2016 - A YEAR IN REVIEW

Trump won.

Brexit.

Bowie died.

The End.

JUST BUTTON IT ...

I read with amusement this week of the kind of things that now come with internet connectivity. It seems we can’t seem to go for 5 minutes without reaching for our Blackberrys and iPads to check on our Tweets. Even most TV’s these days are capable of showing YouTube clips of laughing babies and dogs with sunglasses.

One newspaper illustrated the story with a photograph of "a typical TV remote" featuring "43 baffling buttons", annotated with captions telling you what each of these buttons did, just to make it look even more complex and bewildering: "cursor up", "cursor down", "a/v input connector 1", "device mode", and so on.

The thing is, there weren't enough buttons for my liking. Unlike my easily-confused mother, I love a complicated TV remote. They should have even more stuff on them: dials and joysticks and flashing lights. I yearn for a remote with its own mouse.

And I don't want a manual. I like to work out what each nubbin does through trial and error, poking it and staring at the screen. Best of all is the "menu" button, which grants you access to a whole new array of on screen options, replete with little icons and sliding scales. Sit me in front of a brand-new telly and it's the first thing I'll reach for, because new tellies often come with surprising and exotic new features provided by the gods of technology.

Cor !! I can design my own font for the subtitles !! Wow! I can flip the picture sideways so I don't have to lift my head if I'm lying perpendicular on the sofa !! And look !! There's a slider for adjusting the level of regional accents! Now I can make the Geordie bloke who narrates “Big Brother” sound like a Cornish fisherman !!

I'll happily spend hours fine-tuning everything to my liking. Woe betide anyone who hits the ‘restore default settings’ button. That's like smashing a piece of ornate pottery I've created or scrawling graffiti all over an oil painting I’ve done of St Paul’s Cathedral.

I tend to assume other people share my obsessive need to examine the settings until everything is just so, and get genuinely enraged when I go to someone's house and discover, say, that they're watching programmes in the wrong aspect ratio. My Nan is one of the worst offenders: she'll blithely sit through a repeat of “Dad's Army” that is unnaturally stretched across the screen so that the entire cast look like Stewie Griffin from “Family Guy”.

Faced with this, primal instincts rear up and over-ride my modern-man cool-headedness, I get acute back-seat-driver anxiety, and end up hectoring them like an exasperated pilot trying to teach a four-year-old how to fly a helicopter.

The last time I was on a plane, I was sitting beside a woman who couldn't comprehend how the in-flight entertainment system worked. The thing was she didn't understand the difference between the controls on my armrest and hers. There I was, halfway through “Iron Man”, when she patted cluelessly at my controls and switched it off. So I started it again, and then she hit my fast-forward button.

At this point, I politely explained what was going on and attempted to help her operate her own system. She nodded and went "ooh" and "ahh", but try as I might, she just didn't get it. Ten minutes later, she stopped my film again, and kept doing so intermittently throughout the flight, sometimes switching my overhead light on for good measure, as if it was just to annoy me.

Her screen, meanwhile, displayed nothing but the synopsis for an episode of “One Foot in the Grave”, which she'd selected by accident but simply never played.

She just sat there, staring at the synopsis for four straight hours.

However, reverse the situation - put me in a 1940s household, say, and ask me to operate a mangle, and the chances are I'd earn her contempt with an equal display of ineptitude. But it isn't the 1940s. It's now. So snap out of it. Hit the right buttons or get left behind, you medieval dunce.

Do you want the evil robots to take over ??

Because that's exactly what'll happen if we don't all keep up.

And it’s not as if I am immune to techo-rage myself. My old computer included a bit of speech-recognition software designed to prevent Repetitive Strain Injury by letting you talk instead of type, but I gave up after I spent more time correcting its mistakes. It got every sixth word wrong, which meant you'd swear in exasperation, and it would think you had finished each sentence by saying, 'Offer god’s ache', and then type that in too.

But my favourite moment of this nature will forever be one from during my student days, when a friend’s mum rang him with what sounded like some terrifying news;

“It’s your Father dear, I’m afraid he’s had an accident”.

My friend steeled himself for the worst, only to hear the reply;

“He’s deleted the printer icon from his desktop, how does he get it back again ?? ....”

I’ve never seen such relief on another human being’s face since.

GAME ON ?? DREAM ON !!

I have a request, planet Earth. I have graced you with my presence for 35 years and I think it's about time and only fair you do something for me in return. So here it is. I want everyone to stop using the word "gamer".

I know it's going to be tough. Language evolves, so it's going to be a hard word to let go of. It's been a great comfort in all the years that people who play videogames have spent battling for acceptance. To say one is a gamer is to belong to a group, and it's human nature to want to belong, to know that there are others carrying the pennant alongside you, even if it they have acne and smell faintly of stale milk.

