Banish Unwanted Plaque

If ever there was a story that symbolised the murky tabloid exploitation of an impressionable, grief-stricken individual, it's the Sally-Anne Bowman murder. There's something distasteful about the manner in which this story has been kept alive with "exclusive" new photos of Sally-Anne's amateur modelling career trailed on the front page in managed phases.

And it seems that egged on by a media all too happy to encourage Mrs Bowman's public exhibition of grief and give them another excuse to print a photo of the "next Kate Moss", she has become rather obsessed with the installation of a permanent plaque in the road where she was murdered.

Understandably the residents of Blenheim Crescent aren't particularly happy with the notion of their street becoming a haven for ghouls and grief tourists. Anyway, thankfully Croydon Council have rejected her application, leading to Mrs Bowman predictably lashing out at the blameless residents by accusing them of "gloating and look at the whole situation like we've lost, but they don't know the full story."

Well thank funk for Croydon Council but I wouldn't put it past the NOTW launching a campaign to "honour Sally-Anne" because of course it's what she would have wanted. As for the precedent this would set I can only shudder at the thought of 12 separate memorial plaques outside the unfortunate former house of Fred West.

Technorati tags:
Croydon Council, Sally-Anne Bowman, tabloid

Back In The DWP (nee DHSS)

Doesn't work now does it ?

A random Guardian article recently referenced what is, on reflection, my all-time favourite Half Man Half Biscuit track title - Tending The Wrong Grave For 23 Years.

Fittingly it was from their most recent EP release in 2003, Saucy Haulage Ballads. I've no idea how it sounds but as the owner of just the one HMHB album - the seminal Back in The DHSS I think I can make a pretty good guess.

Why is it funny ? Well it's best not to over-analyse these things but there is a perfection in the "23" of the 23 years. Citing this as the best of the bunch is no mean praise. A quick glance at their exhaustive discography reveals an Aladdin's Cave of wonderful song titles through the years starting with the likes of Fuckin' Ell It's Fred Titmus, the seminal I Hate Nerys Hughes(that's her below), Outbreak of Vitas Gerulaitis, Christian Rock Concert and Yips (My Baby Got The).



They weren't all great. The more obvious puns (Paintball's Coming Home, 24 Hour Garage People) tended to fall flat. But there's always a stand out title just around the corner. Right down to the most recent album Achtung Bono they were still churning them out - Shit Arm, Bad Tattoo to name just one.

I am doing Half Man Half Biscuit a great injustice by referring only to the titles of their tracks. Despite the instant laffs, their lyrics had a stinging poetic brilliance often underpinned by supremely infectious choruses. The Wikipedia profile covers this in far greater detail.

Thinking small

If a tree falls in a forest, but no-one writes about it on their blog, did it really happen? THINK ABOUT IT.

I read a story somewhere (on paper, I know that much) about a step forward in nanotechnology. At least I think I did. Apparently they have found a way of making the teeniest, tiniest cups that have ever been made. They measure a fentilitre. Or possibly a femalitre. I can't remember. Anyway, the excellent thing is that these new cups are designed to be inkpots for nanobots. If you share Blogmarch's admiration for the very small, you will enjoy the image of a pensive micro-machine licking the end of its tiny quill before dipping into an even more diminutive receptacle of small ink.

However. As a serious journalist, I attempted to confirm my sources before writing this piece. But my searches using all the terms mentioned have drawn a blank. I have a feeling it might have been in Private Eye, but I left that on the tube. And maybe it was satire – I can never never quite tell when they are joking, those clever types.

I once wrote an essay about a Saxon burial trove in Sussex that contained a chest that had been traded and pillaged all the way from (what is now) northern India, bearing marks of the cultures it had passed through. This demonstrated the active trading routes of the so-called dark ages, and the fact that those people were not as culturally distinct from each other as we used to assume. My tutor liked my essay, but wondered where I had read about this particular object. I thought she had told us about it in her most recent seminar, complete with slides. It seems I had fallen asleep and dreamt it.

I still don't entirely believe that the chest doesn't exist. As for the nanobot inkpots, they may be there already, just too small to see.

Technorati tags:
nanobot, Private Eye, inkpot

5am start - Business Day Trip in Euroland

Bond Double Header

On a weekend when blogmarch was more than pleasantly surprised by the quality of Casino Royale, a less impressive interpretation of the Bond genre was being executed elsewhere. Execrable is a word I try to use more often than I currently do, and the BBC newsreaders' Bond sketch for Children in Need, plumbed depths that had already been well established in previous years' performances.

