Wii-ow!

I own a Wii. Now as a Wii owner, I have come to excpect a plethora, nay a myriad of injuries to be caused by excessive physical exertions. Due to the nature of the Wii, one is required to thrash around like a psychopath on crack, in order to reach the next level of Guitar Hero 3, or the Wii Sports boxing. There are a ton of videos of people on YouTube, causing themselves harm due to over zealous attempts to conquer the beast from Nintendo.

My niece even told me about a friend of hers who played one game solidly for a week, whilst on holiday, and ended up with RSI (Repetitive Strain Injury) from her efforts. She was 20.

So, I wasn't surprised when I began to feel various aches and pains following a frenzied session of Wii Sports Boxing and Tennis. I have to admit that the day after this Wii-binge, I actually thought I had appendicitis. That was until a very sweet friend of mine pointed out that my appendicitis was located on the wrong side of my body.'Nuff said.

So, I began to learn about the types of aches and strains I might expect whilst playing on the console. Funnily enough, my Xbox 360 caused me no problems whatsoever. This is probably due to the fact that the only movement required to play on the Xbox is that provided by my ten digits. And even then, it's not exactly strenuous. Also, I can play whilst lying, like a beached whale, on the sofa. Physical exertion and the Xbox 360 are not natural bedfellows.

So, back to the Wii. As I said, I felt I had learnt all the physical dangers of the little console. Howevr, it appears I was slightly wrong in this assumption.

One evening whilst playing Wii Sports Baseball, I was becoming more and more frustrated at not being able to hit a home run. Now with this game, you hold the controller as if it were a real baseball bat and swing it, with gusto, to 'hit' the ball. I was trying harder and harder to achieve a good 'hit' with the result that my right leg was sort of following through, with the momentum of each thrashing strike at the virtual baseball.

I was unaware that each time I lashed out with my controller, I was edging closer and closer towards the telly .... and the heavy, wooden unit on which it stood. Eventually, I took an almighy swing at the baseball and followed through with a massively powerful follow-through kick with my sock-clad foot. It struck the wooden unit with an impressive force. I believe I was heard to scream "F*cking f*ck!!!" before collapsing to the floor in quite exquisite agony.

I feared I may actually have fractured three of my toes. A bag of frozen chips was swiftly placed upon my battered tootsies and after a few minutes the pain began to subside. A quick check of my toes proved that they were still fully intact and so, bravely, I continued the game - complete with the bag of frozen chips sitting on my battered foot.

Two weeks later and the toes are still a little tender, but otherwise OK. So the lesson here is quite clear: don't act like a complete tit when playing on a Wii

And wear some shoes.

A SHAG do

Now don't go assuming the worst straight away. Honestly. The minds of some people. The word 'SHAG', as you'll see is in capitals. Had I written 'shag' I would have been posting about carpets. Or tobacco. In this instance I'm talking about love, marriage and a good night out.

Weddings are a curious mix of tradition and the new. There are traditions such as having a best man, the bride wearing a garter and speeches made after the wedding breakfast. However, these days people want to add a personal, non-traditional twist to proceedings. Things like getting married at a football ground (oh dear) or whilst sky-diving, the bride making a speech or the adult bridesmaids actually not trying to cop off with the best man. We have civil partnerships now too which allow same-sex couples to be wed.

So in this brave new world of weddings, it's only to be expected that more and more people are looking at their stag and hen nights with an eye for change. I've been on a number of stag nights and even one hen night. I really have. I was an honorary girl for the evening and I can tell you, it was scary. But I digress. There's is a distinct difference between a stag night and a hen night. Here are the key elements of both:

Hen night
> Lots of booze - starting early on in a bedroom as they all get ready
> Silly costumes/items such as 'L' plates, angel wings and penis headbands
> A stripper is usually involved and met with hysterical laughter, screams and prodding
> Pissed-dancing in a club and general falling over
> Back home, holding shoes in hand and collapse into big duvet, still giggling

Stag night
> Lots of booze
> More booze and watching footie on plasma telly in pub
> More booze, more pubs and leering at girls
> Drunken dancing, trying to impress girls and more booze
> A stripper who causes much bravado at first and then sudden shyness and fear of a naked woman, holding a whip and a can of spray cream
> More boozing and a bit of fighting
> Stripping, shaving and tying the groom to a lampost/street sign/train
> Back home, vomit and collapse onto said vomit. Sleep on floor.