It is frustrating that this image exists, but it's nothing anyone can help. It's a status quo thing and a mass media thing and those are always hard to shift. But people who completely aren't helping the case at all are the ones who take an almost revolutionary pride in their "gamer" status. "I am a gamer", they say, "hear me whine".

These are the people who hurl abuse at film critics who question the artistic potential of games and send strongly-worded to game developers - which ultimately only proves the point. Whatever happened to those guys, by the way ?? I guess after they got disbarred they slipped back down to the "strange man yelling from porch" level on The Sims 2 career track for culture vultures.

I'm not saying you have to be ashamed of playing video games, but I'm not saying you should be proud and shouting it from the rooftops either. It's not like being a blind chess grandmaster or a female boxer or an amputee table tennis champion. Being a player of games does not make one a minority or part of an elite club, as employing a label like "gamer" wordlessly implies.

The point I'm trying to reach is that playing games, as entertaining and fascinating and beneficial as it might be, is just something people do, not something they should be defined by. People don't call themselves moviegoers, or TV watchers, or book readers. That's the job of advertisers and Facebook spammers.

The glitzy lifestyle mags don't cover the games industry, because there aren't any identifiable Cheryl Cole-esque` personalities to shake a narrative stick at. Mario and Lara Croft are never going to go through marriage heartbreak and divorce together. The Tetris blocks don't get drunk and punch photographers. The most compelling character in any video game is you, the player.

The resulting lack of mainstream coverage means that, despite being about 10,000 times more successful than the British film and TV industries combined, the British videogames industry continually balances a pathological inferiority complex with a wounded sense of pride.

Quite why it still wants validation from these older, fading forms of media is a mystery. It's like a powerful young warrior disgruntled at being ignored by an elderly and irrelevant dying king despite half his leg having just been eaten by a dragon. But gradually things are changing. The biggest growth area in video games right now is the "casual gaming" market. For "casual", read "mainstream".

Effectively, this means games the average human being can relate to: anyone who's lived in a house can grasp what The Sims is, for instance; and anyone who's played tennis knows how to swing a Nintendo Wii remote. Grand Theft Auto IV might not look like a casual game, but it certainly appeals to a wide demographic, namely anyone who's ever fantasised about going berserk in a city centre armed to the teeth with a bazooka.

My mum has a Nintendo DS, and he solves crossword puzzles on it and does little digital paintings with it. My Dad was looking at a second-hand PS3 the other week, not for games, but as a Blu-Ray player. I occasionally still fire up my PS2 and my PSP Slim / Lite, and the very blog post you are readin right now, with your own eyeballs and brain, was written on a desktop PC that has been fired up for the first time in about three months.

This sums it up for me. Music, TV and games all have so much untapped brilliance for people of all kinds to get stuck into. All kinds of media have parts that are accessible and interesting to all kinds of people. It's like art too - "I don't like art." That just means you haven't found the kind of art that you like.

I suppose that makes it a bit like girlfreinds in that respect, then.

DEAR AMERICA ...

How are you doin' today, ol' buddy?

Feeling okay?

Got a temperature?

Some kind of strange blockage in your bowels that can't be explained?

That would be Donald Trump, the man with hair that would even have Nicky Campbell running for hills screaming in determination to become a hermit, who cannot seemingly open his great big fat booming gob without several tonnes of pure, raw, undiluted excrement pouring out of it, and yet who in defiance of all reasonable human expectations could very well become the next President of the United States of America. The human equivalent of Red Rum in the human equivalent of the Grand National, if the prize for running fastest around Aintree was getting your hooves on 1,800 nuclear warheads.

And this is despite the fact that he actually makes a horse's arse look gifted. And significantly better coiffured.

Now, I appreciate you'll think this is nobody else's business. Especially an overweight Doctor Who fan who lives in a country where more people are voting for Ed Balls in a pantomime reality dancing show than ever did when he stood for public office, I agree there will be many who think a self-made billionaire is the very embodiment of the American Dream that you, and many others in the world, hold dear.

And I can see why you'd think a ranting brummie giving you their opinion would rankle your 1775 sensibilities.

But hear me out, just for a second. We know we sent the God squad over the Atlantic Ocean and created America in the same way we sent a load of Irish convicts over the Pacific Ocean and created Australia - a country that happily tells migrants to bugger off and threatens to sink their boats without anyone so much as battering a eyelid. However, that aside, we don't tell you what to do these days - we even let you cock up the important business of brewing a cup of tea with little more than a sigh - so please treat this as less an instruction and more of an intervention.

One without tanks or nukes, if you can imagine such a thing.

