Gray Keys ~ Curse of the Sexist hotel

I realise im a few days late coming to this story but please don't be too harsh dear reader, football is a sport I try to ignore as often as possible because in my opinion it is a wretched game, played by ignorant yobs who wouldn't recognise culture if it walloped them on the back of their dense heads. A shining example of money not being able to buy intelligence or class.
Sky Sports have this week, sacked Andy Gray and Richard Keys for sexist remarks made to a female presenter and a female lineswoman, and reading various online media there is more dirt to be dug it would seem. Is anybody shocked? Truly shocked by this behaviour?


Football ~ a load of old balls

Everytime I dare to glance at the tabloids (which I do often as they are like crack cocaine) there is a story involving some footballer or other, rolling out of a nightclub at 4am or whooping it up with prostitutes. Hardly the role models they have sadly become. Lets be honest here, you don't have to venture far to find a sordid story on one of these oafs.
Allow me to slow my horses down a little here. I am not saying this is true of ALL players. Long time readers of my blogs will know that I have nothing but praise for people like David Beckham and Michael Owen, who seem to have kept fairly sensible heads on their shoulders, despite all the nonsense and riches offered to footballers these days.
No, it is to the louts and neanderthals of the game that I am aiming this at. The moronic, witless, crude, bores with their gentlemen's 'handbags' and vulgar looking sportscars. The alcoholics and wife beaters, who think their skills on a pitch excuse them of misdemeanours off it. And the ex players who believe past glories allow them to be sexist pigs.
Football is a rotten sport, played by mostly spoilt ignoramuses. Hopefully Gray and Keys will be suitably embarrassed but probably not. They'll claim to be in the newspapers of course but anyone with half a mind (and thats still more than these types have) will see through the B/S.

* I have also read that Talksport have interviewed Keys today. Talksport, you know the station. The one that employs more than its share of ex footballers and almost zero female presenters. Yeah like they would know anything about equality.

No Spoon For Cancer

It is a bold prediction that I am going to make but one that I know from within every crease of my spirit I can make with confidence. I will never get cancer. Ever. It has touched me, when the vicious lung cancer took my uncles life when he was in his forties but never again.
How do I know this? Difficult to explain, suffice to say I am able to tell you that cancerous cells are about as far from my body as far can be. And there are a multitude of other illnesses waiting in my mortal queue to strike me down before cancer will ever get a decent chance.

Golden years of sickness

The thought has never worried me. When I have watched programmes to do with this cruel disease, its as if im watching from a safe distance like a bird would watch a fishing show; feeling sorry for the fish but knowing the hook will never be a threat to him.
Its a curious thing i'll admit but there you go. Life is strange, a mish~mash of the ODD and the MAD, peppered occasionaly with gentler strikes from more forgiving swords. Its best not to question too much because it will usually only serve to frustrate even further.
My lifestyle is ripe for some serious health related catastrophe to pounce upon my sorry frame but instinct (something which has served me impeccably during my time) tells me I am safe from the brute thats is cancer.
You see, I 'feel' the fingers of cholesterol and grease play with my innards and sometimes I am nearly suffocated by pressures within my chest (nothing major, just tingles) but ive never once felt the sickly barbs of something capabale of eating me inside out.
I like to believe that because my body is more like a rubbish bin than a temple, no self respecting cancer cell would ever wish to take residence in my frothy (and perhaps even toxic) organs. Whatever sinister diseases are lurking in the wings, my diet has fermented worse. And it is one of these that will come for me in the dead of night when I am being entertained, or in the early morning when im unawares.

I Heart the Polished Dome

I went the bald route in 2009 and haven't grown my hair since. (It all goes on my chin these days and mighty impressive its been too.) My hair was always horrible, the only time it looked halfway decent was during the late eighties and early nineties when it was long and tousled like I was an extra from Hanoi Rocks. In school I had almost a 'pudding bowl' cut (somewhat popular back then) and after 1995 it started going thin which is not good if you happen to have long hair. According to my late mother my hair looked like 'rats tails' and while I ignored her at first I soon began to see she was right.
So I cut it, not just short but the whole hog and shaved the lot off. (I have always been a man of exremes, no half measures.) If my locks couldn't go the way David Coverdales had then the only other option (for a man of extremes) was bald.