Go see for yourself. I defy you not to cringe at least 10 times. And for those who claim it's for a good cause - piss off.

James Bond
Casino Royale
Children in Need
newsreaders
BBC

YouBruv

It started on Tuesday May 23, 2003. 3 years and 6 months later, it ended. I have changed jobs, spawned children, moved house twice. And now, the prize is in my hands. A £50 cheque from YouGov for my faultless participation in 83 online surveys over that time. The system tried to dominate me but it's me who perservered and came through when others fell aside.

It began slowly, just 7 surveys in 2003 at 50p a time. And I despaired at my paltry fund of £4.50 including £1 joining fee. Just 7 again in 2004 had bumped me up to the pointless sum of £12. 2005 was the breakthrough year. 23 surveys including a halycon month in June when I completed 8 surveys in 17 days.

The sudden upturn in my fortunes came about because YouGov launched something called the BrandIndex survey. This involved regularly asking the same monotonous questions about the same brands every bloody time. Had I heard either good or bad about this list of detergents ? What about perfumes ? What about hi-fis? And now what about these food brands? But in between the bread and butter of BrandIndex, there would be the occasional frisson of excitement when the 75p and £1 surveys came in. For the extra cash I'd take my time to be diligent and insightful in my mouse clicks.

I was ruthlessly efficient. You have to be. One friend quit after 3 surveys because he said they took too long. In trying to give his answers he had spent over 20 minutes completing one particularly survey about mortgage providers. Five minutes is the golden rule. Be fast, but be consistent. Practise your mouse navigation skills so you can seamlessly glide through the survey.

Towards that £50 mark the surveys began to dry up and I started to panic. Don't tell me they could play this dirty. Suddenly taking me off the map just because I was close to the moment of payout. But then in one final joyful week - 3 surveys including one 75p beauty pushed me over the line to nirvana.

But now I've made it I don't know what to do. I have to buy something which reflects the sweat and tears I have committed to the cause. Please help.

YouGov
BrandIndex

Bonnet in Need

I'm sitting here hyperventilating with excitement for the big event of the Children in Needathon. I think you know what I'm talking about. The usual suspects will be there - Kaplinsky, Raworth, Jezza Bowen, the slightly creepy Dermot Murnaghan and all-round good egg and "middle aged Tintin" Bill thingy from BBC Breakfast. This year it's a Bond theme. Clever eh ?

But for once my voyeuristic thrill at watching Fiona Bruce reveal a naughty glimpse of thigh is slightly sullied by the presence of Rob Bonnet.

It's barely a year since this po-faced sports presenter for BBC Breakfast disappeared from our terrestrial screens. So what's he doing front of stage on bass guitar, posing John Deacon-like in his usual stiff manner. He doesn't really play the bass guitar - so what's he doing there ?

He was rightly replaced by a younger, fresher model in the form of over eager pup Chris Hollins. The absolute antithesis of Bonnet, Hollins likes nothing other than getting kitted up to go rucking and mauling down with the professionals, mugging for the camera as he bungee jumps off Lambeth Bridge to the guffaws back in the studio. Hollins has risen so quickly that he's even got a Come Ice Dancing type sketch on Children in Need tonight all to himself.



Bonnet never demeaned himself like the current lot. He just stuck to his job. He reported sport. Of course with the noble exception of that one night a year, when he more than happy to show he was game as the rest of them.

His farewell sports report was memorably (to me)tinged with an undertone of bitterness. He tersely confirmed that he "wasn't disappearing completely from your screens" but could be found on the graveyard of News 24 doing "special reports". Of course, before he left he got his greatest hits montage. But it was made even more tragic by the sheer uneventfulness of his key moments. Here's Rob reporting from outside a stadium in Calgary. Here's Rob reporting inside a stadium somewhere.

Rob, the king is gone but clearly within the high ranking personnel at Children in Need, he's not forgotten.

Children in Need
Rob Bonnet
Promotion

Give them a big hand

As tonight is Children in Need, I thought I'd put together a collection of a few of my fave whacky stunts that the Great British Public are pulling this year, all in the name of raising a few pennies for Auntie Beeb and Pudsey the bear.

I don't mean the stuff that gets all the big press - brilliant as that always is - but the local heroes who are actually getting off their a***s and do some crazy stuff, all in the name of a great cause.