Every nation has its share of idiots, and we in the UK certainly have a huge number of them - most of them being reality TV contestants, the entire populations of Essex and Cheshire, those that are married to Premier League Footballers, and those that watch such mind-numbingly stupid programmes such as "I'm In The Jungle, Please Write Me A Massive Cheque". And I appreciate we've exported some to you. And America has given the world some wonderful things, not least the word "moron" and an awareness of what can be done with a cigar.

But seriously, America, nobody wants Donald.

Not you.

Not us.

Not humanity in general.

Or the rest of the universe and all possible parallel and alternate ones to boot.

Allow me to explain:

This doesn't just affect you - the Leader of the Free World is able to start, or stop, a world war. He or she can dish out aid, salvation or retribution to most of the planet and the rest of the planet don't get a vote. We're all relying on you to get this right, or at least not so wrong that the whole place gets had backwards by a complete liability who couldn't build a wall any more effective than Aston Villa's back four.

The Free World cares very much who you choose, and if you choose Donald Trump there's every chance he's going to find a way to charge us for it. Just like your mate Mr Murdoch. He's a billionaire real estate developer who was the son of a millionaire real estate developer, and four of his businesses have been declared bankrupt - the most recent of them just last year.

This is what we would describe in the UK as " ... doing a bit sh*t ...".

Speaking of which, here in the UK, 'trump' is a well-known slang word for breaking wind ... you may think this is a minor consideration, but if Mr Fart gets into the White House, you will find he is as socially unwelcome as Salmond Rushdie at an Easter parade.

Whether you are Democrat or Republican, you should want the opposing candidate to be competent, capable and a contender. Firstly because the better they are, the better your side has to perform in order to win and therefore the greater mandate they will have, and secondly because on the off chance the other guy wins you don't want him to behave as though he were an ADHD-afflicted, penis-obsessed cretin who has to graffiti his name on everything like a baboon who has been doused with itching powder. In Britain we have Jeremy Corbyn, a man who wants us all to have wire-wool hair and have to go to work everyday on an ox.

I know Britain has a long record of voting for people who later turn out to be utter pillocks, but the important thing to remember is that they seemed a sensible choice at the time of voting. You can't say that of Donald. You can say he's odd, you can say he's over-privileged, you can argue that he's not as good a businessman as he'd have us all believe. But more than anything else you can, without fear of lawsuit, also point out that he's not a long way from barking mad and a HELL of a long way from a sensible choice for anything short of testing hairspray on the far side of the moon.

But I get it America, you’re at a crossroads. We were in the same position as you, and according to who you believe now everything’s on fire because we chose tell a nosey, drunken old Belgian to take his EU-Borg Empire 'project' and stick up his overpaid arse. Trump is occasionally amusing, admittedly, but the rest of the planet would really like it if you remembered what happened last time you voted for a complete and total idiot back at the turn of this century and try, very hard, not to do it again.

Your faithfully,

The Ranting Brummie.

IT'S CHERYL COLE .... ON POLE POSITION !?

As a dye-in-the-wool Formula 1 fanatic, I sat down with much anticipation to watch last Sunday’s Japanese Grand Prix to find out the lead news story was that Lewis Hamilton had spent an entire press conference messing about with Snapchat filers on his phone, and generally treating the FIA driver's press conference like a night out in Star City.

This made news. Not the resurgence in Red Bull's form, but a driver pissing about with his phone. Understandably some sponsors and officials are already unhappy about Hamilton’s casual approach to the pre-race drivers’ parade, when he is a detached figure listening to music on headphones instead of mixing with his rivals.

But then again this is nothing compared to the antics of James Hunt, who used his career as a Formula One driver to essentially drink, smoke, and bonk his way across the globe … and he was widely revered for it. Given the excitement for a Formula One driver these days often means deciding to have swirly brown pasta instead of the normal straight variety and Kimi Raikkonen getting out of his car during a rain stoppage to have a choc-ice is the height of rule-breaking bad, boy behaviour, it seems a bit rich to criticise Lewis for what is hardly devil-may-care behaviour. Especially when one considers Hunt, Sheene and co used to lure unsuspecting race marshal's girlfriends into their motorhomes in order to let them fiddle with their gearsticks.

And whilst there are some out there that think this is newsworthy, and there are some within the F1 paddock that seems to think that Lewis is at least showing some attempt to shake off the rather staid and sterile image that racing drivers have [a condition I shall in future refer to as Mansellitis], are we are now so celebrity-obsessed that even when a 'sporting celeb' when Lewis buys a new pair of shoes, magazines and newspapers and we all think it’s more important than his lap times ??

The odds are that, according to which rag you grab off the floor of the train, he's persuaded Rita Ora, Nicole Shertzinger and Rhianna to open their DRS flaps, at least there's never a dull moment with Lewis.