My bonce: shine and go!

And its been great. Admittedly its a bit cold during the winter months (hey we have things called hats) but baths/showers are a breeze, my barber fees are zero, summer is cooler, theres no fussing in front of mirrors in the morning and chicks love bald guys. Win!
Today however I felt different. I thought perhaps to let it grow again, not long just cultivating a kind of 'buzzed' cut. I sat in the bath thinking of how cool a new look would be (and how I could take a break from wearing hats in this infernal cold) but as I started shaving the stubble on my face a curious thing occurred. I felt my razor hand reach up to my dome and before I could pull back I found myself dragging the razor over my head and begin shaving, all hopes of a new look disappearing into the waters.
It must have been a chunk of memory inside my head that remembered the 'rats tails' look and decided to have a mental arm wrestle with my new 'buzzed' cut idea, and won.
So this confirms it, I will never have hair on my head again. And to be frank (who's he?) I prefer being bald. There is nowhere to hide when ones head is polished. I hid away when my hair was long, my eyes covered by a straggly veil and it hung on my shoulders like a scarf. My face was almost concealed. Hair isn't merely fashion, the style you choose reflects the inner you. (And I f**king hate psychology!)
So I will maintain the Kojack look and not hide from the world, but confront it. Or just save myself a few bob on shampoo.

Home Schooling vs Gin Lane 2011

Its been revealed that thousands of children in Wales are being taught at home instead of at school. I cant say Ive given much thought to this because before last September I was childless, but since the birth of my daughter I have thought quite a bit about school and I have to admit, im all for this. I know some say children will miss out on the social side of things and making chums but when you consider some of our schools are filled with illiterate chavs who care more about reality tv than Dickens, its no bad thing.
Im a pretty cultured creature at the chore (I hide it reasonably well by excursions into tattoo parlours and alcoholic storms) and it frightens me to think that my beloved daughter could become 'infected' with some of the rotten habits a lot of youngsters seem to have these days. (Most of it heaped onto them by foul parents I hasted to add.) I think we've all seen them; little boys with tight cropped hair and going around kicking litter bins like tiny thugs, or girls, horrifyingly young dressed up like hookers with make up and revealing clothes. And all of them writing in 'text' speak and swearing like sailors.
The parents of these urchins quite willing for television and videogames to be their electric nannies while they themselves wallow in lager and cigarette smoke. Its the Gin Lane of 2011, it really is. Utterly depressing. No hint of poetry and great literature, these children exist on soap operas and Big Mac diets making me actully fear the future, filled with the ignorant. There is no inspiration anymore, most children wanting to be 'famous' when older to follow in the footsteps of that wretched Katie Price who might be financially well off but is still cheaper than a jumble sale.
Also I don't trust schools themselves. There is no way they can cater for each child individually and im sorry but I want, nay demand that my daughter is given privelage over the other children. Wont happen in a school so im afraid thats another tick for home tutoring.
Addressing the social aspect of this is simple to my thinking. A school isn't the only place where children get together. There are lots of clubs and activities for them to be getting involved in. The religious ones even have church or chapel. When I was young I joined the Boys Brigade, a young ornothologist club, a canoe club and a club for young sub~aqua divers. I was never short of things to do outside school.
No doubt there are very good schools in this country but alas there is distrust of them. It is sadly the way of things at this moment in time. I hope things improve before the lights are extingueshed completey but I won't hold my breath.

Predicting the Exchange of Souls

What with the advent of Facebook and internet forums I hereby predict that in say ten years time (maybe less) the majority of people worldwide will become near hermits and exist by and large through the internet. The only time they will ever meet anybody will be via a keyboard and tapping out pretty words into sentences. Its happening already, with large numbers of people seemingly taking root in cyberspace by shopping online, getting groceries, posing on video sharing sites and sharing every morsel of personal information on Twitter.
And im as guilty of it as the next man, probably more so because I have virtually set up camp on the internet, deciding its the best way to air my works. But what will it do to us a human beings? Is this the next step in evolution?