As you'll see - the hen night is fun whilst the stag night is full of unpleasantness and fear for the poor sod / groom-to-be. Actually, to call it a 'stag' night is quite appropriate because often, the bloke concerned ends up wide-eyed with fear, much like a hunted stag. This is usually just before he has all his body hair shaved off, his testicles daubed with luminous paint/chilli sauce/cresote and he's is tied to an item if street furniture beside a major road intersection. Naked.

So to avoid this sort of testosterone-fuelled misery, a people are now combing the stag and hen parties into one - the 'shag' do. This has the obvious benefit of not becoming a booze-fuelled riot of groom-baiting but also, it means that everyone can meet everyone else. I always think it's a shame when you go to most weddings and you only know half the people there, because of the stag and hen separation thing.

This particular event was really great fun and we all had such a wonderful time. There was no ball-painting, no vomiting, fighting or lewd sexual conduct. And the blokes behaved themselves too. So it's a big thumbs up for the 'shag' party - the perfect mix of ladies and fella's having a laugh, being stupid, dancing badly and get delightfully hammered.

Perfect rehearsal for the wedding day.

What the ... ?

Oh the joys of political correctness. I got sent a nursery toys magazine at work the other day. God knows why as I definitely do not work in a nursery. Anyway, I perused the mag before lobbing it in the bin ... I mean, recycling it.

On page 47 I found the item pictured above. It's a joy to behold but works even better with the description, which I've kindly included below:

SYNAGOGUE PLAYHOUSE £17.06 (+VAT)
Age Range: 3+
Delightful 3-dimensional soft-play house which allows children to explore Jewish culture and the beliefs of others. The front wall folds down to reveal many of the features and symbols found in a synagogue, including: a menorah; ner tamid (everlasting light); a bimah and ark; a Sefer Torah and the Ten Commandments; and three people characters. Size: 26 (width) x 21 (height) x 14cm(depth) (approx)

It's just so fercockt

Happy New Year

And there you have it. The compulsory welcome to what is, actually, just a Tuesday. Seriously though dear readers, I hope 2008 is a truly memorable year - for all the right reasons and not just for something trivial like your piles clearing up all on their own.

And make sure you enjoy yourself in the coming year because as I always say "you're born and then you die, so you might as well enjoy the bit in the middle."

Now where's my pile cream ... ?

Ups and downs

We all have our ups and downs and despite being a blogging legend, I too can feel the force of life's highs and lows. Winter doesn't help. Especially the miserable sodding affair that is the British winter. Rain, rain and more rain. It's enough to depress Mr Happy Hap McHappy from Happytown in Happyshire.

Nonetheless, us Brits are used to cack weather and so find ways and means of distracting ourselves during the long, dark winter months. One of these ways is to talk about the weather. Whilst meteorology is a fascinating subject, you can have too much of it, particularly when you've been getting soaked, blown and frozen by it for weeks on end. So I don't talk about the weather much between November and March.

Instead I prefer to revel in the joys of films, my Xbox 360, football, my iMac, food, shiny electrical objects of desire and my wife. Obviously this list is written in reverse order. So when confronted by a really crappy winter's day, I cheer myself with an hour or two of high definition machine-gunning and grenade-lobbing, followed by a joyous time in the kitchen, preparing my latest tuna-based culinary delight and topped off with a cracking film starring Sandra Bullock or that woman out of that film with the hair and eyes.

Suffice to say I have plenty of ammo in happy-happy-joy-joy arsenal to keep the winter blues at bay. However, talking of 'blues' - Birmingham lost today which has put me in a foul mood so I'm going to bed.

Winter my arse.

Laugh? I nearly died

Laughing is great isn't it? I'm very fortunate in that I laugh quite a bit. I even, on occasion, make myself laugh - usually when I'm naked. Seriously though, having a good titter, a hearty chortle or coronary-inducing hysterics does wonders for you. Now this is going to sound a bit mental, but I have developed a way to make yourself laugh on demand.

Admittedly, I discovered this 'skill' when I was still at school, aged about 15, but I've tried with literally hundreds of people over the years and it has worked every single time. Obviously, if you've just returned from a funeral, are about to beaten up by 44 football hooligans, or have just learnt that your parents don't really belong to you, then inducing a belly-laugh or even a mild titter would clearly be impossible. However, you do not have to be in a jolly mood for this to work. All you need is patience.

So what do you do? OK, this does sound a bit mentoid but bear with me:

1. Sit or stand comfortably
2. Tilt your head back as far as it goes.
3. Stare at the ceiling. Sky is no good.
4. Start an irregular, gutteral 'laughing' sound - like a motorbike engine idling.
5. Keep going with your 'laughing' and keep staring at the ceiling.
6. Keep going until you suddenly start laughing like a simpleton.