It also helps that despite all this, he's still a great driver. As was Hunt.

I was thinking about all of this while watching the Grand Prix, (For those who don’t follow F1, it was all the usual stuff: some cars whizzing around, and the silver one won ahead of the fizzy drink-sponsored one) and I thought; hang on a minute. If we have pro-celebrity football, pro-celebrity ice-skating and pro-celebrity ski-jumping, then why not have actual, proper, legitimately endorsed pro-celebrity motor racing ??

It should be based on the British Touring Car Championships of the 1990’s, where the drivers were clearly mad and you never could tell whether the race was going to be won by Renault, Ford, Honda or BMW. In Japan, Nico Rosberg was so much faster than anyone else, he nearly lapped himself. That never happens in touring car racing.

As was the case back then, each manufacturer would field two cars; only under my system, one would be driven by a professional racing driver and one by someone from the HEAT celebrity world. This way you could have Jason Plato partnered by Holly Willoughby and Matt Jackson teamed up with Peter Andre`. Their points from each event would be added up together, so that the professional driver would have to help out the celeb wherever possible.

The good thing about tin-topped touring cars as opposed to the full-face helmeted F1 stars in their padded cockpits is that the on-board cameras can see the driver's faces as they bump and bash their way through the corners, and each other. You'd need that, if you had Amy Childs at the wheel of a BTCC racer. You'd want to see her eyes on stalks and her cheeks puffed out in terror, screaming as she tried to take Copse corner flat-out at Silverstone, banging door handles with Gordon Sheddon.

So, the car makers would love it because it'd be inexpensive. Die-hard racing enthusiasts would love it because half the field would still be pros. The tracks would love it because thousands would turn up to watch Vicky Pattison going wheel to wheel with Andrew Jordan. The sponsors would love it because their brand could be endorsed by Ferne Cottone, and the television companies would love it because they'd have a motor racing programme people would like to watch.

Which didn't cost them £200 million.

And which doesn’t have to mean being pals with Rupert Murdoch.

Of course, at this point you might be jumping up and down, imagining you’ve spotted the big flaw in my plan, and ironically, it comes in from of Top Gear. If you look at the list of stars who have appeared on 'Star in a Reasonably Priced Car', you'll note that some of them are actually good. Very good.

Let's take Jay Kay from Jamiroquai as an example. You may imagine that, as a rock star, he likes to start the evening punching a few paparazzi photographers with a supermodel draped over his arm before roaring off on his Ferrari to smash up some speed cameras. In fact, he has a cottage in Scotland where he spends all his time camping and walking.

What's more, he's clearly a very, very good driver. And it's the same story with Peter Jones from Dragon's Den and Lawrence Dallaglio. There was also Ellen MacArthur and Jennifer Saunders, then there's Simon Cowell, Tom Cruise, John Bishop, Cameron Diaz, Rowan Atkinson and Jodie Kidd, all of whom have set very fast lap times on Top Gear. So there we are. I have seen the future of motor racing; Joey Essex, charging through the Old Hairpin at Donington Park, at the wheel of a bright orange Honda Civic.

The only problem I see is that the TV rights would probably have to sold to ITV2. Which would also mean Keith Lemon would probably end up being the lead commentator.

Penny for your thoughts, Bernie ??

THE MORE THINGS CHANGE ...

It was roughly two years ago that we spent our last happy week together. I think we'd been discussing the Doctor Who episode "Robots of Sherwood". You spent an awful lot of time texting a strange man, but I thought nothing of it. I was certainly, and rightfully suspicious, but I wanted to believe that I could trust you.

It was a decision that backfired in the way that I am forever grateful for.

We had a very intense companionship. A chemistry that made us both feel better about it. People frequently pointed out how we were perfect for each other. Unapologetically goofy, geeky, raucously funny, and most of all, intensely compatible. To this day, I look fondly upon these memories as something I will cherish for the rest of my life.

I graduated in 2002 into the worst economy our generation has had the pleasure of witnessing. As I was trying to find my way in a very confusing world, I admit that my struggles would get the best of me on some nights, and they often did.

Ten years later I met you. I would turn to you for comfort. And you would often turn to me. I understand now that maybe I was often selfish, and that I was washing my negative emotions onto you, as well as trying to absorb yours.

I started the fight that almost began our downfall. I got drunk at a bar with a friend from work. I let slip a concern that had been mounting for a few weeks, as social media alerted me to a friendship that was starting to look too close for comfort.

We struggled on for the next few weeks or so until I finally cracked and opened my soul. Despite an awkward period, we slowly began to fall back into a happy place. Yet even then, after another testing period where I began to let my frustrations show again, I had the sinking feeling we were on borrowed time.

I couldn’t have been more correct.