Life in 2025

On a positive note I believe the WWW has made a lot more people creative and they are using the net (is that too 'nineties' a word?) to do some wonderful things. One only has to look at the photography on image hosting sites and watch some of the homemade spoofs and parodies on Youtube to get evidence of this.
Will our souls cope however? Human beings have evolved before but we have never experienced so much in so little time like we are right now. The onslaught of technology has been relentless since 1995 and there is no way of knowing what the results will be from this technical assault until we are more 'settled' in the company of computers.
One of the great British traditions (it might have existed in other countries too of course) was having a natter with your neighbour over the garden fence. Or meeting up in public houses (the pub) to unwind, share a few drinks and catch up on news.

More Bacon Goodness

How absolutely awesome is that? That is the king of awesome.

The Bacon Idea

Everyone knows the Scots deep fry Mars bars but I have had another idea sloshing in my brain for a while now. Most sane people LOVE bacon. I thank the pig on a daily basis for bacon, it is the one food I could never live without. If I ever get to Heaven and they don't serve bacon I will be severly disappointed. But heres another idea ~ bacon in batter!


Man's real best friend

What could go wrong? Batter makes fresh cod a delight with the nation's favourite fish & chips, it would surely do the same with bacon! (Although I do concede that bacon all on its own is a pretty tough act to follow.) I have never seen bacon in batter for sale in any establishment, and my internet search also brought nada results so here and now im claiming first rights on the bacon in batter idea.
I must quickly learn how to make a fine batter (im already the Master of frying bacon) to see whether this brainwave will be as beautiful as my brain is telling me.

Morphine, My Other Skin

I have taken a fair few illicit substances in my relatively short time on planet earth. From 1991 through to say 2003 I was somewhat reckless (still am to a degree but with only two vices) although I maintained a grip on life regarding work and relationships, and never resorted to criminal behaviour (apart from buying illegal drugs.) I was not a total scumbag, just halfway.
One drug I never 'got' however was cannabis or grass. Sure I smoked it and smoked it plenty, either in spliffs, bongs or buckets, but I never enjoyed it. It never once got me feeling good or high, just sick. The reason I carried on smoking it was simply because it was there and freely available. But I never got off on it and couldn't understand those who did.


The last syringe I ever used

To me cannabis was a cheap and ineffective drug. Even 'skunk' the so called high performace version of cannabis failed to tickle my drug receptors. I think the closest I ever got to being high from pot was feeling dizzy. The drug made no sense to me (if drugs are meant to be sensible.)
Morphine and 'downers' such as valium and mogadon were much more to my liking. I fell for those chalked beauties like there was nothing else on earth to fall for. As soon as I took them I knew they would be my drug of choice, and although I was a fairly keen user of amphetamine and LSD, they would never set foot in the shrine I soon built for opiates and downers. I bloomed on them.
Others will say it was like crawling back into the womb for them but I didn't feel that way. I just knew my soul had found something utterly delicious. It didn't kill pain because I had no pain, it was just right and I was fortunate enough to escape having to sell my soul for it. I experienced no depravity, no ravages, and in a way that made it worse. To only see the delights of something so dangerous can be a curse in itself. Blind to the negative side of morphine it fuelled me further, I was 'built' for the chemical. The needle jab, the rush, the loss of breath.
I loved even the ritual of preparing the drug for injection into my soft, willing, tattooed skin. It almost over~shadowed my beloved alcohol and indeed would have done had it been as easily available. I suffered no hangovers with opiates and benzodiazipines but alas the company one must keep (or at least be familiar with) in order to score such delights is dreadful. A cul de sac of culture, a place where ignorance rules supreme. Thieves and modern cut~throats, racists and loafers, definately not a group to want to be a part of and yet I was. For the pleasure of laying down in drugged pastures, this softly spoken, kind poet had to dine with sharks and robbers. At the time I thought it was worth it.

