Tuesday, 29 June 2010

The Boy Who Lived...


Well I just saw the trailer. Something from my childhood is going to be great again. The Magic is coming home. Even the dates are brilliance. November for my birthday, and July for Graduation. You know what I'm on about? You know? You know?!

That's right my geeky, nerdy, and completely safe friendship groups. I'm talking about the Boy Who Lived...as if the title didn't give it away. The perfect, and most dreamful place children of my age once lived. A place where dragons and goblins existed. A place which allowed children to run wild and solve crimes. A place completely child un-friendly.

I don't know whether I can keep up his vaguality much longer.

That's right - HARRY POTTER, or more specifically HAPPY freakin' POTTER AND THE DEATHLY freakin' HALLOWS!!!

Trailer found - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - HERE

And all I say is Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooowwww. It looks good.

Tomorrow I feel like I should be reading. Today I felt like I should be writing - but I intended to wake up at 8:00am and get some work done. Though I switched it off and slept until 10:45am. It was rediculous! What is wrong with me? I had my 8-hours plus a further 2-and-three-quarters. ARGH!

Needless to say, writing didn't get written. Instead I Achievement Hunted the hell out of Assassin's Creed 2 - and for all of you who know, I got all the glyphs, and feathers, and I now have the Hammer and the Cape. Good fun, truly good fun.

So tomorrow, reading and writing me is thinking. But I'll probably just fall back onto the Xbox.

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

Monday, 28 June 2010

To Recap...

Yes, you know what's coming.

I've been away from this blog far longer than I had ever wanted. So now, I feel that I should fall back into the swing of things by recapping, in full, with details (or without) all the time I have spent not blogging, in this blog. You get it? You sitting comfortably? Are you Tag? (Hi Tag!) Then we'll begin.

You know I've finished the attic - or anything I want to do with the attic at least - well it's official. I don't ever want to see that dusty dark room ever again (until September at least). All we have now is the remnants of the clutter, which we have sought to sell on a bootsale (he refers to his previous post) which has not apparated into existence yet, apparently. So downstairs is still sort of messy, but only where it doesn't count.

In the further days of last week, I attended the birthday celebrations of my best and oldest (not by age) friend, Mr Clareg - he is now in his Tweens. To celebrate, we went to Cardiff - the Capital City of Wales - and we gathered together all our friends, and began the night with a few drinking games (Ring of Fire). During the second game, there was a horrible concoction being formed in the centre of the 'Ring' - namely Stella, Bud, Sambucca, and some Jagger. No one wished to drink it, though the person who had received the final King card (the card required for it's receiver to drink the created concoction in the centre of the Ring) was already especially drunk. So I, being the very chivalrous person that I am, took the bullet, as it were. Needless to say, it was an easy drink, and it went down terribly smoothly.

Therein lie the problem. Alcohol makes me awefully warm - I say alcohol, I mean Spirits - so as I was having, what appeared to be 'Hot Flushes', the group decided it was time to hit the town.

Herein lie my problem. I was all ready and eager to hit the town - I had my shirt and tie on (I know, very fancy) but after that pint (The Dirty Pint = the concoction in the centre of the Ring) I found, as those of you who know me, that I had a hard time standing up, walking, and generally traveling anywhere. Though, of course, still being of sound mind. So I was left with the telly-remote and the others went out - as was there will. I spent a good evening on the sofa watching everything from 'The IT Crowd' to repeats of 'Doctor Who' (in preparation for the Finale the day after). All-in-all, fun was had by all. And the next day...

My did everyone else regret going out. Clareg - who's Mother had planned a party for his return that day, was not in the best of places. But his girlfriend (Hi Clareyloo), she was trashed - beyond hungover, she was being poisoned by her own liver. And did the liver love to torture her? We managed to get back to Bridgend in one piece, dropping Clareyloo off, only for Breadman to receive a text from her half-an-hour later stating that she had 'just fallen down the stairs'. Drunk or what?

Anyway, moving on - for it was the day of the 26.06.2010 - and you know what that means...for those of you who don't - it was the date predicted as to when the TARDIS would explode destroying the entire Universe. A pretty big, and brilliantly written, story don't you think? And for those of you who don't know what a TARDIS is, it stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space, it's a machine used by the Doctor to travel all over the Universe - and for those of you who don't know - DOCTOR WHO!!!

