillas, so... Testicle size is inversely proportional to the fidelity of the species. The greater the monogamy, the smaller the testicle tends to be. Given the relatively small numbers of Godzillas, monogamy is rather thrust upon them, meaning Godzilla has surprisingly small testes considering Godzilla's huge stature. The left one is the size of a Ford Iveco lorry, the right one is slightly smaller.

What is Godzilla's morning hygiene and style routine? (@gazbeirne, via Twitter)
The key thing to remember is that Godzilla lives in the sea. It's a harsh environment for the skin. So the first thing Godzilla does in the morning is to apply moisturiser and then a natural mud pack whilst Godzilla brushes Godzilla's teeth. After that Godzilla favours a shower to a bath and prefers Original Source Mint shower gel if Godzilla can get it. Godzilla usually can. What many people don't know is that Godzilla wears a subtle amount of eyeliner to bring out Godzilla's cheekbones. Godzilla favours Black Magic 161 by Rimmel.

When Godzilla is playing football, does he like the ball to feet or is he more of a stick-it-over-the-shoulder-and-I'll-chase-it kind of guy? (Colin MacKenzie, via Facebook)
Godzilla has lost a yard of pace over the years, but Godzilla's natural attributes of height and atomic strength make Godzilla an ideal target man, so Godzilla is generally more comfortable with the ball in the air.

Am I right in assuming that, as a reptile, Godzilla owns the largest cloaca on the planet? (@ricomonkeon, via Twitter)
Yes.

Did Godzilla get on with Gamera behind the scenes? (@sinistergiraffe, via Twitter)
No, Godzilla did not. Whilst Godzilla's friendship with Mothra when the cameras were not rolling is fairly well-known, with many stories of over-indulgence in the bars and clubs of Tokyo to attest to it, Godzilla and Gamera had an at-best thorny relationship. It was not helped when Godzilla loaned Gamera 1000 Yen to pay off a gambling debt and Gamera was slow to repay. Towards the end of their time together, many of the fights between Godzilla and Gamera that made it to the screen were in fact largely unscripted.

Gamera: Gambling problem

How much wood would a Godzilla chuck if a Godzilla could chuck wood? (Jason Burt D'arcy, via Facebook)
Twenty wood.

Who would win in a fight, Godzilla or The Iron Lady? (@robmanuel, via Twitter)
In spite of Godzilla's many advantages - height, weight, atomic strength, continued radioactivity, laser eyes and fire breath - The Iron Lady would by no means be a pushover. Her handbag contains a pretty weighty volume of the writings of Hayek, plus egged on by Keith Joseph and Willie Whitelaw, she is likely to fight dirty and exploit any weakness in her opponent. Godzilla, on a split judge's decision.

Is he a dog or a cat sort of monster? (Nina Tame, via Facebook)
Like many solitary, creative, people, Godzilla really prefers cats to dogs. Godzilla does not enjoy the forced socialising in parks that dog ownership can often entail.

Does Godzilla have any swaps for the 1996 Panini Football album? I'm missing Ian Rush and a couple of shinies. (Andy Lancaster, via Facebook)
Godzilla has little time for sticker collecting what with Godzilla's charity work taking up most of Godzilla's evenings. Also, Godzilla finds that Godzilla's album gets wet under the sea. But Godzilla does have a foil Coventry City badge sticker if that's any use?

Does Godzilla keep his ketchup in the cupboard or in the fridge? (Sarah Carter, via Facebook)
Godzilla is always mindful of food safety and favours the fridge once Godzilla's ketchup has been opened. Although during spells of cold weather, Godzilla doesn't mind moving the ketchup to a cool cupboard after it has been opened if there's no room in the fridge. Before it's been opened, a cupboard will do.

Does Godzilla want a cuddle? (Edward Peacock, via Facebook)
Yes.

What would be his preferred make of car to use as rollerskates? (Iam Mudrock, via Facebook)
Godzilla used to favour Hondas, as a result of a long-standing marketing tie-in. Since that expired, however, Godzilla favours the Kia, which Godzilla claims has the softest roof.

How thick is the shell of a Godzilla egg? (@5olly, via Twitter)
Half an inch.