Because it happened all over again, a whirlwind that came completely out of the blue, and it has finally led to where we are today.

I almost drove you away from me, there’s no questioning the veracity of that. I was screaming for help, a crumb of comfort or drop of water just to keep my fading hopes alive, but you turned your back and watched me burn. I was left with nothing to show for my hard work, commitment and honest determination, just empty lungs and a fractured heart.

Yeah. It hurt. It hurt like hell to be left on the outside without knowing how the other side could have been. Especially when he twisted your mind and made me out to be the interloper, when we all know damn well I was the one who had been well and truly gazumped. You can't have a intellectual talk by masking your emotions, you have to paste a smile in your face, even though your eyes scream the truth and you would never get to have a chance to say what you feel.

Yes, it's horrible, unbearable and according to many of our mutual acquaintances, an injustice too. But love is a sweet pain with the sensitive phenomenon, it will give you happiness and the sadness alike.

I have spent all my life being single. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, but I just couldn’t get into it again after what I had gone through with you. During this time, I’ve done lots of traveling, made many new friendships, and experienced things I never would have had you not been there to share them with me. To be fair, it’s nice to know that we wish each other well, and despite the curiosities that have developed over the years, know that sequels are never quite as good as the original.

The fact of the matter is, I haven’t even seen you even 10% as much I used to do, which was to be expected really. We spent every possible moment together for two years of our lives, were extraordinarily affectionate, and yet you still instantly wrote me off like I never even mattered to you.

I wish I could say that I am upset about this, but I’m glad it went the way it did. I know you were probably nervous that my impulsivity might have led to some nasty messages, and it may have, but in all honesty, I didn’t have the desire to.

It has been a long time since all of this happened, and I am writing this to say that I forgive you. I forgive myself for almost letting you slip out of my life completely, and despite all of the negative emotions that marked the end of our relationship, as it was.

I do wish you well. I want you to know that I will always consider the times we enjoyed together as special, and am putting in a conscious effort to remember you solely for them. I have said some irrevocably nasty things about you since that day, but I assure you they were in anger and frustration.

It's true what they say isn't it ... the more things change, the more they stay exactly the bloody same.