Look it up. Anywho, Clareg was worrying that he wouldn't actually get to celebrate his birthday because that falls on 27.06.2010 (well his 20th does/did - you see how I played with Time there? Yep, that's Doctor Who)

Needless to say, the episode was wonderful - in every aspect - save one. How, in the first place, does the Doctor get out of the Pandorica to tell everyone what to do? And yes, the Pandorica opened...again.

Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue...

So my time has been well and truly spent well and truly. (You work it out)

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

P.S. Where's my blogging Pals? Have they not pulled themselves out of the world of Lost and House?!
P.S.S. Also, today, I've been reading this brilliant comic strip I think you might enjoy...here.

Wednesday, 23 June 2010

And that, is that...(I hope)


Yep, it's been a long enough time for me to have missed this. That's right my blogging friends, a whole week and a half. That's too many 15-hour days full of physical labour for a fat-man. But I'm there, at the end, the light is bright, and things are at a closure (I bloody well hope).

I'm (officially) unpacked. Well, most of my stuff is now in it's rightful place (yay). All that there is now, is stuff we don't want, and we hope other people will. That's right, a bootsale (ARGH!)

For those of you who don't know what a bootsale is, Wikiapedia describes it as...

'Car boot sales or boot fairs are a mainly British form of market in which private individuals come together to sell household and garden goods. The term refers to the selling of items from a car's boot (U.K.) (or trunk in the U.S.).'

So yeah, now you know: but that's where the nightmare begins. Strange people rummaging through your newly detached belongings. There's something unnatural about that thought I find. There's even something unnatural about most of the people who go to bootsales to buy things (not really the people who go to sell stuff, they're getting money from being there). But therein lies the problem.

Will people want your stuff?

You just don't know until you get there and waste half-a-day discovering that you're no good at this selling stuff business.

Moving on: the legendary At-tic is quelled. Renovated - sort of. I spent £50 on floorboards and insulation. We used less than half of it, and I washed the receipt in the back pocket of my jeans. So, returning it today was fun.

The teenager at the counter, was completely stumped. Then he called over this attractive woman, who also worked at this well-known branch of DIY stores (The first letter is B, the last is Q), and then a third person had to be called over - either way, I managed to get something back - a credit note - fun fun of £36 B&Q voucher. What can I use that for?!

TENNIS - that's right, the wonderful event that is Wimbledon has returned for the next two weeks. So far it's been brill - and today I witnessed history, as a game took over 9-hours to complete, and they've still not finished it! Silly people.

I don't know of what to inform you of now, so I'll leave it at that.

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

P.S. I'm waiting for some blogs you bloggers - you know who you are!

Saturday, 19 June 2010

Enemies of the Universe Unite!

Oh My God...

Well, today started out like any other. I spent the afternoon with Clareg, Clareyloo, and my brother. We played COD, and I discovered I'm getting better at it. Though, it all changed after that. That's right my fellow geeks...you know what I'm on about, with a title like that.

It's Doctor Who - those of you who disagree with this (Hi HB Sauce) I'm sorry - NOT! Doctor Who, Moffet's done it again. I love the show when Moffet writes it. I also love it when collaborations happen - X-men meets Spiderman, The Avengers, etc. - but when they mix up Vincent van Gogh, Sir Winston Churchill, and Dr. River Song - plus every bad guy in creation - I think it makes for good watching. Not to mention Romans, lots of Romans.

But, and I'm sure I should warn you that spoilers will be occurring after this warning. Amy dying, the Doctor being locked up for all eternity, and Rory hanging around and existing again only to shot the lovely Amy Pond. What a Bastard! (even if he couldn't help it, and even if he doesn't technically exist).

Though, I suppose something good has come of the incarceration of the Doctor, all the bad guys have united in their hatred for the Doctor and become an Alliance of great deceit and nastiness. At least when they hold the Universe to ransom there will be some diversity (namely instead of 'Exterminate!', 'Delete!', and 'Soltar-ha!' - you'll get 'Extelete-ha!' - what do you think?)

With the Doctor locked-up, who'll be there to stop the Tardis from exploding next week? I have to point out, did they lock him up with his Screwdriver or not? And do you think the Tardis is buried at the point where the Doctor will suddenly appear in his prison? Or is it just a Cube? I don't know, should I stop typing now? Should I, should I?!