Mothra: unpredictable

How many teeth does Godzilla have and what toothpaste does he use? (@5olly, via Twitter)
Most Godzillas have 48 teeth. 26 on the top jaw and 22 on the bottom jaw. However, Godzilla lost one in a fight with Mothra, so Godzilla only has 47 teeth. Godzilla favours Colgate, which offers Godzilla 24 hour protection from plaque.

Who does Godzilla think is the best expert on Godzilla? (Must be human) (@5olly, via Twitter)
Until his death, Russell Harty. Since then, me.

How big are Godzilla beans? Does Godzilla get beaned? (@davidwhittam, via Twitter)
Godzilla, unlike the domesticated horse, does not accumulate "beans" of smegma in Godzilla's urethral opening, as it is better designed. Godzilla did get beaned until 1984, when Godzilla was forced to reveal that there was no need for it to be done and Godzilla just liked it.

Does Godzilla lie about his tea? (@5olly, via Twitter)
Once Godzilla claimed that he'd eaten Yokohama for his tea when in fact it was Chiba. However, this may well have been a geographical misunderstanding rather than an outright lie.

What word games does Godzilla like to play? (@alicestronaut, via Twitter)
Many of the monsters of movieland favour Scrabble but Godzilla is very much Godzilla's own Godzilla and instead prefers the card game Lexicon. Godzilla also likes Boggle and joining Mothra in a game of consequences between takes.

When battling Mothra why doesn't Godzilla turn on a giant booby-trapped bedside lamp? (@matsimpsk, via Twitter)
Godzilla has a keen sense of fair play. However, if Godzilla ever felt that Mothra had itself fought in an underhanded way, then Godzilla might do just that.

What does Godzilla think about GM foods? (Caroline Marshall, via Facebook)
As one might expect from any creature woken from a state of deep sea stasis by the meddling of man and his atomic bombs, Godzilla has great misgivings about GM foods and feels that whilst the prospect of increased yields and less spoilage is very alluring, there needs to be sensible caution exercised in the use of GM.

If Godzilla were a girl, who would her favourite designer be this Spring '12 season? (Anna Forster, via Facebook)
Godzilla keeps surprisingly well-apprised of all of the latest trends in ladies fashion, although Godzilla decribes Godzilla's own style as being more smart casual than dressy. Godzilla expects the 1970s look to be in and expresses particular fondness for Michael Kors.

Was Godzilla circumcised? (Megan Belcher, via Facebook)
Yes, but not intentionally.

Which Beatle, Muppet and Star Wars character was Godzilla's favourite? (Megan Belcher, via Facebook)
John Lennon, Fozzie, Han Solo.

Thanks once again to everyone who asked questions, to which you now all know the answers. If you need to know anything else about Godzilla, just make it up.


Addendum:
I've had some COMPLAINTS. Well, one. That I didn't answer all the questions. So here goes.

What is Godzilla's favourite biscuit? (@5olly, via Twitter)
Abbey Crunch.

When Godzilla last watched Titanic, did he wish he could rise up and bite Leonardo di Caprio's head off? (@5olly, via Twitter)
Godzilla has never seen Titanic, Godzilla does not really enjoy films with happy endings. Although Godzilla has seen the actual Titanic, on Godzilla's summer holidays.

Can Godzilla confirm or deny if Carol Klein sticks her parsnips up her bot-bot? (@5olly, via Twitter)
No, Godzilla cannot.

What does Godzilla think about last minute questions? And pies in lingerie? (Kev Beeley, via Facebook)
Godzilla is not crazy about either. Although Godzilla has designed a bra with mini Melton Mowbray pork pies covering the nipple.

What is Godzilla's opinion of the cartoon about him created in the 70s? Does he feel he was portrayed objectively? (@5olly, via Twitter)
Godzilla was not initially consulted about the cartoon being made which made Godzilla pretty angry. However, Godzilla's Agent and Godzilla managed to find a satisfactory deal where Godzilla had a veto over scripts and got to meet Scooby Doo. As such Godzilla was happy with Godzilla's cartoon portrayal.