JAY-Z's ACTUAL LIST OF 99 PROBLEMS

1. Getting soufflé to rise.

2. Finding a reliable plumber.

3. Getting the smell of oranges off his hands after eating Jaffa Cakes.

4. Transitioning to internet banking.

5. When to use 'affect' and 'effect'.

6. Long division.

7. Not understanding 3D printing.

8. Global warming.

9. Gluten intolerance.

10. Parallel parking.

11. Poaching eggs.

12. Remembering that Sydney isn't the capital of Australia.

13. The plight of the British red squirrel.

14. Not being able to play Pokemon Go without being mobbed by paparazzi.

15. The plot of 'Star Trek Beyond'.

16. Exma.

17. How to spell ‘Eczema’.

18. The rising cost of stamps.

19. Seeded grapes.

20. Bedroom tax.

21. The pedestrianisation of Birmingham city centre.

22. Trying not to snack between meals.

23. Not being able to find the end of the Sellotape.

24. Finding half sizes for shoes.

25. Understanding the economic implications of Brexit.

26. Hiccups.

27. Cryptic crosswords.

28. Whether to make the switch from DVD to Blu-ray.

29. Unexpected items in the bagging area.

30. The point of the new 'Ghostbusters' movie.

31. Hayfever.

32. Pins and needles.

33. Ordering a cocktail without an embarrassingly silly sexual nickname.

34. Underripe avocados.

35. Overripe avocados.

36. His obsession with perfectly ripe avocados.

37. Feeling sleepy after lunch.

38. When to use the Oxford comma.

39. Daddy longlegs.

40. Knowing that his current lifestyle isn’t compatible with dog ownership.

41. Shin splints.

42. Rail replacement bus services.

43. The meaning of life.

44. Not enjoying eating yoghurt as much as the women in the adverts.

45. The hole in the ozone layer.

46. Not being able to trust contactless card payments.

47. Fixed versus variable rate mortgages.

48. Why four-finger KitKats taste slightly different to the two-fingered variety.

49. The Milton Keynes grid system.

50. Recurring nightmare about a bucket of pens.

51. Wasps.

52. The western world’s over-reliance on fossil fuels.

53. Crumbs in the bed.

54. Only remembering the names of 4 of Henry VIII's wives.

55. Forgetting to put the bins out.

56. What to do when the wi-fi goes down.

57. Needing the loo in the middle of the night.

58. The declining bee population.

59. Two day hangovers.

60. Wondering if Tom Hiddleston and Taylor Swift’s relationship is real or not.

61. Why the BBC cancelled 'The Musketeers'.

62. Stress-induced twitchy eye.

63. Not enjoying 'Game of Thrones' as much as everyone else.

64. Calls from unknown numbers.

65. Burnt toast.

66. Being endorsed for skills he doesn't have by people he doesn't know on LinkedIn.

67. Still wanting to call Emojis emoticons.

68. Foot cramp.

69. People making immature jokes about the number 69.

70. Accidentally ‘replying all’.

71. How much water to cook rice with.

72. Mosquitoes at dusk.

73. Kanye West.

74. Finding a Natwest card reader.

75. People who respond ‘maybe’ to Facebook event invites.

76. The middle three Star Wars films.

77. Tickly coughs.

78. The increasing gap between rich and poor

79. Clammy hands.

80. People putting milk back in the fridge when there's only a tiny bit left.

81. Not knowing what his local council does and doesn’t recycle.

82. Whether it makes fiscal sense to buy an annual travelcard.

83. Opening the dishwasher before it's done.

84. Insufficient legroom on the bus.

85. Sunday traffic.

86. Feeling quite indifferent to Marmite.

87. Going for dinner and drinking water yet Beyonce` having four Daiquiris.

88. How to pronounce ‘scone’.

89. Worrying that he doesn’t suit hats.

90. The Edinburgh tram debacle.

91. The lyrics to 'Ummagumma' by Pink Floyd.

92. Ambiguous toilet door signs in restaurants.

93. Understanding the politics of the Middle East.

94. Going to the toilet on airplanes.

95. Mobile phones.

96. Washing his trousers with a tissue in the pocket

97. Meaning to buy tuna in spring water but accidentally buying it in brine.

98. Donald Trump.

99. Realising, once he started writing them all down in list form, just how many problems he actually has.

Still, at least a b***h ain't one of 'em, eh Jezzie ??

Da, Da, Da, Da, Daaa, I'M NOT LOVIN' IT !!

So, Euro 2016 has been and gone, and along with the departing heroes of Portugal have gone the swathes of advertisements for a certain fast food chain that seemed to adorn the advertising screens of just about every single football stadium in France.

Why on earth this actually HAS anything to do with football other than plugging tinkly piano versions of old songs by The Jam (I really didn't think Paul Weller needed the money … and why is it EVERY single song in adverts theses days is a tinkly piano-led version of a classic 80's or 90's anthem with wispy female vocals ??) is beyond me.

This got me thinking about my relationship with the fabled 'golden arches''. I last had a McDonald hamburger about 15 months ago and thought it was quite probably the second most revolting thing that had ever been in my mouth … (stop snickering, yes, you there at the back !!).

And whilst we're on the subject, does anyone else here think that all of the salads or healthier options that you see in their football ads are completely ridiculous? I mean this chain is for burgers etc, and yes there are some unintelligent Americans who have sued for becoming obese on account of eating there 300 times a day but really, the overwhelming majority of people would actually realise that they aren't at all healthy and (if they must) will just go occasionally.

It's also not exactly intelligent marketing - no one will ever think of going there for a low calorie option, that's a bit like watching a WWE wrestling match purely for the homo-erotic sub-text. And anyway, we've got Five Guys now … ironically there's now a Five Guys in Five Ways, but anyway.

Nevertheless, I think their establishments are actually pretty great, because they provide a bug-zapper-esque light for all the local chavs and riff-raff, and so keep them and their equally ghastly children out of the few remaining decent restaurants, tea-rooms, pubs, and coffee houses. One of my favourite eating houses is the Hopwood Hotel in Alvechurch. It's a tranquil oasis of civilised behaviour. Where one is actually served at the table by well-spoken, suitably obsequious waitresses. There's a cute little Lindsay Lohan look-alike who I'm pretty sure doesn't wear any knic... sorry, I digress.

Anyway, around about this time last year, disaster struck; the place was suddenly invaded by unwashed, burberry-swathed, loud-mouthed hordes of Sun-reading family horrors wearing made in China tracksuits with white stripes down zippered trouser seams, waving lottery tickets like they were TUC strike banners like the scene in the new Star Trek movie where the USS Enterprise is torn to shreds and sent screaming to a fiery death on the planet below by a swarm of insectoid-like aliens.

Had an exploded WWII bomb recently been discovered on the local council house estate? I wondered. Had a rare PokemonGo creature been lurking in the ladies? Was it someone attempting to initiate the world's most low-rent flash mob? Had they all just come out of seeing the new Ghostbusters movie? No, it was worse, far worse: the local high street Maccy D's had closed down.

Has anyone experienced the true horror of having a McDonalds close down on them? For a small town like Alvechurch it's a disaster, like having a main sewer collapse. The streets and gutters immediately back up and are overflowing with chav-crement in no time. Floods in Bangladesh or Mozambique are nothing in comparison.