Also, if he is locked up there for all eternity, will he been using the toilet a lot, or will he just become dead? How about he gets locked up there, and when it opens again - next episode - do you think Mr. Tennant will arrive back and confront everyone he seemed to face during his time as the Doctor?

Stop talking now. Shall I. You shall. Okay.

Moving on. The Attic is getting no where fast. I'm glad to hear that Tag and Cherrybelly are moved in to there newly town based Flat. And the last residents of Flat 9 have left forever.

Also, I was scanning through the followers of this blog, Tag's blog, and Cherrybelly's blog - alright, Tag complains that he's got the least amount of followers, but only by one but then Cherrybelly has two more than me! How did that happen? Is that women united? (tying in with the title there - hi Megan and Niti - follow me if you read this!)

Oh God, I'm so sad. I need to be followed - not like that, I know what your thinking (Hi Tag - yes that's right, I'm usually the follower).

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

Thursday, 17 June 2010


This is the state of Life at which I have become.

Yes indeed, I know what you're thinking: 'Lifeless, how can you be Lifeless?' And no dear reader, I do not write this blog from the grave. Though indeed, I have not also changed the meaning of Lifeless (to have no Life). So how, I hear you say...(say it!)

Well dear reader, I have expended my Life. I am without Life, and therefore I am Lifeless. Understand?

Decrypting, decrypting...

Okay, recently Tag and I have discovered (Tag before I) this series called 'Life' (understand the stuff I did before now?) starring the legend that is Damian Lewis. We watched it, not only because he starred in it, but because it was a good show. And you notice how I say 'was'. Yes dear reader...the show has been cancelled because of too much programming on the American televisual boxes. I find that if the Americans have too much programming, would they kindly give some to us - our British TV has gone steadily southward since the beckoning on the New Year (and only then, I've really watched Doctor Who - which is still fantastic, perhaps even better than it was before). So now you see why I was Lifeless? I have come to the end of the only 2 Brilliant Life Serieses, and (Goddamnit!) I want more! How can you make a show called Life lifeless, gone, not there? (it's silly!)

Moving on: I think Tag and I might just buy Damian's back-catalogue. It'll be so good. I think he should be the next James Bond - you think a blonde Bond has gone too far, wait until you get a ginger one. Also other roles Damian Lewis should play - Robin Hood, King Richard the Lion Heart, A British Man, Owain Glyndwr, A British Captain in a British Version of Band of Brothers, an Aura in Harry Potter, Danny Ocean, The Doctor, Will Smith, Something or Someone in Something or Someone I write, Neo, Vin Diesel, King Arthur, Sean Connery, and God.

Wait a minute...that wasn't moving on!

So, as you know, I've been cleaning out the Attic just so it can acquire some more of my uni stuff (it swallowed some last year). This task is not going well. Which is why I haven't posted anything in a while - that and the last post, my 13th Post, was so unluckily short, that I thought I was ruined for the rest of blogdom. It turns out, as I'm writing this now, I wasn't.

Though I need something to do - and this (and that) will have to suffice, until I get the attic finished. At which time, I shall be partying, and raising the roof (literally), and actually doing some holidaying stuffs - like lounging, writing properly, sunbathing, reading (I know, I said it, don't faint), visiting friends, and (hopefully) traveling around the country/nation, seeing things I haven't seen, but tourists have.

Good idea? Well if you want to join me, comment, and we'll sort something out.

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

P.S. I hope that was much better than the 13th Post.

Monday, 14 June 2010

Hey Jude...

Okay, so I think the great song is following me today.

This is a lie. But 'The Beetles' spirit has been unleashed today with Sir Paul McCartney on the Tellybox playing 'Hey Jude' and then right now, my friends, Bread and Cleever, are performing 'The Beetles' greatest hits via the invention of 'Beetles Rock Band' for the Xbox, into my optical nerves through the webby-cam.

But I don't know where I'm going with this, they're a huge distraction while I write this. Especially Cleever's vast amount of cussing when she misses a note.

Today I left the tribes of the At-tic alone, not because I was going to leave them settle after a day of bombardment, but because of my sister and her friends' revision party. Mother just wished to keep the dignity of the house for that sweet moment of a single day. All starts again tomorrow. More and more crap for hauling - all by myself.