Poet's last kiss

I don't know if morphine made me any more creative as I have always been pretty consistent in regards to churning out my poetry, essays, etc but it did send me on different chute (so in a way it did fire creativity) and it did instill a wave of calm into my writing. After the act. I never once composed under the influence of drugs I hasten to add. Ideas were stored but I was too cocooned in the wonderful buzz to actually record poetry from narcotics in real time.
My warnings to youngsters wanting to try opiates or downers would be a little different from the main naysayers. True, I did not slay any dragons or discover any hymns whilst under the influence, and I definately do not recommend the morphine vacation but its not all stories from the trenches. Or the graveyard.
Out of the bottle or syringe, the needle had the less sting.

Honey, We're Having Guest For Dinner

It being a thoroughly wet Sunday afternoon (trust me, it doesn't get more desperate) boredom has landed on my shoulders like a giant cabbage and is very nearly crushing me into a poetical pancake. So what better than to compile a list of people who I would wish as dinner guests over on my green and woolly estate. I shall not restrict it to only the living because that would be terribly stuffy, and besides the dead make for better company. (Especially the stiffs I have in mind.)
On the menu would be an eclectic mix of roasted meats such as goose, pheasant, quail, beef and pork, together with various fast foods like fried chicken and Big Macs. Also on offer would be a selection of traditional Welsh, Greek and Italian food. And a bowl of carrots and mashed potato.
The bar of course would be well stocked, more whisky than anything else. Laphroaig, Glenfarcias, Macallan and Talisker. Then there would be Wild Turkey, Jagermeister, Courvoisier, Otard, and a range of gin and ports. Those not drinking would be offered lager and those cheap Bacardi Breezer type rubbish. Hardly any alcohol in those drinks so the tee totallers would be fine.
To set the scence there would be death metal and opera on the jukebox and hardcore pornograhy splashed over the 100" LCD screen. (I find LCD better than Plasma for pornography as the lines are too dark with plasma.)
And just to be sure of a relaxing evening I would have bowls scattered around the banqueting table filled with assorted benzodiazepines. I find the tongue wags in earnest under the misty spell of these chalked wonders.
So now that everything is in place, lets move onto the guests.

Welsh poet R.S. Thomas. A fine poet and Welsh nationalist, he was also a lover of birds (not the sort poets are usually a fan of) and wildlife which him a lot like myself and if things turned ugly over the feast, im sure he would make a great ally.

Wilfrid Brambell. An Irish actor best known for his role as Steptoe in the British sitcom Steptoe & Son. Id love for him to turn up in this role, it would be a scream!

William Shakespeare. No introduction needed here and who wouldn't want the great Will over for dinner? If only a shade of his awesomeness rubbed off on me I would be a happy man. Also I would love to hear his views on the internet (and pornography.)

Bruce Lee. Normally I run from cultural icons as most of the people considered icons are not. But this guy most definately IS. A truly inspiring man. He was not simply a kung fu action hero, he was a philosopher, martial arts instructor, film director/producer, screenwriter, and founder of the Jeet Kune Do martial art. He is rightly considered one of the most influential martial artists of the 20th century. And he probably would prefer the 'lighter' drinks available to not ruin his God~like physique.

Mary Millington. A British model and pornographic 'actress' who sadly comitted suicide when she was 33. A very beautiful woman and to me there was something more to her than what she was famous for. She had 'soul', I can see it in her eyes.

Mary Millington: Real beauty

Brendan Behan. Irish playwright who penned The Quare Fellow amongst others. Nevermind about the IRA connections (were I from his neck of the woods im sure I would have been alongside him) he was a fine boyo who liked a drink, kindred spirits. Passionate about his country and tippling.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Poet and pal of Willie Wordsworth. Coleridge was knowledgable on a wide range of subjects and was well known in his ability to discuss them all at length. Also a dab hand at imbibing opium. His poetry is some of the finest I have ever read.