Relief and RAF helicopters borrowed from Russia pour in in such cases, but a little town like Alvechurch losing its McDonalds is ignored by the world community and in no time disease, famine, and terror are stalking the streets as ruthless, power-crazed burger barons move in to fill the vacuum.

So why, I heard no-one ask, did the local McDonalds emporium close?

As is the case with most football teams these days, the great unwashed in their infinite wisdom blamed the manager. Apparently he was knobbled by the new smoking laws and had abolish the smoking area. Seeing as most of his customers are trained from the age of about two to get through at least 40 ciggies a day, particularly girls who discover that they're cheaper than slimming pills and contraceptives, this left him up diarrhoea creek without so much of a sheet of Andrex to his name.

The result of this thoughtless action being the ultimate loss of his cor` blimey business, which struggled on for a few weeks and finally collapsed in such a swift a way that it would have left even BHS's chairman wincing. However, this time there is some good news to end on. The state of emergency finally ended with the opening of a new McDonalds outlet in a shopping precinct. I presume it has a smoking area because, thankfully, the streets have seemingly been swept clear of the social dregs and comparative normality has been restored.

Call me a foodie or a gastronomic snob if you much, but for me, there has never been much romance attatched to the Big M. I know that they've refitted many of their eateries theses days so it now looks less like a northern childcare centre and more like someone from Apple has been let loose with an angle grinder to try and get rid of every single corner and edge known to man, but even then nostalgia is some thing I simply cannot equate with McDonalds …

Yes, I am more partial to a Beefeater or a Hungry Horse or one of those kind of establishments because what you ingest is actually vaguely edible and you don't get bombarded by the cast of Benefits Street, but ironically the people I can't stand are the ones who pre-emptively dismiss them in favour of Ronald the Clown's Burger Emporium, largely because its fans can be a bit weird, or because they regard upmarket eateries as 'hipster bait', whatever the hell that means.

And as much as I've been bashing them over the course of this blog post, it's worth remembering how fortunate we that McDonald's are not licenced … at least that is until the customers get out into the car park and start mixing White Ace into their iced frappachinos …

And of course, I'm certainly NOT dismissing those who are employed there. As much as I complain about my own employment, I freely admit I would be too much of a coward to change it for a McJob, for those who ply their trade at least get regular shifts and the living wage … and for dealing with the kind of clientele they have to put up with, especially on a Friday or Saturday night, I believe they are truly the unsung heroes of our generation …

So as it's been such a beautiful week, it's back to the peace and quiet of the Hopwood with some of the shine in my smile applied to my shoes to see if my theory about the little Lohan-alike waitress is correct …

I for one, hope it is.

MR SPOCK, EU HAVE THE CONN

Space. The Final Frontier ... or in this case, the space in my schedule tomorrow I will have in order to get to the polling booth in order to cast my Referendum vote, which is actually more than I thought I would get, given I work for a market research company. Given the option to travel at warp speed, I'm sure that the turnout tomorrow would probably leave a Klingon looking over his starboard bow wondering what the kab'leth was going on.

So, what on Earth do you think this has to do with the EU Referendum tomorrow ?? Well, for a start it's happening, and thank goodness it is, most of us want it to be out of the way, most of us can't wait to get to the polling booth, and of course most of us can't wait the get to the pub to have an EU drinking contest.

So, then, you want my opinion ?? You want to know what I'm doing tomorrow. I'm voting to leave. Yep, I'm voting for Brexit, and once again I'm going to invoke the world of Star Trek in my reasoning as to why I'm doing so.

What the EU should only ever have been, what it should have aspired to be nothing more than, and what I'm sure we thought it was going to be when we signed up in the late 70's, was something like the United Federation of Planets, a benign, pace-keeping organisation comprising a collaborative group of interplanetary governments, dedicated to providing a forum for it's leaders, underpinned by a fundamental prime directive of non-interference in the affairs of each of it's members, as well as ensuring that those who wish to join have demonstrated they can have the ability to do so by being able to achieve warp drive on their own.

A simple, pan-continental trade association where we can pick and choose the best bits of each, with a few in house rules to stop people playing silly buggers - what we've ended up with instead is the Borg Collective.

A ruthless, aggressive, faceless, sterile, remorseless malevolent force hell-bent on assimilating everything in it's path into a single, hive-minded collective with no regard for the individual. No one is control. It is an organic thing always and only seeking more power for itself. A faceless entity without visible leadership. In popular culture, like the Cybermen from Doctor Who, they are a symbol for any overwhelming power, the enemies of individuality, robbers of all autonomy.

If you've ever watched "Star Trek: First Contact" (and I strongly recommend you do, it's the best of the Next Generation films by a star system) (and which was conspicuously shown on Channel 5 on Saturday), here's the Borg mantra;

"We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."