New Year's resolutions

I don't normally make New Year's resolutions, least not formally write them down. However, this year I have. I think some sort of public accountability might make me actually pull my bleeding finger out and get some stuff done. I am pretty sure that one day this piece of paper will come back to haunt me, like Charles Foster Kane's Declaration of Principles. This is one reason that I shall not be giving it to Jed Leland, that troublemaking swine.

This was written down in the United States

"Well, the Lone Ranger and Tonto
They're ridin' down the line
Fixin’ everybody’s troubles
Everybody’s ’cept mine
Somebody musta told ’em
That I was doin’ fine"

Bob Dylan - Bob Dylan's Blues

Everybody likes to be nice and helpful. It's a good feeling to help someone out, or even feel that you've done your best to try. Of course, even if the problems are very similar to your own, solving them - even helping to solve them - is a very different proposition. This week I've been doing a bit of troubleshootin' and shoulderwork myself. I feel good about that. But it's made me realise I'm a hypocrite if I then don't also try and address the same things in myself.

I've been thinking a lot about counselling recently, mainly due to my friend Nina's brilliant new blog on the subject which I have mentioned here before, but also because a number of my friends have told me about their positive experiences of it in the past year or so. Not only have I heard about their positive experiences, I have also seen and felt its beneficial effects in them.

I've had experiences of counselling in the past, but they've all been negative and unhelpful. I'm sure as much of the failures were my fault as they were the fault of the people involved. Nevertheless, failures they were. The most recent of these was in 2002, which as mathematics professors everywhere will be able to tell you is nearly 10 years ago. A person can change a lot in ten years, especially if 10 years ago you were 22 years old and as such thought you knew everything. These days I'm far less dismissive of anything, knowing full well that things have a way of coming back round in circles and if you're too cocky, of biting you on the arse.

My concern is that it will be too difficult to find the right person. I know that the right counsellor or right approach is out there for me somewhere, or rather, that is what I now choose to believe. It's not a friend you want. I want someone outside of that, someone who can ask and be told things that I'd not necessarily be comfortable sharing with people I know. However, I also want them to be someone who I feel I can trust, whom I respect and someone who actually cares.

Like a friend.

I hope this guardian angel exists out there somewhere, because I think I owe it to myself to try and find them in 2012. Even if only to address my impossibly high expectations of people and of things.

All boys like Velma the best

Yesterday I spent a lovely afternoon discussing ducks, swans, feeders and the potential for lesbianism in dogs in Queen's Park, Brighton with a very superior class of people indeed. One of them was one of my favourite bloggers and tweety-tweet-tweeters, Mollbird, whom I was meeting in actual real life for the first time. You should definitely read her blog if you don't already do so. Go on. Do it now, this will still be waiting for you when you get back. She once got pepper sprayed in a cinema, rendering a 3-D experience resolutely 0-D. What more do you want?

It's always nice to meet people who you've been following on Twitter, I find, because as I've said before there's very few surprises. Most people are the way they are on the site, and now you've got the added bonus that they can tell you things in longer increments than 140 characters or fewer. I learnt new facts and was able to establish that Moll - who has one of your actual degrees in film studies - shares my passion for films having more sharks in them wherever possible. Hell, even wherever NOT possible. Just get some sharks in, and make sure they're ANGRY. I feel that her opinion was validation of a theory on the filmmaker's art which may otherwise very well have just been the rantings of a complete idiot, like everything else I say.

Another important thing to come out of yesterday afternoon, however, was Moll posing the vital question: which cartoon character would play you in a film of your life? These are the sort of vital questions that I feel are criminally ignored by society at large because they think they are stupid or trivial. But, and I'm not actually joking about this, I think they're the most important things. It's the little, stupid and trivial things that make up life.

Her choice was Velma from Scooby Doo. A lot of my friends answer Velma to that question, in fact. Alice was also there and quickly agreed that Velma was her choice too*. It was a whole world of Velmagic going on. It's a good thing. It shows a sense of humour and wry self-depreciation. It's a sign that they value their depth of character. Velma should be an icon for our times.

I wonder, though, how many women when noting their Velmatic tendencies actually know that when it comes down to that vital Scooby Doo Choice, all boys like Velma the best? Well, all boys you'd want to have anything to do with, anyway. I'd go as far to say that you should be highly suspicious of a man who would choose Daphne over Velma, nor anything to do with a woman who would do the same thing when trying to find a cartoon shorthand to describe themselves.