So instead, today, I had a visit from HB Sauce. She came to collect her stuff and deliver it I did. We then went and walked around my housing estate. Something I hadn't ever done before I hasten to add. So HB and I walked and walked and walked, around, what has to be, a very dull place. But that's that.

My heart's not really into this tonight - I've been distracted from Life Season 2 for too long, ever since Tag and I watched it all last week. I need to watch it, and it's gone from 11 episodes to 23! This is so epically good news.

On a relevant note: I had a dream about being Damian Lewis (the lead actor in Life) - and can I say, it was completely docious.

So, I'm sad to say - this is my shortest post so far. Tomorrow I shall have a much better post:

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

Sunday, 13 June 2010

Have you ever seen a Slobble-sucker?

I went in the attic today...

Well that was one of the worst decisions I've ever made in my lifetime so far. The attic, our attic, the place where all our respectable and very much clutterable mess has found it's way. Today's job - remove the clothing.

I, being quite an over-weight gentleman, found the gateway into the realm of At-tic quite a squeeze. On numerous occasions, because it took many trips up and down (no they weren't run ups), the portal took my trousers from me, and I had to recover them swiftly, so as not to suffer embarrassment. Also, being a broad man, my shoulders had to bend at a bizarre and otherworldly angle to enter through into the space above.

Now the space above was then so restricting and cramped that I employed my adventurous brother (who is far slimmer than I) to rummage around in At-tic and find all the clothing-like substances. Needless to say that he was far nimbler than I was and can be in a confined space. He discovered almost sixteen bags worth of children's clothing (mainly) - just keep-sakes my mother and father never wanted to be rid of. And then their true motive for keeping the keep-sakes - Money!

Father has always spoken fondly of the money he has stored away in a secret account where no one can see or even benefit from it. But I think I've rumbled his plot - his money is tied up with the vast swathes (I told you they were vast and swathey) of clothes and other such At-tic residing heirlooms. I mean, who keeps that many clothes? Who keeps just one curtain? Who combines railway track with nursery furnishings? But of course, it's all (mostly) going to be sold, and guess who has that responsibility?

You've guessed it...muggings here.

What have I learned today?

Never have too much stuff, you're only going to have to clear some space for it all. I've learned what a Hallmark is, because for nearly two-and-a-half hours this afternoon I was researching them, being handed different pieces of Silver to price and date just for knowledge's sake and all. It was dead-interesting mind. I've learned that a troy-ounce (what Silver is measured in) is heavier than an ordinary ounce by 0.09 ounces. I've learned that one troy-ounce of silver is worth £12.50. And I've learned that you can't heat custard up in it's carton - things go boom (I still got warm custard though).

A productive day don't you think? Well that day is going to turn into a week at this rate, especially if I'm working on it all by myself. I've now got to go and research into boot-sales in Bridgend. I hate boot-sales (sorry Wodge and Pill, but it was - not a hard day's work, but - a long day's work). This is a silly idea - and my brother informs me that only a quarter of the attic space had been cleared, and that there are still more clothes to be bagged and sold. ARGH...I nearly wish I watched Football (I said 'nearly' not anything else, just 'nearly' - I'm still thinking this clear-out is better than the World Cup, and I'm right - and you know what else is? Wimbledon - only 10-days now).

I hope I get a holiday and get to write something worthwhile this summer. Because at the moment, as my Magic 8-Ball would say: 'Outlook So-So'.

What have I gotten myself in for?!

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

P.S. I haven't seen a Slobble-sucker. Nor do I know what one is or does. Any suggestions?

Saturday, 12 June 2010


Ah, yes...erm...okay!

So, the Football's on, and it would appear, in every household under our yellow sun. It makes me shudder to think why both my brother (who has a bet that France will win) and my mother (who just likes to support England in all their endeavors) are watching. So why must this twice-a-decade event happen? Well - for those of you out there who don't know - some teams are better than others, and every four years they have this World Cup event to allow everyone to compete, but in actual fact only the better teams will win, and win, and win again. What is the point I here you say: I don't really know.

Why do I hate Football?

I don't really know. Perhaps it's because Rugby is soooooooooo much better, a more energetic, and more physical, enjoyable, and action orientated game. Or perhaps it's because of my father. He always likes telling my friends, when they bring up 'THE DEVIL'S GAME' in polite conversation while under his roof, that 'in this household we don't play round-ball sports.'