This ALWAYS works. Sometimes it takes a few seconds and sometimes a minute or longer. But it really does work. the trick is to keep going. the sound 'laughing' sound you make is similar to that "huh huh huh uuuh huh huh" thing that Beavis & Butthead used to do. Of course my version pre-dates B & B by about 18 years!

So, dear readers, why not give it a try? People may think you are a bit 'special' but you will be rewarded with a spontaeous and hysterical laugh. Try it on a bus, in a meeting or (my favourite) whilst 'busy' on the lav.

You'll die laughing.

Derby Playhouse closes down

Bollocks.

Un-social Networking?

Whether it's a fad or a phenomenon, 'social networking' is certainly hugely, globally popular. Personally, I hate the phrase but I can't deny it's success. Websites such as MySpace, Facebook and Bebo have attracted millions of users who have discovered a whole new way of socialising in a virtual world.

If you've no idea what I'm talking about then here is how Wikipedia explains it: "A social network service focuses on the building and verifying of online social networks for communities of people who share interests and activities, or who are interested in exploring the interests and activities of others, and which necessitates the use of software".

It's essentially an online meeting place for friends. A place where your identity, life, interests and activities are shared amongst those people you deem to be your friends. You can share photos, movies, messages and even throw virtual cakes, join a common interest group or draw a pretty picture. One of the most popular features on Facebook, is the ability to let your friends know what you are doing by 'posting' what you're up to at any given time.

So who uses these sites? We're told that it's mainly people under 25, but that may be changing. Where I work, a few people joined Facebook a while ago. Now there are roughly 25-30 people who have a 'profile' on Facebook. Many of them are over 25 and some of them are not even regular computer/internet users. The reason they joined was because once you join, you gain 'friends' with whom you begin to communicate and share. And it's this communicating and sharing that people find appealing and rewarding.

We all love to have friends but many of us lose touch with our chumsover time. Furthermore, we make many acquaintances over the years and although these people would never be classed as friends, some of these acquaintances are still people we'd like to be able to stay in contact with. Social networking sites let you do this but without the need to make any sustained commitment to the friendship. So you can just drop your friends and acquaintances whenever you like, with no apparent consequences. Thus Facebook is, essentially faceless.

And that does make me think. How social are social networking sites? I have to admit that I have a Facebook account and according to my details, I have 103 friends. This is ridiculous because of these 103 'friends' only about 15 or so are people I would ever, in the real world, have regular contact with and whom I would be able to call real, proper, actual friends. So I have to, unfortunately, be selective.

Social networking sites allow you to 'dip' in and out of friendships without any need for the usual social etiquette. If you don't fancy contacting someone, you can just ignore them. I actually have one or two people in my 'friends' list whom I've never contacted. That's just crazy.

So yes, online social gatherings are good in the sense that you can make contact with people you may otherwise have lost touch with altogether. However, paradoxically, it's easy to end up with a huge list of 'friends' with whom you are certain to have little or no contact for the very reason that there are just too many people in that list. These people are then, actively ignored. And they all know this.

So, are social networking sites actually un-social? Yes, I think they may be because every time I log on to Facebook, I'm confronted with many requests, messages and invitations (most of which I just have to delete or pretend don't exist) which is in itself, un-sociable. I'm actually forced to ignore my friends. Now that can't be right can it?

So the paradox continues and I now ignore more friends and acquaintances than I have ever done because I have more 'friends' than I can cope with. The weird thing is that I know that everyone else is in the same boat. For me it's like trying to juggle 103 balls at once, whilst smiling and chatting to every single ball as it passes through my hands. I just can't do it but I wish I could. So I've decided that there's only one feasible answer. A new website which allows you to have an online presence but without the pressure of social networking. No-one can be your friend, send you messages or throw virual tripe at you. It has a name:

www.ihavenofriends.com Sorted.

A quickie

I've had a very long and tiring day so this is a very quick post. The posh do was very posh and the booze was fine and varied. Suffice to say, I didn't look like Fred Astaire at the end but I wasn't drunk, just mildly knackered. Right now however, I'm strongly knackered so I'll tell you about the posh do tomorrow.

Knackered or not.

Eurovision - flying the flag

A poor quality video to reflect the poor quality of Eurovision. Which is what makes it so great. Although all the bloody Eastern bloc countries voted for each other and somehow a truly crap song, sung by a sort of female Ronnie Corbett managed to win. Our boys and girls finished a magnificent second from bottom but at least the vast array of Euro-food and booze was worth it all.

What the hell is 'halva' anyway?

Welcome back - me!