This is a bold statement, and maybe it's just me. But I really don't think it is. I really HOPE that it isn't, too. I can scarcely imagine the horror of a society ruled by Daphnes and Daphne-chasers. I needn't even bother imagining it, in fact. I just need to watch any of the programmes on ITV2 to show me what that would be like. I think it's horrifying, vapid and materialistic. It's time that Velmas and Velma enthusiasts took back popular culture for themselves. We have nothing to lose but our Scooby Snacks.

By the way, the cartoon character who would play me is Muttley. And I would like a medal, yes.

* I should point out that Alice says I have misremembered this and that in fact she did not make a specific choice. However, I'm trying to construct a sociological theory with help from empirical evidence, so I'm leaving it in.

Link bonanza

Hello loyal readers and inexplicably loyal readers alike. You've probably noticed that I've been rather LAX in updates and blog posts here lately. I'm a bit busy enjoying life to really write about how much I'd like to be enjoying life at present, which is something I'm not going to apologise for. So in the meantime, I thought I'd have one of my posts where I point you in the direction of somewhere else, that you might be able to find something new and exciting to look at.

And you will, you will.

I See A Beautiful Future

Well just looky here. My friend has started to do a blog about her work in counselling and let's face it, if you're reading my blog you're bound to have some problems that you'll need to work through. She also contributes to my SECOND recommendation:

Panda and Crumpet

One of my very favourite blogs of all. It's by turns serious, uplifting, sad, funny, silly and thought-provoking. In the words of Bernard Black, "You'll laugh, you'll cry, it'll change your life", only it actually will. If you don't already read it, you should.

I'm Still 5olly on the Block

Finally, another shout for my friend 5olly's blog, in which he manfully attempts to watch Channel 4's Top 100 War Films in a single calendar year without losing his mind or his overall muscle control. Next year he's suggested he's going to do porn films, although it remains to be seen if he means he's going to be blogging about it or just watching them.

Right, go, read. Expand your mind while I sit here and think about monkeys.

What's the time?

In the last week and a bit I've discovered my Achilles Heel. Subtracting the number eight from numbers no larger than 24.

The issue has been with time zones. As you are probably aware, the time where you are isn't necessarily the time where I am. Otherwise it would be dark during the day, like it is in Yorkshire. Over the past week for all sorts of exciting reasons, I've been talking via the wonder that is the internet to people on opposite coasts of America. (Incidentally America, I've not forgotten you, The America Project will continue soon). Whilst I find it eminently possible to figure out what the time must be on the east coast (time difference from UK: 5 hours), working it out for the west coast is completely beyond me. It's probably what gets all the rappers at each other's throats. No wonder they're angry. They don't know what time it is.

Not even a week's worth of practice has done me any good. I'm still completely hopeless. The problem undeniably lies with the old a.m./p.m. shenanigans. But even that's ridiculous and easily circumvented by the ol' 24 hour clock. BUT EVEN THAT DOESN'T WORK FOR ME. I'm pretty glad I've finished school, or else I reckon I'd flunk my SATs with flying colours.

An example. Yesterday it was 8 p.m. So, what time is it in Los Angeles, 8 hours behind the UK? Well, any absolute madman can tell you: It's 12 p.m. noon. So, how - HOW - did I work out that it was 2 p.m.? Well, in truth, I did it by subtracting 8 from 20, using the clever 24 hour clock so beloved of military men. What happened then, however, is my brain interpreted the result (12, in case you were wondering, because I know I must be) as meaning 2 p.m.

Obviously, there's some crossed wire in there. Converting from 24 hour clock back to normal times like people who don't drive tanks and bayonet Zulus use is obviously where the problem arises. But for heaven's sake. I've been going on like this for a WEEK! And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone. Why else would newsrooms and stock exchanges everywhere have their trendy NEW YORK-LONDON-TOKYO clocks all over the walls? It's because counting in base 12 makes no sense, unless you are from (insert name of place here).

Normally I would suggest a deceptively simple and demonstrably stupid solution at this point, but I don't really have one. I'm just throwing this out there in the hope that someone will tell me I'm not alone in this peculiarity. A black hole of mathematics. Dazzling gormlessness.