Frank Buckland. He was a surgeon and a naturalist who had a very curious palate (not too mention a strong stomach) and would eat almost anything. Viper, buttered mice, panther, rhinocerous, alligator, giraffe, puppies. This all makes him sound like an animal hater but nothing could be further from the truth. He shared his home with an assortment of wild animals from monkeys to slow worms and loved them all. My type of guy.

Hank Williams. Country singer hooked on morphine and alcohol, dead by the grand old age of 29. The coroner said he looked 60. Enough said.

Jack Sheppard. A notorious English robber, burglar and thief of early 18th century who had a knack for escaping even the most secure gaols. He was hanged at Tyburn for his thievery. Interesting lad.

Keith Moon. Drummer in The Who and legendary hellraiser. Enjoyed a snifter of brandy too (amongst other things.) Moonie shares his birthday with me, alongside several other more 'colourful' habits. This might be a mistake if he started droning on about The Beatles as he was sometimes wont to do. Something we definately do not share.

Lord Rokeby. Matthew Robinson Morris, who became the second Lord Rokeby in 1793 at the age of 81, was an intelligent, widely read Englishman. He was highly democratic in his political views and a great believer in the equality of mankind. But he had a number of eccentricities that puzzled his contemporaries. Like almost living his whole life bobbing about in water. He believed water was a true elixir to good health and survived on that and beef tea.

Tarka the Otter

Tarka the Otter is a 1979 'nature' film based on the Henry Williamson novel of the same name. And today it arrived on my doormat on DVD (and was harder to find than the proverbial hen's tooth.) It was 98 in poll by Channel 4 of the 100 greatest family films and if there was any real justice in the world (and not the rotten kind of justice served to Tarka) it would have been in the top ten.


Tarka's chum: Old Nob the Heron

I remember watching this in the early 80's when video became popular and it was seldom out of the VCR. I love everything about it from the breathtaking wildlife scenes to Peter Ustinov's cut glass tones as he narrates the story. This charming film, more than say Watershipdown and Wind In The Willows, instilled in my young self a love for mature and wildlife, a love that is with me still to this day. I also suspect it was Tarka the Otter which contributed to my dislike of dogs. (The hunting dogs and Tarka's nemesis, Deadlock)
I urge everyone to try and see this delightful film. Sure there are sad bits and also some grisly scenes but its only reflecting the occasional savagery that mother nature inflicts on its animals. Nature is cruel.
But there are wonderful moments in Tarka the Otter too. Particularly when Tarka (which incidentaly means 'Little River Wanderer') meets Whitetip a female otter.
Im glad the film seems to be back in circulation again because I couldn't find it for love nor money a few years ago. Treat yourself and spend over an hour with the otter and chums, you won't be sorry.

Things Wot I Knew

Have you ever seen something, or heard them, and instantly known they would be huge? Before they made it, doesn't count if the artist/musician is already successful. I remember hearing Guns n' Roses before Appetite For Destruction was released and thinking, 'f**k, these are going to be huge!' Ditto Nivana. I was slightly off note with a similar prediction about Skid Row, however they were successful for a brief time in the 1990s.


These lads were big you know

My Nostradamus~like forecasts were not restricted to musos either. Mickey Rourke was the first actor to appear on my 'success radar' when I saw him in No Prayer For The Dying and Johnny Handsome. 'Now there's a guy who is going places,' I said at the time. Sure enough the next time I saw Mr Rourke he had made his Hollywood breakthrough and was romping around with Kim Basinger in the super sexy 9 1/2 Weeks. Lucky git.
Christian Slater was the next boyo I chanced upon and blessed with my Welsh wand (ooer!) After seeing him in the wonderfully dark Heathers I knew he was going to join Mickey in Hollywood glory. Sure he gets his acting chops from Jack Nicholson but that ain't no bad thing, no siree!
The next BIG THING I discovered (before it was a 'big thing') was Skateboarding. When I felt the rumble of the board, heard the 'punkiness' of the soundtrack and popped my first ever ollie, I just knew good things awaited this cool sport/hobby. Have you ever seen Thrasher? The prophecy is all in that piece of film.
The last of my predictions did not fly as well, mainly due to the fickle nature of the British public. Hedgehog flavoured crisps. How on earth in a sane world did they ever die out? How? How in the name of Dimebag Darrell how? A brilliant idea, tragically lost in 1980's Britain.
So there. The things wot I knew before they were touched (and some would say tarnished) by the whiff of success.