My father, very much stuck in his ways, and as always, absolutely right!

I left Carmarthenshire today, hoping that I would manage to avoid watching or even catching a glimpse of a single World Cup Football match. It turns out that I have already seen clips of two separate matches already! I've only been back seven hours!

Even now I can hear football. Why is God so cruel?

Moving on: as I have said I left the Uni today, with much huggable huggings from flatmates and the like. It was a horribly emotional event (there's an event more worthy of televisiual entertainment - but then, did I just pitch for Big Brother?) and needless to say, there was a great amount of waving and 'I'll see you soon's floating about.

So I'm here now, writing this blog for the first time in what has been my room for quite some while now. I'm sat on the edge of my bed with a bent back, because I don't have anything to lean back on, writing in a confined space, thinking where to put all the stuff from my uni room. The stuff is in numerous boxes down stairs, and of no use to anyone (especially me). So my first job tomorrow would be to start a massive tidy-up of the attic - fun fun (for those of you who don't know me, this is sarcasm. For those of you who do know me, fine I'll tidy your rooms, or the kitchen every now and then, but you haven't seen my attic).

From the dawn of time things have been gathering dust in my loft space. Forcing all that weight upon the house can't be good for the house. Vast swathes of evolutionary geniuses have been lost to the wonders of that forgotten realm. And the forgotten realm hasn't forgotten the real world. On numerous occasions, during my upbringing, my family has fought with the tribes of the At-tic. I lost my twin to them. He fell in battle, triumphant (I know this doesn't make sense). And now tomorrow, I shall return and claim what is rightfully ours, Our Attic!

Oh God, my brother has started commentating on the football to his friends across Xbox-Live - oh God, I hope he's not playing football on Xbox-Live...ARGH!

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

P.S. Ooooow a question of brilliance...wait a while, while I answer it (oh what fun). Cherrybelly asked: if you had two tickets to go into space and land on the moon or mars or wherever, who and what would you take with you and why? Well Cherrybelly, that's an obvious one, isn't it? I would take the Doctor and Amy Pond with me, and they'd bring the TARDIS with them, wouldn't they? Unless...I think that's cheating the question. Hmm...I would take you Cherrybelly and you Tag (Hi Tag), and we'd go about the universe discovering the wonders of the stars and what not. And we'd bring our laptop's for blogging, DVDs for entertainment, and Jubbly's (okay, pasta) for nourishment. But wait. That's making me sound like some sort of Doctor or other. Hmm. I don't know. I'd sell the tickets to some stupid people. I haven't seen the world yet, with the people I enjoy spending time with, so I think I'll do that first Cherrybelly - using the money I gained from the Space Tickets transaction (I'd be so rich). As always with these things I have to ask a question in return: if you were shrunk down to the size of a pea, what would be your most fearful adventure?
P.S.S. Oh ma gosh, next week's Doctor Who looks completely and totally docious.
P.S.S.S. Oh dear, he is playing a football game on Xbox-Live...ARGH!

Thursday, 10 June 2010

It's that time of Year again...

Most of my Uni room is now in boxes.

Yes indeedy, it's home-time again for us Studacious lot. Our accommodation payments run out, and the University sees fit to throw us out of their Halls for four months in order to aerate the rooms or something - so that we can just move back in come September. This long and arduous event happens once a year, and this one being my second year. So you'd think I'd be used to it by now.

It's a silly process - I take things from home, and supplant them into a host room from September until June. The problem was, the first time I did this, the room I was living in at home at the time was three-times larger than the room I returned to at the end of the year. It turns out that my advantage taking sibling of a younger brother saw fit to mark his territory in the house and claim the larger room while I was away. Something my darling Mother tried to cover up by saying: 'We're only decorating Ben's room (for that is his name) and he'll be staying in your room until the paint's dry.' Now what she should have said was - to put it most honestly and bluntly - and would have made the blow very much lessened - 'We've moved all your stuff into your brother's room, and all his stuff into yours. We don't care what you think because he's got less stuff than you. So when you get home we're going to put most of your stuff in the attic for four months until you go back 'Home'' (as my sister likes to call the place I stay when I'm not with them).

Nice, don't you think?