I am finishing this post at 7.40 a.m., BST. (GMT +1) on Saturday 8th October. The time in Los Angeles is 11.40 p.m on Friday 7th October. In New York it is 2.40 a.m. on Saturday 8th October. And on the moon, a Clanger is pissing himself laughing at me.

On how I would capture a runaway panda if it appeared in my garden

Oh hello again. Yesterday afternoon I asked Twitter what I should write a blog about to get back on my blogging megahorse, and I received lots of excellent suggestions. Yesterday's came from @LollyGee and today's is from @betsymartian. If you're on Twitter and not following both of these people then you're no friend of mine, let me tell you.

I live by the sea near the border between East and West Sussex. Prime panda country. Every autumn, the majestic and sweeping panda migrations make parts of Southwick, Shoreham-by-Sea and Steyning completely impassable. Alas, occasionally one will wander off from the herd. Then what do you do?

Well, the first thing is not to panic. They're not actually more scared of you than you are of them. In fact they will gladly bite your face clean off. However, what you need to do is forget that fact for a minute and get some courage. Because a faint heart never got a panda in a headlock yet.

As we all know, Montogomery used to put up a picture of Rommel in his tent and blow it kisses and write it love notes. No, actually, he put it there to size up his enemy. And that's the key here, to KNOW YOUR ENEMY. To catch an errant panda you must understand the strengths and weaknesses of the panda. The strengths include cuteness and the ability to bite your face clean off. What are a panda's weaknesses, though? As we all know, they are twofold:

1. Bamboo
2. Lady pandas (or mandas, if you have a lady panda in your garden)

That's right. Pandas love to eat bamboo and they don't like lady pandas (or mandas, if they are a lady panda). There's nothing a panda would rather do than eat bamboo all day on their own and do nothing about making any new pandas.

So, to capture a panda is a three man operation. (WARNING: one of these three men is going to complain bitterly about having more to do than the others. Ignore them). The first must dress as a lady panda (or a manda, if you have a lady panda to deal with) and just sit there looking coy and flirtatious. The second must dig a 10 foot by 10 foot by 10 foot deep pit and fill it with bamboo. The panda will see the lady panda (or manda) and go, 'uh oh. Don't want to be accidentally be doing any baby pandas'. Corralled by that horrible thought it will gallop into the bamboo pit. Where the second will probably still be stood, sweating and swearing about how unfair it all is.

The third's role is to film all of this and send it to me at the email address in the sidebar. Thanks.

It's not what you know

Internet WITS - and there's a lot of them about oh my brothers - will have you know that instant messaging is for people you know, Facebook is for people you wish you didn't know and Twitter is people you wish you knew. From a personal standpoint, I dispute that, because by a process of a careful and brutal (a real heavy-handed Stalinist brutality) pruning of your lists of friends, followers, disciples (call them what you will), you can very much change your experience. However, I can't deny that there is also a kernel of truth in it.

A lot of the people I know now, I first met online. When I was first able to say that it was a strange thing, now it's very much less so. Although there's still a frisson of weirdness, geekiness and non-social acceptability about it. However, I would like to argue that the people who argue that it's weird are probably the same people who sit around moaning about all the stupid, pointless and racist things people on their Facebook have said.

Because getting to know people online first is good. It honestly is. Where Facebook has never won me over is that it's a place for people you already know, not somewhere to do any actual networking. It's a useful tool, certainly, especially for arranging things. But beyond that I have little interaction with it.

The people who complain about Facebook are often people who are following everyone they've ever encountered, out of a sense of duty. I'm not criticising this. Office politics, family loyalty and old school ties can force one's hand and make these things unavoidable. But it's the people who you've met in real life first who will usually be the ones to suddenly come out violently in favour of "sending everyone with a 'Z' in their surname back to where they came from", or "building a death camp on the Isle of Wight".

This year I've made a number of new friends via Twitter and have now met several of them in actual real life and everything! The best part is there's few surprises there. For dedicated Twitterers like myself, there's no place to hide. I tweet pretty much every day that it's convenient for me to do so. People will know about the gloom, the frenzy, the whimsy, the gormlessness, the sweetness and the unpredictablity which are likely to make up a fully-fledged Dotmoment. Prolonged exposure to anyone in an online community is very revealing, especially once you are experienced in that arena and can read between the lines a little better.