Hello again my lovely readers. I'm now back, as promised, after a short blog-break. We're off to a fabulous Eurovision party tonight. Now if you live outside Europe, you may have no idea what 'Eurovision' is. Well, briefly, it's a pan-European song contest which has been televised since it started way back in 1956.

The joy of Eurovision is the wonderful array of truly abysmal performers who have trod the Euro-glory path over the decades. True, the competition has actually spawned some very decent musical talent such as Dana (not the tranny from Israel - the Irish lass); Bucks Fizz and of course, Abba who won the contest in 1974.

Eurovision is a sort of national treasure. People love it because of its often terrible production values, appalling music and never-ending points-awarding section which used to last for hours. Sadly though, things have become a bit more professional in recent years and the scoring system has been rather curtailed which has detracted from the joy somewhat. However, there still promises to be a few gems of aural horror tonight. As it's a special Eurovision party we're going to, we had to pick a number which determined what country we get to support. We got Bosnia Herzegovina.

Yay.

Cheese and barbed wire

A chum of mine does a bit on the side. Photography, that is. Although it's not his main job, he's starting to develop and expand his portfolio of work and I thought it might be quite nice to give him a plug. That's a mention, not something you'd find in a sink.

So he does photos for fun (like the one above) but he has also started some professional stuff which now includes weddings. However, I don't think his style is hours and hours of making people stand around saying 'cheese' as he arranges "friends and work colleagues of the bride only please" around some bloody fountain in the middle of a damp lawn. He's a tad less formal than that which is probably a good thing at a wedding.

Obviously he does plenty of other stuff, all of which you can see by following the link on the right of the page. He does take some rather good pics although I'm not sure he could make me look like a male model.

Unless he left the lens cap on, perhaps.

Quizzical pub

I love pub quizzes. Last night, my wife and some chums gathered our collective brains together and headed off the nearest hostelry from some oh-so-British entertainment. The joys of pub quizzes are many. Not least the customary self-importance and appalling microphone technique of the quizmaster, or 'Dave' as he is usually known. In this case 'Dave' was actually 'Nick' but he didn't fail to deliver.

The whole evening was littered with endless explanations of the scoring system, how the ten minute break would work and debates on whether or not you got a quarter of a point for 'Lake Lucerne' in the final, super-complex question. Nick delivered all of this in what can only be described as a 1970's British Rail platform announcement style. Thus, everyone had to possess the ear canal of a bat to determine what the bloody hell he was saying.

The questions were the usual mix of geography, music, literature, sport and children's daytime telly. There was even a photo round which consisted of a superbly low-quality photocopied sheet containing images of various, er, famous people such as President Roosevelt, Scarlett Johannson and er, Judy Finnigan. We got 9/10 in that round and overall we came a very creditable 3rd out of, well, well, at least eight teams.

And here are a few of the exciting questions we faced:

Who slew the Minotaur? Yes, it was of course - Thessius
In the nursery rhyme, who lost her pocket? Aah, it was Lucy Locket
In which country is the steepest street in the world? It's New Zealand (Baldwin St- Dunedin)
If you study Orology, what do you study? Mountains innit

Well, there you go. See what you missed? Oh and the other great thing about pub quizzes is the beer. So you get to drink and learn at the same time.

Now that's what I call a good night out.

Surprise surprise - part 2

So after the initial stunned shock, our dear pal soon relaxed and entered into the spirit of things. This was due to two factors. Firstly, the fact that all his friends and family were there to celebrate with him. Secondly, beer. This photo was taken a couple of hours after he arrived and I can only assume that he actually knows the little old lady he's holding aloft, like a prize fish. Mind you, the lady in question seems chuffed to bits although, she had been seen sinking a few ales during the evening.

So, all in all, a fantastic night was had by all. The whole thing was organised in total secrecy by his fabulous fiancée who, to be quite honest, employed staggering amounts of deceit to keep the party a secret. All for a good cause though! During the evening I had the chance to enjoy some bopping on the dance floor. Seeing me dance is like watching your dad on the dancefloor at a wedding. Suffice to say, I always draw looks of amazement and awe as I gyrate, groove and grind. If you have ever seen David Brent's famous 'dance' scene in The Office, you'll get the idea. My wife has a different approach. She dances like an excited child in a chocolate factory, with her eyes fixed at a 45 degree angle, towards the ceiling. Together, we look amazing.

Anyway, back to our dear friend. His actual birthday is on Monday, so he's got the whole weekend to enjoy the partying until the big day arrives. All this for someone who definitely didn't want a party and especially a surprise party. So I'm sure all of my lovely readers will want to wish him a cracking 40th birthday.