First, let's give a big hand to Newcastle-Under-Lyme and Keele University Conservative Future. Last year the right-leaning funsters put their heads together and dyed their hair blue (the traditional colour associated with Britain's Conservative Party).

This year, chairman Owen Meredith will be going one step further and having his leg hair shaved off on the big day. "Although I am somewhat concerned about losing my leg hair," the twenty year old marketing and politics student admitted, "my worries are nothing compared to what thousands of children and their carers face every day."

But the fundraising frivolities aren't restricted to the potty Potteries. Workers at ACT Training in Cardiff have been holding lizards all week - all in the name of raising some much needed cash. The creepy crawlies have been leant by the big-hearted crew at Fangtastic in Caerphilly.

And the list of unknowns pulling off crazy stunts in the name of a good cause doesn't end there. Mulleted upsetter and 'comic' novelist Bruce Dickinson will be flying members of the public in his personal jet for money. Did you know he has a pilot's licence? We can presume he does.

Terry Wogan will be kicking off coverage of this year's event at 7pm (GMT) on BBC1, with human avatar Natasha Kaplinsky and Fearne Cotton, Jo Whiley's little sister. Nothing has leaked about what they will be getting up to, but Wogan has promised "no-holds barred fundraising". So get your credit cards ready - my money's on Kaplinsky with an eye-gouge.


charity
Keele
Bruce Dickinson
gouge

World of Quirk

Good afterevening, and welcome to the world of quirkie. Gather round and take a knee as I introduce you to the wilder side of life. First up is Mr Michael Hughes, an intrepid phototourist. He visits tourists attractions, buys a tacky gift, and naturally superimposes the actual attraction with its tacky reproduction... using only his fingers. For example, here is New York New York's famous Statue of Cup'o'tea.













This man is bus-mental.












And the piece of resistance. You will quite literally never look at a petit dejeuner the same way after seeing his virtual croissant. Nutter.


Quirk
phototourist
bus-mental

Keepin' it real

It has been said before, but the best lines on Folsom Prison Blues aren't "shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die", they are in the moment at the heart of the song, where he imagines the people on the train going past his prison:

"I bet there's rich folks eating in a fancy dining car/ they're probably drinkin' coffee and smoking big cigars."

While the violence that put the character in his current position is remembered in the vaguest of details, this fictional image, summoned purely from the sound of the whistle of the train as it goes around the bend, is as clear as daylight. In Jamesian terms, the image is rendered alive by detail while life in prison remains tragically abstract. And yet, the couplet is crammed with reminders that this is fantasy - "I bet... probably".

Weirdly, it reminds me of a moment in this song: Shhh-it by Oi Polloi, a spirited attack on leading anarcho popstars Chumbawamba, sportingly made available on the tubthumpers' own website. Outraged by the perceived hypocrisy in signing to a major/letting songs be used on adverts/eating honey etc, the Scots noisy gits made this hilarious piece of bellyache. "You're shit... you're shit... you're fucking shit."
Anyway, once again the image that nails it is the most fictional. About a minute and a half through, one of the singers accuses the band of using roadies "while you sip wine backstage". I love that. Sip. Wine. Sellouts.

Folsom
Henry James
You're shit

Setting the quirk bar... high!

To celebrate the appearance of the celebrated Dr Quirky (PhD Loop de Loop University 1991) on Blogmarch, thought I'd post this. It's the one man who can put the wacky flu up the good doctor himself - it's Daaaavid Lynch. And a cow.

Especially, note this high priest of caprice's straighter than straight final words - 'keep out of trouble'. Quirk that, Dr Quirky.

Quirkier than Pauline Quirk

Yes - starting tomorrow we'll have a regular weekly column - Dr Quirky's World of Quirky. If there's something quirky going on anywhere in the world you can bet that Dr Quirky's nabbed it for his Quirkbag.

Some people have complained you see that the blogosphere is a magnet for ranting extremists and those with a mission to groom impressionable youngsters. Well not on Blogmarch.

Thought for the day

Have been haunted about the story of Francis Bacon (below) and his death by chicken (right). According to popular history (ie probably made up, at least in part), the essayist and inventor of modern science got out of his carriage in Highgate one winter evening in 1626. To prove a point about his theory of refrigeration, he bought a chicken and encased it in snow. This all happened in the little Highgate Pond Square.