Lovable Misfits

The cat (if cat is what it is) in the photo below is more than likely fake. Probably photoshopped or something, and there are those now shouting 'Of course its fake!' But I am of the open mind that bizarre creatures like this actually exist. I want them to exist! Without these animals, the plantet is less interesting, devoid of some of its colour.

Pretty kitty: I want one!

Isn't he/she simply ADORABLE? I would love to have one. Nay have two or three. That beautiful blue fur, the enquiring face, those amazing yellow eyes and little pom pom paws! Dear me, my heart fairly skipped a beat out of love for the ickle kitty. Makes for a much more interesting chum than say a goldfish or budgie.
And thats just it I find. Its the peculiar and the odd which this world spin, certainly not the bland and the predictable. (I guess this is why I am not a big fan of dogs. No animal is as predictable as a hound, no matter what their fans will say.) I love pure colour, not different shades of it.


Is it a bat? No, its love in your palm

Just look at that guy above. Who cares what the heck it is? Look at him! He would love you forever, its written all him. Or her. Depressingly, as ive said earlier, these loveables are more often than not fake. Usually made up from different bits of an assortment of animals and photo~stitched together by some bored teenager or wannabe Frankenstein.
Shame really. When I was a youngster I had newts, frogs, terrapins, (even took a few white mice into the cinema in my pockets) and these were all great but I always hankered after a bat or a heron. Dogs, cats and hamsters weren't unusual enough, afterall, everyone had one of those. I used to love catching anenomes and other strange things from rock pools, hoping to find something not of this world.
Im still on the look out. I adore my cat of course and she rules the house. But Id trade her in a flash for a Kowakian monkey~lizard. (Remember Salacious Crumb? The ferret thing by Jabba the Hutt in Return Of The Jedi? One of them.)

The Way Of The Nail

There will always be silk and always be hammers; and when both collide its rather like a moon~shaded scalpel being drawn across a peach. Rough and smooth seldom mix well, and just as on a beach where one sees the sand away from the rock pools, this is true of groups in society. Im stating the bloody obvious of course.

My vices, drinking, whatever....they always say its going to kill me. And it is said particularly by the newly sober where indulgance almost killed them and they envy me, but it wont kill me. Im just too f**king stubborn. Im not the type to just lay around dying. Even when I actually was dying in a hospital bed, I was trying to rip IVs out and punch people out.
I say this with talon firmly stapled on heart ~ poison has no effect on neither my body or soul.

The Nostradamus Titter

We all know 2011 is going to be a pretty miserable year, thanks to the saps in government (and im a true blue Conservative!) but in an effort to ward off the gloom I am going to read the tea leaves in my breakfast mug to see what the future holds in store.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you *drum roll* the News Headlines of 2011! Complete with commentary from Nostradamus! (Er, that would be Ifan Nostradamws from the Mumbles.)

'Pink Admits She Is A Man!'

Nostradamws says ~ The power of Glengetti believes there is a pretty tidy chance of this happening mun. She cant pass those pins off as female for much longer, or the fact that only transvestites from Cardiff would put make up on like that.


'David Cameron To Meet Lost Twin, Lord Snooty'

Nostradamws says ~ My loevspoons tell me no, on account of Lord Snooty being a comic character from The Beano. But if ever The Beano was to be made into a movie, Dai HAS to have the part.

'Britain Splits from EU'

Nostradamws says ~ The froth from a pint of Felinfoel spells out NO. And wait! Theres more look you, it sees a country in a shambles, the wise have left and remains is crime, yoghurt knitters and cheese.

'Cowell Discovers Actual Singer'

Nostradamws says ~ No.

'Hollywood Magic Returns'

Nostradamws says ~ The crumbs from my Welshcakes say this is a possibility but they must resist the urge to film remakes and mention Wales more, like that bit in Mars Attacks when they dropped Ponty in the script.

