Oh God, He's Back

Remember our old friend Alwyn Cox from Oswestry? He's back, kids, and he's even grumpier than usual. Whilst this latest letter into the Sloppy Star isn't particularly interesting, it's made me laugh enough to blog about it. Cynical Ben - fear not! I have not forgotten the straw hats blog. Oh no! But let's have a look at this letter first:

Dear council employees, if any of you find it necessary to contact me by telephone again do not have the temerity to hide behind a withheld number.

Useful letter this. Thanks for writing this in to the local newspaper, and not the council themselves.

If you need to withhold your number for whatever self important reason you have given yourself to justify doing so, then you must tell me who I am speaking to before I tell you if you have contacted the person you wish to speak to.

I have a slight problem here. This Morning has just started, featuring the lovely Holly Willoughby. I currently have man flu, meaning I have a box of tissues next to me. We also have workmen in, and one of them has just walked in to ask me something whilst I'm sitting here in my pyjamas, watching Holly Willoughby with a box of tissues next to me. You do the math.

Don't you dare ever again phone me on my personal phone and expect me to identify myself to an anonymous voice.

Are you still banging on? Jesus, we get the point.

If you phone me, you tell me who you are before I speak to you.

Is it just me, or is this breathtaking arrogance?

The woman that phoned me on Thursday found that she had to identify herself pretty quickly before I cut her off.

That's one way to interact with a woman. Another good one is to kick her in the fanny. Trust me on that one, Alwyn.

Only when I knew who I was speaking to did I tell her that she was speaking to the intended person. It would have been much better if she had identified herself the moment that I answered the call. Better manners also.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Try something like the following - "Good after-noon. I am Mrs So-and-so speaking from Shirehall. Can I please speak to Mr Cox?"

Breath taking. I literally do not know what to say about this anymore.

Good manners do not take a lot of brain power.

End of letter. Wow. The funny thing is Alwyn, I'm half-tempted to agree with you, if you weren't being such a pompous buffoon about it.

Next week in Alwyn's letter - how a waitress should serve him correctly!

1/3

A few days ago I agreed to whore out my blog for you loyal readers, and invited you to leave words/comments/phrases/places/names of anything you wanted, which I then promised to blog about. Many thanks for the people who have commented so far - if you haven't, and wish to, there is still time! Drop me a comment on the blog entry below and I'll endeavour to blog about the subject of your choice.

Anyhow, here's my reaction to the first comment that was left. Let's have a look-see:

Dan said...

Ten reasons why you love that Drinking In LA song by that Bran Flakes 9000 shower so much. Ta.

Aha! Nice and easy. Thanks Dan, although I'll think you'll find you mean Bran Van 3000!

1) First of all, the band name is awesome. I mean, c'mon - Bran Van 3000. That is brilliant. Much better than rubbish names like Snow Patrol. Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Dogs Die in Hot Cars.

2) I'm a huge fan of 'One Hit Wonders', and despite being a huge fan of this song, I cannot name another Bran Van song, nor have I ever listened to one. I don't think they ever had any other hits, which just tickles me.

3) I love the start - the mundane nature of radio phone-in quizzes. "What is Todd's favourite cheese", it sums up the banality of them beautifully.

4) The line "Jackie just called up and said it was a form of Roquefort" always reminds me of my personal tutor, the greatest personal tutor you could ever wish to have. (PLUG - If you have Facebook, please sign up to The Official Jackie Pieterick Appreciation Thread - Dan and I would appreciate that as we're trying to get to 100 fans. Ta.)

5) The song has given me the phrase "Give us a ring-ding-ding!" which I tend to leave on people's answer machines.

6) It references Julie Newmar, a woman who every boy who's watched the TV series of Batman has fantasised over.

7) The chorus pretty much sums up things that we all think, at one point or another - "Why am I here?" "What am I doing?" "Should I be doing something better with my time?" etc. You can relate to the self-reflection and internal questioning.

8) It features the word 'butkis'. C'mon.