Happy birthday Mr M.

Surprise surprise - part 1

We went to our friend's surprise 40th birthday party last night. Objective number one was - surprise. Well, as this photo proves, that objective was most definitely achieved. It's great to see someone who is totally and utterly gobsmacked and lost for words. He admitted to us later that he had absolutely no idea about the whole thing, right up until when he opened the door into the room where all 80 or so of us were gathered.

Result.

Amazing fact of the day

A short but incredible posting today. Guess which country are the current World Elephant Polo champions? Nepal? India? Nope. It's Scotland. Oh yes, and you can find out more by clicking the title of this posting. Ain't that just berserk?

Mind you, having had a quick look at the World Elephant Polo Association (WEPA), I discovered that Iceland have a team. Iceland?? How many bloody elephants are there in Iceland?

About the same as in Scotland I suppose. Nil.

Where in the world ... ?

... PC World. Well, that's what the ad on the telly says anyway. I popped in to my local PC World this fine, sunny morning, as I needed a new firewire cable. Having checked on the Tinterweb, I knew that, obviously, I could get one cheaper online than I could in the shops. However, convenience and instant-ness (what?) are always worth paying a few extra pennies for.

Unfortunately, the price difference was a tad more than even I was prepared to pay. Online, the cable cost £9 which included delivery. PC World were asking slightly more for the same cable. They wanted £21. Yes, that's £12 extra. Bugger that. I was mildly miffed at this but my mood improved considerably as I was leaving the store. Being Sunday morning, I assumed it would be fairly quiet in the shop, especially as it had only been open for 8 minutes. I was wrong. The service and repairs counter already had a large queue of disgruntled-looking punters, clutching various bits of computer in their impatient little hands. I couldn't help but smirk (oh, and take this photo) as I thought that maybe if they'd perhaps bought a computer from another company (er, can't think which one ...) then maybe they'd be relaxing at home on a Sunday morning, surfing the Net, sending emails or listening to some nice, downloaded music. Hmmm.

Talking of 'where in the world', on Saturday, my wife and I popped down to Herefordshire for a family 'do'. Fine. Nice, easy 2.5 hour drive down to the place and enjoy the day. One slight problem. We entered the UK's Bermuda Triangle. In short, from arriving at what turned out to be 3 miles from our destination, to actually getting there, took longer than the 135 mile trip from our bloody house. At the end of one road there was a signpost to the village we were looking for. We drove down it. When we got to the end of the road, there was another signpost for the village ... pointing back the way we'd just come. This road was about 2 miles long and either side were fields. And a cow. No village.

After several mental breakdowns, failed mobile phone calls (no signal), asking directions from some ramblers and a man who was making a hedge, following some other relatives until their car broke down and my wife having to 'tootie-down' in a field to have an emergency wee, our fuel-starved car finally pulled up at the venue. We felt like Sir Edmund Hilary and sherpa Tenzing reaching the summit of Everest. Mind you, they didn't have pints of lager and a 13 foot table laden with buffet gorgeousness to bring them back from the brink of death.

World-weary explorers love an onion bhaji and a pint of Carling.

I told you

Still here

Alas, I have absolutely nothing of note to say today but I thought I should at least 'check in' so that you don't get all worried and think I've run away to join the circus or become a driving instructor in Laos.

Oh, well I have just downloaded a nifty little (free) application that allows me to make time-lapse movies. Expect something dreadful soon.

Yay.

Fame and all that

It's Saturday, I'm at work and I have a headache the size of Izbekistan. That asisde, I'm just fine. T'other evening after work, some colleague-chums and I availed ourselves of a nearby hostelry whereupon the conversation turned (after a discussion about sewing lasted for less than 9 seconds) to 'famous people wot I have met'.

It's quite surprising how many famous people we have all encountered over the years. A couple of er, highlights included someone who accidentally laid a hand on the royal bosom of Princess Caroline of Monaco, in a swimming pool; someone else who got to interview big-faced laugher - Brian("Gordon's alive!)"Blessed in a caravan; someone who once danced with Kylie Minogue for "about 5 seconds" and finally me, who once put a naan bread on the head of Joseph Fiennes (bruv of Ralph) during a meal at a curry house in Birmingham.

However, the award for the 'Most Crap And Tenuous Link To Someone Famous' was the person who's ex-boyfriend's auntie was once the P.A for Ken Dodd . How rubbish is that? Mind you, I came a close second with my thrilling account of seeing the back of Aled Jones' head as he stood on a pavement talking to a rozzer.

Can any of you beat that?