I'm not saying that in future, everyone should live in a little box and only physically meet people that they've really got to know online first. But at the same time that is exactly what I'm saying. Let's make it happen today!

Idiocy like this deserves to be rewarded

Or, indeed, Sony Awarded. I mentioned this week that on Monday my friends 5olly and Betsy and I had drunkenly (in 5olly and my case) and tolerantly (Betsy) recorded ourselves making green tomato chutney. Well, here it is in its full 73 minute glory.

Seventy-three minutes! Do yourself a favour and watch The Bride of Frankenstein instead. With the sound muted, listening to our Chutcast.

Chive Talkin' with 5olly and Ed (and Betsy)

On being a fraidy cat

The other day I did a blog about worrying. This isn't about that. This is about being afraid of stuff. Being afraid of stuff is an active process, whereas worry is pre-emptive. There you are, if you didn't know that, you have already learnt something.

On Tuesday night I went to my friends' house. I'd never had steak tartare before and my friend had promised to not cook it for me. Afterwards, her housemate joined she and I to watch the concluding part of ITV's Appropriate Adult and eat salty chocolate treats.

At about 11 I went off home. To my fake house in Hove, where I've been staying this week on a catsitting gig. I always like to walk around town. It's good exercise and I am still in possession of all my body parts and am young, so why not? I was full of raw meat, thinking about serial killers (we'd also been discussing Bundy) and listening to The Velvet Underground. My sense of sado-masochistic darkness was probably at the peak of its graph, which I'd plotted in my own blood. The walk takes 40 minutes.

I know Brighton - where I am from - and Hove - where I went to school - pretty well. So I can dart through all the back streets and stuff and not get lost much. However, these back streets are spookier than main streets. The irony is you're more likely to get in trouble on Brighton's main highways, where all the drunks are staggering about. Plus the criminal classes favour them for their sweet lighting. The other reason I like to avoid the main streets is sometimes you see the delivery lorries for the supermarkets and takeaways there. I don't like my illusions of the magical food fairies spoilt.

So, I was thinking about serial killers and raw meat and listening to Heroin and noticing all the places someone could quite easily be quietly doing a murder in the shadows where you'd never see it. There's one just to the south of Brighton station. There's another cracking one in a churchyard on Upper North Street. The best of all is in a square just off Clifton Road. Please do not misinterpret these as being tips. Murder is wrong.

I became increasingly aware that I was a bit afraid, frankly. Afraid of the dark and my imagination, mainly. After the station I cut through towards St. Nicholas' church, which has a big graveyard. Now there was a fully-fledged risk of zombies. Oh cripes.

It was a relief to get back onto a slightly bigger road after that, but as soon as I did my friend Kev spotted me walking past The Florist pub and tootled out to say hello. I'm not at my best with the old bump-into at the best of times. On Tuesday night, however, I think I successfully conveyed that my social awkwardness was now shot through with absurdist and made-up terror, by recourse to barely being able to speak. Another proud moment.

The most surprising thing in all of this is that I am single.

On worry

Why did I used to worry? This occurred to me today. Frankly, it's very worrying.

Last night I accidentally recorded a podcast. I was helping my friend 5olly make chutney and he thought it would be an interesting experiment to record it. I'm an avowed completist, so will wait until the whole thing is available before pimping it too hard. But if you follow the link to his blog there I believe you'll be able to hear a snippet. We had been drinking, yes.

This sort of thing used to terrify me. For a start, I (in common with almost everyone in existence) don't like hearing my voice when it's recorded. However, the anxiety just seems to have melted away, allowing me to enjoy the content of the thing, rather than fretting about trivialities of the wrapping.

I think I comprehensively proved that I am a blithering idiot, but hopefully also the right kind of idiot. A nice sort of idiot. Maybe even an entertaining sort of idiot. "Compelling" may be a step too far, but in my defence, chutney's not really a subject on which I feel I have the requisite knowledge to really hold forth.

I'm continuing to put myself out there in lots of little ways and it's so exciting because the effect is so overwhelmingly positive. Don't think it, do it. I always say that people don't change, but I think now what they can do is become better, become more themselves. Become the person they have the potential to be.