To cut a short story shorter, the chicken still rotted, but Bacon caught a chill and died soon after. Bizarrely, it is the chicken that is said to haunt the square to this day.

Seems an odd sort of celestial justice to me, though. I'm presuming that the chicken was dead when Bacon bought it - I find it hard to imagine even this most rigorous scientist dispatching (and presumably plucking and eviscerating) the bird on a whim. The bird was sitting in Ye Olde Poulterers waiting for some Early Modern Londoner's pot, anyway. The point being, what is this chicken-phantom's problem?

Or rather, why did this become a ghost story? I think it relates backwards - to a time less than half a century earlier when John Dee had been seen as a black magician for his scientific experiments, his animals his familiars. But it also looks forward to the post-enlightenment modern era, when any involvement by science in the 'way things are' is considered to be meddling with the natural order of things. And sometimes is.

The moral of this? It's either to watch out for ghostly turkey twizzlers amassing around the country, Day of the Dead-style, or make sure you wrap up warm this winter.

Hey Student Backdrop!

“You fuckin make sure, you take care of them fuckin’ backdrops, they’re fuckin’ money, them! I won’t be fuckin’ happy if they’re not there!”

So said Mark E Smith to the now 43rd former member of The Fall on their disastrous US tour in early 2006. In this fascinating interview with Ben Pritchard on the background to the acrimonious departure of 3 members of The Fall, it's clear that the scandal of the lost backdrops started it all.


Now Blogmarch is a huge fan of The Fall and has seen them live more than 20 times at least. It's a bit of a running joke that the backdrops and accompanying T-shirt adaption is universally crap. But bearing in mind we now know just how precious they are to MES, this latest effort is quite possibly the worst ever. It looks like it's been produced on a dirty old sheet and designed for some half-hearted sixth former's art project. I mean look at it. It's not even been coloured in properly because the crayons were bought from some pound shop. And what's with the cuddly beaver in the CAT hard hat ? Is this the new Fall mascot ?

Most tragically, it doesn't even come close to covering the actual back screen of the stage let alone the drum kit.

On a lighter note

This is a very odd looking cat, isn't it?

Goji Fraud

I fucking hate "Dr" Gillian McKeith. Firstly because she is not a doctor in the sense of someone who is using that term to imply qualified medical or academic expertise from an accredited academic institution. I hate her even more for contributing to the culture of quackery and extortionate profiteering around the "superfoods" phenomenon. A trip to my local upmarket deli with requisite box shelves reaching up to the ceiling reveals that a piddlingly small packet of luxury muesli with added goji berries is yours for 11.99 sterling pounds.

And right next to that packet is McKeith's similarly costly range of goji berry products which feature "2000% more antioxidants than oranges; 500 times the amount of vitamin C by weight that oranges."

In her defence she does not at least make the utterly unsubstantiated claim that goji berries are used to fight cancer in China as even more unscrupulous pedlars in the US are still claiming.

Firstly, let's just get clear that this so-called "jewel of the Himalayas" (handy isn't it cos that makes it sound really expensive and rare) are actually more commonly known as wolfberries. And as for the anti-oxidant claim, Wikipedia's page on goji berries recognises without dispute that the central claim about wolfberries' supposed extraordinary anti-oxidant levels have yet to be recognised in any respectable peer reviewed academic journal.

The second claim, that these berries, have 500 times the amount of vitamin C by weight than oranges is similarly tenuous. If this were true, it is recognised "would make it one of the world's richest sources of vitamin C behind the Australian billygoat plum and the South American camu camu."

But in their dried format by which they are sold in the West, "the amount of vitamin C in dried berries is actually in a range of 29-148 mg per 100 grams of fruit, still a healthful serving amount similar to citrus fruits and raspberries." That's citrus fruits as in your pikey old common lemons, oranges and even if you're feeling a little exotic - limes.

There's something utterly depressing about the utter lack of scrutiny applied to individuals such as McKeith and the unsubstantiated claims featured on these packs. If you want to broadcast a TV advert, there is an organisation called the BACC which vets with a fine toothcomb every single product claim made in your advert, often requesting highly technical explanations behind those claims before you can go on air. That process doesn't seem to exist in the field of "alternative" healthfoods.

If anything, there's a well-established collusion between the likes of the Daily Mail and GMTV who churn out almost on a weekly basis another "the new superfood" feature for affluent and neurotic middle class folk to swallow whole before getting on the phone to their nearest bearded healthfood store owner to beg him to keep 3 jars aside for them.