9) I like the way at the end of the song, "LA" becomes "Hell-A". Very simple, but pretty accurately sums up what I would make of that city.

10) It's awesome, okay?

That good enough for you Dan?

ADDENDUM - It turns out that blog readers are now not showing my latest blog entries at all. Looking at other blogs, they're all saying my last post was a week ago, which is inaccurate. SO my only advice to you is to keep on popping by and manually check to see if I've blogged. After all, I wouldn't want you missing out on my next blog post, where I debate whether straw hats are good or bad...

Seeing isn't Believing

Morning all. Thanks for the comments in my last blog post, and I'll get round to tackling all of them very soon. If you wish to take part, there's still time! Just leave me a comment.

But for now I wish to look at a letter that was sent into Wednesday's Sloppy Star. Bit of a change of theme here folks - it's not about the EU, nor Afghanistan, nor the BNP. It's about something far more important than those issues, and is something that particularly applies to the people of Shropshire. Let's have a look at the title of your letter, A Harrison from Mucky Wenlock!

X Factor judge Cowell should change name

Are you excited? I'm excited!

Spot on Shirley.

I've no idea what the start to his letter means, but insert your own "Airplane" based joke here.

When X Factor judge Simon Cowell failed to dismiss the twins, John and Edward, after slating them week after week, shows when push comes to shove, he chickens out. Perhaps his name should be changed to Simon Coward.

What you did there - I see it.

In not dismissing the Deadwoods

What you did there - I see it.

he got rid of the best female singer, Lucie Jones (Stacey Solomon has no chance).

YOU HEAR THAT, SOLOMON? Fuck off, yeah? You have literally no chance, you tone-deaf bitch. Forget the fact that Paddy Power, William Hill, Ladbrokes all have you second favourite in the betting. Might as well walk before you're pushed, honey. IT IS OVER.

Could it be that after female singers winning the last two shows there is a vacancy for a male singer this year?

I'll address this in a bit. Mainly because you're stumbling on the point, but you're not quite there.

If one does win I wonder who will sign him up?

No need to wonder anymore Mr Harrison! The answer is Simon Cowell.

It makes you wonder if the whole show is rigged.

It is. Now that you've finished your letter Mr Harrison, make yourself a cup of tea and pull a chair up. I need to explain a few things to you.

When I was at primary school I had a friend who's parents were divorced. He lived with his Mum down on the South Coast, whilst his Dad lived and worked in London. He worked "in TV", and his job was mainly to recruit people to appear on various TV programmes. Most of the time these people were part-time actors looking to make a few quid. I remember having a good laugh with him when Vanessa Feltz got in trouble for having actors on her "agony aunt" show, as he knew more than anyone else that all similar shows at the time were doing exactly the same.

That was late-90s, but the con still goes on. Channel 5 quiz 'Brainteaser' was taken off air after they had a "viewer" phone in to win some cash, who just happened-oops!-to be someone who worked behind the scenes on the show. Even the hallowed 'Blue Peter' got in trouble a few years back for ignoring a public vote and calling their new cat what they wanted it to be called.

What's the point I'm trying to make here, you wonder? Well, the point is that TV is an interesting medium, as most times what you see certainly isn't what you get. And that leads me back onto X-Factor. I absolutely hate the programme, as I can see through it.

It is nothing more than a money spinning machine for Simon Cowell, who preys on young people's hopes and dreams with scant regard for them or their careers. Mr Harrison, you are wrong in thinking that as females have won the show these past few years, it has to be a male this time around. The winner of the X-Factor this year will be the artist who can make Simon Cowell the most money. Male, female, alien, wookie, whoever. Please don't think the phone vote makes any difference either. Simon Cowell will pick the winner, as Simon Cowell does not give a shit about you. And once he's made his money being the producer of the X-Factor, and he's milked the artist for as much as he can, he won't give a shit about them either.

Sad, isn't it? And it won't change until you all do the right thing - turn that shit off.

Opening the Floor

I'll be honest, I have nothing to blog about. Nowt. Nil. Nada. The letters into The Shropshire Star have been dull. I've calmed down a bit. No-one else famous has died (yet).