I paint, draw, write, cook. I'm educated, curious and have lots of interests. I am going to coin the phrase Renaissance Idiot to describe myself and everyone like me. There's a lot of us Renaissance Idiots about, too. It bodes well for the future.

My one remaining worry is that I'll get too confident and cocky. I'd hate that. I implore all of you to beat me down whenever it happens. It will be for my own good even more than it will be for the good of society. The Renaissance Idiot must never lose sight of the fact that they are an idiot.

On b3ta

Today is the tenth anniversary of the first post being made on the b3ta.com messageboard. It's as significant an anniversary as any other in the history of the internet. B3ta.com is a legitimate phenomenon... less high profile than many of its rivals or peers, perhaps due to its Britishness, both in terms of the majority of its users and its outlook on life. However, if you see a funny picture on the internet, there's still a very good chance that it originated from b3ta or one of its members.

I signed up for b3ta on 28th October 2003. I am not being sarcastic, or even just glib, to say that it is the best thing I ever did in my life. It opened up a new world of like-minded people and creative stimulation to me. Eight years on, I've made lifelong friends that I met through the site, and pretty much every other positive thing which happens can be traced back to that day in 2003.

That sounds rather pathetic, when it's written down. A hangover from those times where meeting people through the internet was viewed with deep suspicion. Nowadays, everyone is doing it and my friends and I nod sagely, the wisdom of the pioneer. And besides, however sad and pathetic some people might think it is, it has the virtue of being true. The real sad and pathetic thing was the state I was in beforehand. 28th October is my second birthday.

I am sure that Rob, Cal and Denise are enormously proud of the site the created, and rightly so. But I also hope they are aware of the real difference that their site has made to peoples actual lives. It is a wonderful thing, and one for which I will always be grateful.

This post deserved a bit of seriousness. But as it's about b3ta, I couldn't possibly leave it there. B3ta is about laughs. So I'm going to finish up with a selection of some of my favourite ever b3ta pictures, cribbed from my handy "stuff you've liked" page. Brace yourselves.

British ants enter space race
B3ta at its most brilliant and straightforward. Apropos of nothing and designed purely to make you titter.

Fly sex
Does exactly what it says on the tin.

Jack Torrance vs. door
Internet humour 101 - film meme, silly idea, brilliant timing and execution.

Marilyn Monroe
Spectacularly offensive, quickly done and brilliant.

Heston makes us some dinners
I think this is amazing.

Go to work on an...
My favourite b3ta picture of all time. It is magnificent beyond the need for words or description.

Gaza and the West Bank
Jokes, as the phrase on the posting page tells us, are better than technique.

Headline writer goes mental
Awesome.

Godzilla's umbrella
Jokes are better than technique. Both are often on display, however.

Blankety Blank lols
I will never not laugh at this.

Mandrill gets a light
Or this.

Air museum
One by someone who is now a close friend of mine. But forget that, just get a load of this.

Cat leaps
Well, I couldn't do all of this and not have a cat. This is just lovely.

These things I know - The Solar System

My friend Ed (his name is like my name!) is hugely enthusiastic about maths and science. I am not. They are subjects which have always largely passed me by, particularly science, the majority of which I find bewilderingly confusing. However, when he tells me about maths and science I always find it interesting and very enjoyable, as interesting and enjoyable as it always is when anyone who is passionate about something tells you about it.

It's times like that when my ability to use my largely fragmented knowledge of stuff and things comes into play. I'm pretty good at holding my own in a conversation about more or less any subject for 10 minutes or so. If bluffing your way through stuff was an Olympic event I'd probably be a captain on A Question of Sport by now. So today I thought I would test myself, sit down and write everything I know about a subject. This falls under the auspices of full disclosure, but also of my heartfelt desire to prove to everyone that I am in fact an idiot.

I have chosen a subject riven with both maths and science (you see how this all links up?): The Solar System. The one what we all live in, apparently.

The creation of the solar system

The solar system was created by something called The Big Bang. No-one knows how this happened. I am no different in this regard. However, what it did do is create all the matter in the universe. Just thinking about this is making my head spin, actually. This is why I never think about science.