There's a wonderful Japanese phrase from some new book I would plug if I could remember its name which collects interesting phrases from foreign languages with no English equivalent. The phrase is "muka muka" which means feeling so angry that you want to vomit. Well this goji berry scam is inducing some serious "muka muka" in me as I type and I'm off to go and drink some tap water.


goji
goji scam
Gillian McKeith

Breakfast of Hate

Every morning I begin the day wracked with self-loathing at my sheer indolence and readiness to be taken for a ride by capitalist demons Oatso Simple. For the privilege of putting 30g of oats into a small bag I pay 4 times more (58.9p per 100g) than if I had just weighed it out myself (15.5p per 100g) from a box of the same company’s oats.


Some of you might argue that half a cup of oats is the equivalent but the truth is that porridge is a delicate creature. The slightest imbalance of weight to milk to microwave time (not forgetting the individual wattage of the machine) can render porridge totally unpalatable so it’s worth getting it right. With so many different size cups in my mug portfolio it’s a risk I’m not prepared to take.

I'll get my goat

My flight back was cursed with repeated doses of this oddly offensive ad. I mean offensive in an Ignatius Reilly, hell in a handcart kind of way. Prolonged exposure to most ads tends to be to their detriment, but this one has really got into my brain. And what is the point of a blog if not for the passing on of noxious brainworms? I should say that the online version of the ad is in slightly better condition than the one I saw, which had the voices sounding slightly deeper, and less in sync. So the whole effect was even more 'Ambassador you are spoiling us'.

Ad makers, here's a tip: if you make something that sours after the first, say, three viewings, don't put it on a longhaul flight entertainment system. Especially one where the stupid control won't allow fast-forwarding without missing the vital first few minutes of the filmic treat the viewer is actually trying to watch. You can't do without the beginning of You, me and Dupree, after all, you'll be lost for the rest of the movie.

Anyway. Top annoying things about this are:

1] In the Churchill bit, the way the waiter demonstrates his understanding of the situation by just leaving the drink and thoughtfully withdrawing from the room. This is excruciating Tussauds history that leaves a very bad taste. The point being made seems to be that the Langham staff are sensitive to somewhat tense situations. Like, say, THE BLITZ.

2] Oscar Wilde's yawp of surprise at the butler's witticism has haunted me since seeing it. In casting someone with Wilde's lantern-jawed features, the makers have actually given the part to a Richard Kiel lookalike. It would take a very talented casting agent to do otherwise, perhaps, but this becomes a problem when they make the grave error of portraying Saint Oscar as some sort of buffoon. to my confused synapses, the Langham Wilde has something of Hugo the Abominable snowman about him.

3] Like many, I'm allergic to moments of inspiration on film - whether it is Beethoven struggling over that tricky fourth note for his Fifth (stumbling by chance on 'Dur' after 'Da, Da, Da'), or lakeland poets fighting over the exact nature of their lonely wandering ('as a... cow?' 'Nah'). I can't think of exact example, but you know the sort of thing. I seem to remember Backbeat, the Beatles in Germany film, had a few goodies. But in this case, the advert posits a revisionist view of literary history where, instead of being one of the greatest English speaking wits, Wilde was a porridge-brained posh boy, a bling-obsessed goon. The butler, here, is Blackadder to Wilde's Prince Regent. At the same time it insinuates that the qualities lauded by Wilde's aphorism are those of the hotel. Why all this makes me shiver with annoyance is not very clear. I don't mind that it is wrong. I don't mind that in its wrongness it rather distastefully does down a man who is rightfully venerated for his courage as well as his brains. I think it annoys me because it does these things with the tawdriest of motive. Just as in the WW2 scene the hotel seems to claim some credit for the bravery of Londoners and the statesmamlike qualites of Churchill, the portrayal of Wilde seems to suck out his style, wit and sardonic approach to life, and parcel it up as the property of a swanky hotel. And that ain't right.

4] At the end, when the mobile phone goes off in the butler's pocket, the Victorian crowd are irritated in exactly the way people are if such a thing happens now. The ungodly devil noise of the late 20th century just makes the crowd tut, as if to say 'some people...'. You almost expect him to answer and say 'Yep, can't talk, I'm in the 19th century'.