So, here's an idea. I'm going to whore out my blog to you, my loyal readers. If you want me to blog about something, leave a comment here.

You could possibly choose just one word - ie. "cheese", "love", "confabulation".

Maybe a person - "Biggles", "Joe Cole", "Albrecht von Hohenzollern".

Maybe a place - "New York", "Telford", "Addis Ababa".

Pop a comment down, and I'll blog about it. Promise.

In Memoriam

Oh dear, just when I had stopped thinking about death, another one bites the dust.

What can you say about Edward Woodward? The inspiration behind my username. The star of The Equalizer. The lead actor in the 2nd worst film of all time, The Wicker Man. The amusing little turn he did in Hot Fuzz. The roles in The Bill and Eastenders.

No words can reflect my sorrow at this moment, but luckily, help is at hand. E.J.Thribb stayed over last night to watch the NFL, and he has just awoken. I am passing the baton to him, to have the final word on this splendid man:

So. Farewell then Edward Woodward

He who played The Equalizer

I'm now going to drink in your memory

A lovely can of Tizer

E.J.Thribb 14 1/3

Perspective

After whinging on at you all on Monday night, something happened this morning which has given me pause for thought.

I was finishing off my breakfast (Bovril on toast, as usual) when a helicopter flew over my house. This isn't unusual, but this one sounded like it was about to scrape our roof off, and it was scarily low. Instead of heading over to the hospital, as all the others do, it disappeared below some trees, close by.

I thought no more about it, and packed my bag ready to head into university and finish off the worst essay of all time. I live at the top of a great big hill, and when I began to start the descent downhill I stopped for a moment, as right at the bottom of the hill I could see 3 ambulances and 5 police cars. Oh-oh. I ambled down, managed to duck under the police cordon and surveyed the scene. And then promptly wished that I hadn't.

I've just sat here and wondered if I should tell you the details, as it seems a bit heartless doing it on a blog. But I figure that I've told some people already today, and the details are easily accessible on the internet.

A Peugeot and a motorbike had had a fight, and the guy on the bike clearly hadn't won. The Peugeot had a damaged front, whilst the bike was completely written off. Amongst the glass and the blood sprayed all over the road, ambulance crews were giving CPR to a figure who, luckily, was shaded from my view by a thick blanket that was covering him. I stood in shock for a few moments, than a policeman came and politely moved me on. All the roads had been closed off, so I walked through the park, right past the helicopter. So that's where it landed.

On the train coming over to Wolverhampton I couldn't think of anything else, and even though I tried to remain positive for the man, I knew it was unlikely. A few hours later I read on the internet that he was taken to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead.

Part of me wants to add this to the list of reasons why I want 2009 to end right now. But another part of me thinks that if ever there was a moment to consider your own mortality, seeing a person dying in front of you is pretty much it. I am lucky to be alive. Regardless what happens with essays, girls, finances, sport, family and everything else. We are lucky to be alive.

In case you desperately want to know where I live:

http://www.shropshirestar.com/2009/11/12/accident-motorcyclist-dies/

Going for Gold

Afternoon all. First off, thanks for the nice comments on my last blog entry. I feel fine at the moment, just Monday evening was a particularly horrible Monday evening to conclude a really horrible day. The weather hasn't improved, although my outlook has slightly.

I say slightly, because something else this morning has made me sad, although this time no-one is blaming me for anything. I thought I'd take a moment out from writing the worst essay ever to share it with you.

Cash for Gold. You've seen the adverts on t'tele, and you've scoffed, and wondered who would be stupid enough to send off their gold. Well, this morning in the post we got a Cash for Gold flyer. I was about to put it straight in the bin, when something on it caught my eye, and just made me feel a bit glum:

The irony of this flyer landing in our porch on November 11th is hopefully not lost on you. I'd rather die than hand over any war medals my forefathers earned in battle to these conmen, and I am slightly ashamed that other people do/would consider doing so.

Is this just me, or do others die a little when they see stuff like this?