So yes, I was exiled to the end of the corridor, the box room, the room where my bed is the room, and when I sleep my head is against one wall and my feet are against the other. But it's alright, I get to be cramped again soon enough - come Saturday.

Though there is one other thing about being home that I enjoy, other than spending time with my family, and that's the Garden. I like our Garden, it's big, it's green, and on sunny days you can just sit there and not care about anything else. It's our own little piece of Eden. And it's where I grow my Pumpkins (I hope).

My Father recently - with the help of my brother and I - opened a veg patch on our lawn, much to Mother's disapproval. So here is where I had hoped to plant some of my delightful Pumpkins. But no, not yet it would seem. We have sweet peas, lettuces, carrots, cauliflowers, beans, etc. but no Pumpkins yet.

Okay, I know. I don't actually eat the Pumpkins, and the one's that do grow get turned into Jack'O'Lanterns - I just like the wild way in which they wind and grow. So I suppose, no wonder they've not got a place in the veg patch.

Oh God. I've just realised I've been talking about vegetables for far too long now.

Moving on...other things about being home that I enjoy, include: seeing friends...that is all. Is that really all? My family, my friends, the Garden? Are they the only factors of home I really do enjoy? Hmm, that's interesting - I don't know.

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

P.S. For future reference Cherrybelly answering my question is fine, but asking me the question I just asked you...could you think of something else please?
P.S.S. I want it to be known that in a movie of my life I would like the actor Damian Lewis to play me. Sure I'm not ginger or have a chiseled bod like him - but I'm sure we're made up of the same amount of cool, which for further notice shall now be called 'docious'. That is all.

How to make Canadians swear...

My 3-Minute Play was performed yesterday evening.

The day was a good one, not knowing whether or not to rain or be sunny...wait, wait scrap that. Okay my main interpretation of Canadians comes from a well beloved Tv-show of mine called 'Due South'. Staring the Mountie, Benton Fraiser, and his dog/wolf, Diefenbaker - with an American Police Officer (okay, cop for all you Americans), Ray Vecchio, tagging along on most of the episodes. The show is great go check it out. But one thing the show did like to make a point of was the Canadians way of life. Their good humour, their polite behaviour, and their all around fondness of picking litter up and putting it in a bin. So, as you might have imagined, it came as a shock to hear said Canadians swearing, aloud, as they were forced to read out other people's work.

This is where I came in...

The Ffrinj Festival is a Creative Arts festival, this one held specifically in Carmarthen. Tonight was the student showcase. It was sold to us, that if we wrote something for the Ffinj then it would be performed on stage with practiced actors. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Today the Union, so lovingly, also held the Annual Summer Ball. Which, of course meant, all the actors would prefer getting pissed in a wet field and listen to Florence and the Machine, than sit in a well-lit and dry room performing something I had written.

Instead, the producers of the student showcase tried, in their haste I presume, to summon new actors from out of nowhere. But this failed. In the absence of rehearsed scripts, they turned to the recently arrived Canadian students from, believe it or not, Canada. I don't know how they forced them, perhaps through fear of being deported, but they did it. And, for the most part, the Canadians read wonderfully. Though there were certain things, certain pieces, inside the event itself which needed a British voice. So the performance turned into a 'rehearsed reading' and, despite the timing errors on my piece (due to the lack of rehearsal, I think - don't blame the writing, don't blame the writing...), everyone told me that it was very good, and that if they didn't know it was my piece they would have supposed it was my piece. Even an acquaintance of mine, and indeed most of the BA Business of Writing Class, Mr Anthony Jones described my piece as Milton-like. Good I thought. And indeed leaving the event I was met by many hands waiting to be shaken and congratulate me on my piece of work, though that could just be normal Canadian courtesy.

Subsequently, Mr Anthony Jones, and the rest of the MA Creative Arts Class have a book out - it's called 'Shadow Plays' and you should buy it - I have - BUY IT HERE.

The my piece itself was actually recorded. From two different angles, and Tag has said that the video will be available shortly (Hi Tag - no pressure now).

But where do the swearing Canadians fit in, well mainly the length and the content of the other pieces of work. Okay, the content I had no qualm with, but the language used was, in most cases, just swearing. Now I don't know about you, but I think swearing is only appropriate at the right moments not almost all the way through certain pieces of writing.