Love from Tombs and Ghosts

There was an article in The Watford Observer over Christmas that told of a ghost that was supposedly hanging around a theatre hall. (Haunting I guess you'd call it, I like to describe it more 'street'. The word 'haunting' is so Victorian.)
Here is an excerpt:

'the hall may possibly house a real spirit. Apparently, several people, including the caretaker have experienced some ghostly goings-on there. The voice of a young girl has been heard on several occasions over the years. The voice, which seems to be just in the next room, greets them with a simple ‘Hello’. Rest assured, all who have reported the presence have maintained it is not frightening.'
@The Watford Observer

And this clanged my eerie bells. (The ones covered in cobwebs and midnight oil.) We shouldn't be afraid of spirits, ghosts, incorporeal ones, whatever. Afterall aren't they just the ones of US who have slipped beyond the veil? What the gravewax have we got to be frightened of?

We come in peace

Yeah I get how wandering downstairs to fetch a snack at 2am and suddenly bumping into a ghostly apparition, perhaps cheekily checking out the freeview softporn on your 50" plasma, would startle anyone but after the initial shock what is there to fear? Its more than likely just the spook who owned your house one hundred years ago, and he/she is probably more suprised than you (if only at your hideous taste in decor and the quality of porn these days.)
I believe in ghosts, my mind isn't a stubborn, shrivelled, old peanut and therefore it is open to such beliefs. Good lord, certainly there is a spirit world. I KNOW it. (And im not talking television medium trickery jiggery.) If you don't believe in such things things, fine, stop reading this and go smoke a joint and watch some obscure comedian or listen to jazz. The sardines will keep you warm.
Anyway before I get totally sidetracked; I believe in spirits, and I also believe them to be harmless, peaceful souls who harbour no grudge nor malice toward us. So why in the (after)world would my legs turn to jelly and beard go white (I have no hair on my head) if a ghost decided to suddenly appear behind my computer? Perhaps the dead (or not-so-dead as the case would be) jumping back into this world would be a little disconcerting, and seeing great aunt Peg after thirty years in the grave might be 'uncomfortable' at first but ultimately our fears ought to be reigned in.
If I expired here at this spot of the internet right now and discovered a way to pop back from the Other World for a quick visit (and maybe a swift whisky) I would come in love and peace'd out like a stoned hippy, not as some snarling demon.
My late grandmother saw a ghost once, on the stairs as she was retiring for the evening. She never spoke of it often (which is partly why I believed her story, those who spout it from rooftops are rarely sincere) but she did tell me that the spirit she encountered 'told' her not to be afraid. He didn't speak like you or I, he just made it known to my grandmother that he meant no harm.
My grandmother was a very dear lady, who didn't drink, smoke or swear (I must have been somewhat of a disappointment to her in those ways as I was devoted fan of all three) and eventhough a sober and clean life is not a guarantee of honesty, it certainly was with my grandmother. She wasn't one for lies and this again is why I have faith in a spirit world.
They are out there all right, and if there were more people like my gran in this world and less charlatans like television 'psychics' then I am certain we would be visited upon more often and many more people would believe.

A Sad Start To 2011

Sad to bring the news of the death of actor Pete Postlethwaite OBE who passed away this weekend after a battle with cancer. I felt a surge of sincere sadness when I read the news on the Retro Gamer forum because not only was he a great actor but I sensed he was a great human being too.

A fine fine actor

Most will remember him by films like The Usual Suspects, Brassed Off and Jurassic Park: The Lost World but for me it was In The Name Of The Father. It was the first time I had seen one of his films and his performancs as Guisseppe Conlon was utterly brilliant and convincing. Sure he was 'supporting' Daniel Day Lewis' main character but Postlethwaite's presence made him equal.
Then of course there was Amistad and again he proved his acting was up there with the Burton's, O'Toole's and Harrises.
Director Steven Speilberg called Pete Postlethwaite 'the best actor in the world', and to that I raise my glass in agreement. Sleep well Mr Postlethwaite.