Our galaxy

There are many galaxies. We live in one called The Milky Way. There are planets and moons and stuff in it, but the most important thing is our star, which is called the sun. The sun is very important as it provides heat and light and other good things. If the sun stopped working we would all be buggered, so it's best if that did not happen. One day it will happen, which is going to cause some headscratching on Earth, for sure.

The planets

There are 9 planets. Or 8. Or 10. Sometimes people are feeling stingy and sometimes extravagant. When they are feeling extravagant they discover new planets with a big telescope. The planets are Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune, Uranus and Pluto. From Mercury to Saturn, those are definitely in the right order. There is no life on any of the planets except earth, which lives in The Goldilocks Zone. It also has a jaunty tilt off its axis which helps enormously. Mercury and Venus are both very inhospitable and largely made of acid and spikes. Mars is red and may have water on it which is a good thing as far as life is concerned. Jupiter and Saturn are made of gas, which I don't really understand. They both have lots of moons which look amazing. One of Jupiter's moons is called Ganymede, which I like. Saturn has a ring round it. This is made of stuff. Neptune, Uranus and Pluto are also made of gas I think but they are very cold and far away and no-one cares. People have even said Pluto isn't even a proper planet, which is a bit mean.

Other galaxies and stars

There are millions of other galaxies just like ours, each with their own star. The sky is full of stars. You can see them in the sky at night if you don't live in London. They are all like our sun, in various stages of their life-cycle, but further away. In the other galaxies there are other planets orbiting their star. I believe that there is other life in the universe. In fact, I think it is impossible that it wouldn't be the case. The reason why we have never heard from them is the same reason that they've never heard from us: we're all too far away and don't have the technology. I believe that extra-terrestrial life is most likely going to strongly resemble life on earth, because science and evolution should be constants. I would quite like to see an extra-terrestrial dog. They might be a bit taller, or hairier, but they'd still be a dog.

The moon

Like many of the planets, Earth has a satellite. This is called The Moon. Considering that we named all of the planets in the solar system and all of their moons, this is not a very imaginative name. The moon orbits Earth. Its gravity effects the tides. On July 20th 1969, two American blokes landed a spaceship on the moon and dicked about and got some rocks to prove that it wasn't made of cheese. Then they came home. That's pretty impressive when you consider it. Especially if you have any experience of the British railway service.

Gravity

Gravity is the thing that makes people stay on the ground, but not aeroplanes. I do not understand where it comes from or what it is but I am glad it's there, otherwise you'd have to tie all your stuff down and it would cost a fortune in string.

So, there you go. That's what I know about the solar system. You may have learned something. God help you if you did.

On thoughts in their raw state

Out last night with some friends, so this morning I'm full of little kernels of ideas which could be worked up into something significant. I'm going to put them in list form for ease of digestion. They are only half-thought out, but that makes them a good 4-5% more thought out than a lot of my ideas.

1. They should give homeless people iPhones
I'm not entirely sure why as yet, but I'm pretty sure it's a solid idea. Obviously battery life is an issue, so I've come up with a solution for that too.

2. They should put USB ports in dogs and in postboxes
I think that would be good. As long as the dog didn't run away.

3. There should be an eating challenge in Preston Street, Brighton
Preston Street in Brighton is a remarkable place, funnelling down toward the sea near the West Pier. It is most notable for it's dazzling array of restaurants and takeaways. Most global cuisine is catered for. My idea is that, starting at the south end of the west side, you work your way up the street, eating one dish in every establishment. At the top you cross over and work your way back down. If you're not dead at the end you win a slap-up meal in The China Garden, the restaurant at the finishing post. And some insulin.

4. 5olly's idea
Last night my friend 5olly blew my mind by claiming that the only reason whales beach themselves is because of hydrophobia, brought on by rabies. This is easily the most brilliant idea I've ever heard and at the same time the stupidest. And I know a little something about stupid ideas.

Art

I think I should post more of my art on this blog. It will make it more varied and interesting, rather than just you reading lists of songs or partially-considered essays about my ongoing mental disintegration every single day. It should also make it more fun. Not that those last two things aren't fun.

I'm going to start with this one, for all kinds of good reasons.