*note on length: this is a note on the length of the pieces, nothing else guys. In the advert for the Ffrinj, it said that plays and the like had to be between 3 and 5 minutes long. It appears that I (and Anthony) was the only person to conform to that rule, and had one of the shortest pieces in this showcase because of it. I don't know whether that was embarrassing or not...

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

P.S. Last time I posted a question - mainly to Cherrybelly. The question was, if you were turned into a fruit, what fruit would you be? I obviously, was not thinking at this time because calling someone CHERRYbelly means that they will have an obvious answer to said question. So I retract the question and ask another one: (I know it's been done, but...) which famous person would play you in a movie about your life?

Tuesday, 8 June 2010

Dumb, de de, dumb, de de, dumb, de de, duh duh, HEY Macarena...

Corridor Disco's are very underrated.

As stated, corridor disco's are the future. Sure there's no where to run, you can't really dance, but by God you can do something. Music blaring, disco lights revolving, all the occupants of the corridor sweating. Life's great when you have corridor disco's.

Okay, so where to start. Hmm...I don't actually know with this one. Every now and then our Flat (ABN4:9) turns into a scene from Fame or something. Everybody just gets up and dances and sings. Things get pretty funky, and we dance the dance of people who aren't afraid of what other people think - the Dance of the Student. No matter the dance, the Student will do the dance, because the Student has nothing to lose. The Student has no money to lose from gyrating hips, the student has no friends to lose because they are doing the Student dance as well, and the Student has no dignity to lose - they've not acquired any yet.

The Disco began in the kitchen with Tag's iPod and (battery powered) speakers - battery's fail people, let's get this straight. But Smeccles comes to Uni more than equipped to take out anything Flat 5 can throw at us - be it Hakuna Matata at 3am.

Disco is coming back - we're going to drag our bedraggled youths into the 21st Century - and by God it will stay that way!

Moving on:
Today I was confronted with an angry message (about the blog) from an ever militant Sunshine, which went something like this:

'But I'm NOT in it. How is this even possible? Don't pretend I'm not your guiding light, stylistically. Furthermore, what's this rot about American English? If it weren't for us, you'd still be wearing mutton chops and NOT watching Glee. Because, you know, we did that.

I should like to continue this faux-patriotic rant, but I have things to attend to. Like making my tea in a MICROWAVE because kettles don't exist here.'

So, yeah...awkward...you're in it now?

The American comment: I was just trying to make a point and (to get me out of further militant actions) I said: 'as a friend of mine would say' (Hi Clareg). So Sunshine - Hi, I hope you've got your Credit Cards back now. (*note: I did not take these Credit Cards, nor did I pay anyone to take said Credit Cards, case closed - Hi Duckhead, in a completely unrelated way.)

However, I have also received some praise for the blogging works, from a good friend who I'll call, Tim-timiny-tim-timiny-tim-tim-timmy - long I know so let's just call him Tim, he'll hate that. He had this to say:

'This blog would be perfect for procrastination, but sadly I no longer need to procrastinate against anything. However, that being said, the inner workings of Big Tom's mind are truly interesting.'

That's a good point, riiight?

Later down the line:
I had something else to talk about, but I've forgotten it, so onto the most important issue of the evening. Yesterday I posted a question to the blogging community - that age old question brought forth from the realms of the playground: If you could have any superpower, which superpower would you have? I was literally inundated with two responses one from Tag (Hi Tag), who chose the power of either Teleportation or Time-Travel (*hint* choose both) and his girlfriend Cherrybelly who chose, well about six different powers (greedy - love you). But then she did something of unspeakable evil, she asked me a question in response to my question - dun dun DUN (I know right?).

The question:
Cherrybelly asked me - if you had a constant companion (like in Philip Pullman's 'His Dark Materials' - the deamons that your born with that have to be the opposite gender than you) What kind of animal would you have and what would be its name?

The answer:
Well Cherrybelly, I think I would definitely have to have a very manly creature - though saying that, the animal would have to be female, and you'd definitely get a butch-lesbian-vibe from it. So scrap that. Something seductively simple. I think my animal companion would have to be a giant fox-type creature - not so giant I suppose - okay, a fox-type creature, maybe a fox, and it's name would be...Vixen? No it's been done. Ember? Stop thinking of Pokemon! Rahrah? - does that count as a name? I don't know, I like it - I might even name one of my children that...