5] The basic idea for the ad is The Shining in reverse - the butler is an undead time-travelling spirit of the hotel, though presumably not the unspeakable evil manifested in The Overlook Hotel. This is irritating (especially when the brain has entered that scratchy inflight state of whirling, tired questioning), because the viewer can't work out whether the makers (or the hotel chain) are aware of this context. So the possible meanings of the ad are multiplied by the power of ignorance. What's for the next ad, an homage to the Bates Motel?

Anyway. I may be thinking too hard about it. Thanks for listening.

The Beat Goes On

I know it's a bit naughty, but I do love stopping by at a Starbucks for a Danish. Here's mine from this morning, already half eaten!

Things are going great guns. The hotel has been lovely. Clean, and the people are very kind - happy to do the smallest little thing. So maybe it's a little unfair of me, but Blogmarch will speak the truth as it is. This plug and tv socket are strangely askew, aren't they?

All the latest from me

Am away on the trip at last. It's all working out well so far. Even managed to get through customs unscathed!!

Was feeling a bit tired after the journey, so was glad to get to the hotel. Luckily there was some fruit waiting, in a bowl.

The adventure continues.

The iPod of food

Every week it’s part of my business to keep abreast of what’s hot in the world of the consumer. Essentially this means reading MediaGuardian and getting a weekly email from this service called trendwatching.com. As far as I can see their sole raison d’etre seems to consist of creating horrific neologisms and unleashing them onto the marketing industry for a laugh. So they have words like Massclusivity – it’s exclusive but it’s also Mass, Transumers – consumers who worship the temporary and the transient and Tryvertising – which in their own words is “all about consumers becoming familiar with new products by actually trying them out”. Personally I thought that was called “sampling”.

When I was a kid I spent some time unsuccessfully trying to “seed” a new catchphrase. You know, like “sick” is good or “book” equals “cool”. I remember the term was “craters!” but can’t for the life of me recall whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it was meant to signify that this was something massive eg: in reply to the ground-shaking news that “Atari have just brought out Frogger II” I would exclaim “Wow! That is craters!”

Obviously this was in the pre-internet days when I was forced to rely solely on the archaic method of peer-to-peer viral word of mouth activity. At the time the peer response was overwhelmingly underwhelming despite my numerous efforts to seamlessly integrate it into my everyday conversations. In this exciting brand new Web 2.0 era though I think its time has come.

But I digress.

So these trendwatching.com types come up with these terms and then show examples of innovative brands and retail concepts which seem to substantiate the burgeoning activity related to their latest –ism. And I’m not even sure which term it comes under but I have become utterly obsessed with their championing of the Crispy Cones fast-food concept http://www.crispycones.com/ that’s currently doing great guns in California’s Santa Anita shopping mall. It has a strapline “Conestructing Revolution” that could have come straight from Alan Partridge. Most of all it has the all-important killer proposition – “The food you love in a cone.” The accompanying blurb reads: “Take your favourite foods: Pizza. Asian Beef. BLT Sandwich. Teriyaki Chicken. Place them inside a tasty spill-free Crispy Cone. What do you have? A healthy, delicious meal on the go.”

Best thing of all is the menu. You can choose from such delights as Chicone Teriyaki – so far so good. Margarita Pizzacone – ok. Bit Ronseal but sounds alright. But then they clearly got bored. Options such as Meatballscone and the nonsensical Porcone (ie a cone with pork) don’t exactly get those Pavlovian salivations going.

The founder of Crispy Cones is culinary entrepreneur Nir Adar. He confidently declared in a 2005 Time article "Food should be as portable as a phone. Cone pizza will be the iPod of food this year." Exhaustive desk research by myself found the solitary piece of feedback on the cone revolution from "Jason" on the strangenewproducts blog. He says, "The meat tasted okay, but the cone tastes odd. And all the oils drip to the bottom of the cone for a rather gross surprise at the last bite.." He's not exactly selling it to me. Further investigative sleuthing reveals that their self-proclaimed flagship store in Santa Anita is actually their only store to date.

Anyway there are global franchising opportunities available and I think it's a winning concept all the way. With some inventive naming input and some proper photography, I think this is the new sushi. If you’re interested in a CrispyCones London joint venture then get in touch.