But that's me, until next time bloggers...

P.S. In response to your questionable response of my question Cherrybelly, I have another questionable response: if you were turned into a fruit (it can be any fruit) and had to be a fruit until the end of your days, which fruit would you get turned into and why?

Monday, 7 June 2010

With Great Power, comes Great Responsibility...

I haven't blogged today, so I need to...

Super Heroes (and for you ladies, Heroines - the plural to Heroine - and you can't have too much of that). The age old question: if you had superpowers, what superpowers would you have? (This was brought on by Disney Pixar's 'The Incredibles')

1. You wouldn't be able to chose your superpower. You'd be born with it, therefore some Superheroes see their powers are a curse.
2. I have no feasible idea of what superpowers I would have. This is mainly because of point A. (also know as point 1.) but mainly because I wouldn't know which one I would want to chose - there's just too many!

The Options:
- The Power of Flight
- Super Strength
- X-ray Vision
- Elemental Powers
- Techno Wizardry
- Actual Filppin' Magic
- Metallurgy
- Laser Sight (Hi Lazer)
- Transfiguration
- Divination
- Defence Against the Dark Arts (Okay, I know I've gone into Harry Potter's Class List, but come on - they're basically the same thing as Superpower descriptions! Aren't they? - does that mean Harry Potter is a Superhero? Do you think Marvel would team up with Bloomsbury and J.K. Rowling and make a comic book entitled - 'The Boy Who Lived' or...something, shorter, snappier, something like...'Harry Potter'! - moving on)

Right so we can basically cover all the Superpowers under the title 'Magic' - but not all people who do 'Magic' are superheroes. Some are Supervillians - I mean, just look at Magneto, Venom, Kingpin, Hobgoblin, Green Goblin, or even Voldemort (that's right - I said it).

I would not, on the other hand, like to discuss the possibility of having a completely useless and dull superpower. A power like the power to converse with Pigeons (how interesting can Pigeons be?), the power to eat one's own head (ouch), the power to have headaches (Hi Tag) - you see they suck. Even the power to have loads of powers sucks - where's the challenge Peter Patrelli? Where is the challenge Superman? (especially Superman - you suck - that's right - I said it.)

But back to the point at hand.


Hmm...the answer is. I don't know. Would I go for super strength to boost my overall character as Big Tom? Would I go for the power of flight - a fat man that flies with the birds (I'd be like a Bumblebee defeating the laws of physics). X-ray vision? 'Oh, hello Madame, I can see your tibia' (no thanks). Elemental Powers - yeah sure, if people wouldn't (and I know they would) adopt the name 'The Green Man/Giant' as my superhero name.

Because, and that's what sucks about being a superhero/heroine, you don't even get to chose your own superhero/heroine name - the tabloids do! If I had the elemental powers thing - I'd want to be called 'God' but no they'd call me *see above for point* - it sucks!

Skipping merrily down the list. I've figured it out - I know which superpower I would want. Prepare yourselves...

I want the Power to do Magic. I'd go to Wizard School, I'd become a child prodigy (if I wasn't already twenty), I'd learn my magics, I'd do magics, and I'd be magics. Life would be easy, because I'd have magics, and I'd also employ and Owl to write and distribute all my post (but where's the magics in that I hear your say - it's a magic owl -duh). Life would be totally docious if I had magics. I'd magic this, I'd magic that. You know that x-ray scenario: 'Oh, hello Madame, excuse me, I have to go do some magic.' I'd be so docious.

Okay - explain the 'docious' thing. My friends in Cardiff (Hi Guys) have started using the word 'califridge' - taken from Supercalifragelisticexpiallidocious - and I thought 'califridge'? That sucks, it's much better sounding if you say 'doucious' - isn't it? (Though some have argued that 'elistic' or just 'listic' sounds better - I'm thinking elastic when I hear those) Anyway, so 'docious' replaces 'cool' and I'm trying to make it the Carmarthen's-much-better-than-Cardiff word for 'cool' - so everything's docious. (It's even gone to America, so meh, meh, me-meh, meh - I'm not childish at all). It'd be so docious if that becomes a worldwide phenomenon. And I'd be it's creator - kind of like the book of Genesis or Pill every morning at 6am.

But that's me, until next time bloggers...