Late Learner

There’s this incredible sit-com on weekdays Channel 4 at 7.30am which is about six friends who live next to each other in some apartment. I think it’s New York. And it’s all about the fact that even if your job’s a joke and it hasn’t been your day or week or even your year, these people are still there for each other. Alright it’s a re-run of Friends. When it first came out I used to sneer at all those tedious girlie girls snuggling up on their sofas in their pyjamas and socks enjoying a bit of me-time watching Monica and Ross, that Phoebe is just so damn quirky and Chandler and Josh heh I wish I had flatmates like that etc. But I tell you what. 10 years down the line you ain’t gonna see no Extras or Green Wing picking up new fans like that. That’s the real test of comedy and I am good as hooked. I’m even reading frighteningly detailed “biographies” of the fictional main characters on Wikipedia of which Chandler Bing’s is the highlight (and actually goes a long way to explaining the success of the show).

I know of course that in about 10 weeks time we’ll start to see Matthew Perry’s absurdly ballooning face as the painkiller addiction starts to take its toll. And that in 20 weeks or so we’ll get to that point when it’s not even remotely believable that these guys and gals are meant to be the mid-to-late 20 somethings they’re meant to portray. And then it goes to complete shit when they start doing crap like coming to London and so on.. but in the meantime, I’ve seen a good 40 episodes now and not a bad one in sight. When you compare that to something like Jack Dee’s derivative tumbleweed that is the Lead Balloon sitcom then you realise just how good Friends actually was/is.

Talking of Matthew Perry he pops up in 3 episodes of The West Wing around Season 4 or 5 I think and he’s outstanding. In fact he got 2 Emmy nominations for his role and it’s a shame they didn’t extend it further. He’s also in Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip which started off all guns blazing but the initial critical and audience love-in appears to be fading fast.

Racist Kent

The BBC version http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/6088568.stm of the story outlined below leaves out the thrilling dialogue, but does mention that the good Dr Arnaot has run into a bit of bother with the Blair-loving caucasians (and their mysterious witnesses, no doubt) before this particular incident.

The evil face of Kentism

I love this story from the South London Press, even if I don’t fully understand what exactly happened. Was the pregnant woman in the car at the time or actually wedged between a car and post? That’s not really the point – it’s more about her diatribe against all these white people being Tony Blair’s bitches and the even more fascinating and specific hatred of the Kentish blondes. Anyway, what an insight into this GP’s conspiratorial state of mind. If all the white people vote for Tony Blair, did black people vote for Michael Howard and maybe a one-off flirtation with the cuddly UKIP chaps ? And as for the verdict – how is "all you white people are the same", "the English, Kentish blonde people and their witnesses" not “racially aggravated” ?

A GP accused of leaving a heavily pregnant woman in agony after wedging her against a post with her car was "obsessed" with getting to a meeting on time,a court has heard.
Dr May Arnaot, 50, of Chandlers Drive, Erith, left Sarah Chambers in "unbearable pain" on a petrol station forecourt in Erith, on August 10 last year.

She allegedly yelled at the terrified nursery nurse: "You're Tony Blair's bitch, all you white people are the same - you all vote for Tony Blair."

Fortunately a paramedic was at the scene and Ms Chambers has since given birth to a healthy baby.

Ms Chambers was a passenger in her fiancé's Ford Fiesta when Arnaot first drove at them in her Y-reg Nissan XTrail 4x4, causing them to swerve, in Gravel Hill, Erith.

On Monday, Dr Arnaot chose not to give evidence in her defence at Blackfriars Crown Court and called no witnesses.

But jurors heard the doctor's police interview in which she claimed she was stressed and in a rush when she encountered Ms Chambers and her fiancé Steven Boakes.

Dr Arnaot insisted CCTV would show Mr Boakes as the aggressor, throwing punches through her window with a "horrible, outraged look ".

Later on in the interview she became agitated and began to complain about the state of society.
In answer to the police officer's suggestion she was being evasive, the doctor, originally from the Middle East, accused him of siding unfairly with "the English, Kentish blonde people and their witnesses".

Prosecutor Christopher May told jurors in his closing speech that "her account simply doesn't make sense", and was "far-fetched, inaccurate and blatantly untrue".

He said she had exercised her right not to testify and damaged her case.Following lengthy legal argument, Judge Deva Pillay earlier cleared Dr Arnaot of having a racial motive. But Mr May added: "Her hostility, her state of mind is something that you are more than entitled to consider."

Arnaot denies dangerous driving, damaging property, common assault against Mr Boakes, and assault occasioning actual bodily harm and common assault against Ms Chambers, on August 10 last year. She was cleared of racially aggravated assault occasioning actual bodily harm. The trial continues.