All of us have a Borg in our own psyche – the parents we want to test our burgeoning adulthood against, the fashion police we are constantly on the alert for. When we are strong in our identity, we enjoy resisting the Borg, it helps us forge an authentic self with a stake in the future. When we are vulnerable, we back away, isolate ourselves from the sites of contestation, stay familiar with the past.

Yet it’s striking that the European referendum debate has thrown up fear of the Borg on both sides of the political spectrum. On the right, fear of a bureaucracy that shapes the rules and customs of our country without giving us a chance to have our say. On the left, fear of the neoliberal hegemony that shapes our economy and disempowers the 99%. The sense that both of these are uncontrollable is common to both, until recently, when the European 'project' of enlargement and political, social, and economic integration was seen – not just by Europeans but by global observers - as a ‘soft power’ for all those involved.

A bit like in the Star Trek universe when the human race nearly wipes itself out and then discovers that they are not alone in the universe. And in principle it's a wonderful idea that underpinned Gene Roddenberry's optimistic vision of the future. I mean, what could be wrong with the post war nations working together towards a common enterprise (look, look, see what I did ?? See what I did there ??), attracting those on their fringes to join in and play a part.

Europe after WWII had a distinct role and character on the global scene – it was ambitious, sophisticated, a beacon of post-conflict resolution, pretty much in the same way the Federation was when it was founded in the series finale of the Star Trek prequel series, "Enterprise".

However, in the real world, the task of pulling people towards an ever closer union has fallen to politicians, economists and bureaucrats – that is, power elites. Instead of enhancing and amplifying Europe’s soft power – the attraction of its multi-cultural project – we have been subject to an amplification of its 'hard' power: its ability to control outcomes, for good and for bad. In this scenario, closer European integration continues to be the Borg that everyone fears – even as they are spinning it for or against.

Unlike the Borg, however, the EU is not flexible enough to adapt to changing circumstances. It's also horrendously inefficient and doesn't put the needs of the collective before the needs of the few. All in all, I think that in a comparison with a race of alien zombies the EU actually comes second.

And that's why we need to resist being assimilated.

The way Spain, Portugal and Greece has been treated demonstrates exactly the kind of 'hard' power the EU likes to wield. This was not the actions of a benign collective group of governments, but the malevolent actions of mean-spirited wannabe dictatorship determined to force it's will onto a sovereign nation who only wanted to improve. I for one cannot remember an episode of Star Trek where the Federation infringed the sovereignty and dignity of one of its members, dictating fiscal policy to it and not compromising one bit whilst forcing them into a humanitarian crisis. Well, actually, it did, in the episode "Mirror, Mirror", but that was set in a parallel universe.

And looking back on most episodes of Star Trek, it's clear that Captain Kirk was too much of a cowboy to have any truck with the EU. He was constantly telling bureaucrats to f*** off. The Federation in Star Trek is about maximising personal liberty; the EU favours the exact opposite. And I for one cannot conscienceoulsy vote to remain part of something that only wishes to ride roughshod over what has been built up through blood, sweat and toil over hundreds of years.

The United Kingdom of Great Britian and Northern Ireland.

Our Federation.

And that's why I'm voting to leave the EU, preferably at Warp Factor 9.

Live long, and prosper.

WHO YA GONNA CALL ?? ... SOMEONE ELSE

I love the diversity of movies I often go to see. I look back in particular over the last year and look at what I've watched and it's quite the proverbial smorgasbord of cinematic goodness.

I've been to see most of the superhero blockbusters (Captain America: Civil War is due to pass my eyeballs this very week as it happens) but I've also seen some very innovative and artisan films such as Birdman, and a very genteel Ian McKellen as Sherlock Holmes. The recent comedic biopic of Eddie the Eagle was funny and heart-warming, Kingsmen: The Secret Service was bonkers and brilliant, The Revenant was powerful, gripping, intense and gut-wrenching, Mad Max: Fury Road an astonishing, visceral thrill-ride of visuals and social commentary.

I even treated myself to a solo screening of Deadpool, a film that was more fun than watching a wombat in a washing machine. As well as this I have taken in the latest outings of James Bond, and even Star Wars, which isn't one of my favourite franchises, but I enjoyed very much because it was fun, enjoyable and a good old nostalgic blast.

This last point I make is because in a couple of months time, we get another nostalgic reboot coming in the form of a new Ghostbusters movie, with an all-female cast. This was potentially an excellent idea. At the time, all of us who loved the original speculated about our new team of kick-ass ladies able to wield a proton gun with sass and style. Emma Stone, Anne Hathaway, Rebel Wilson, Tina Fey, Eliza Dushku, Amy Schumer were all mentioned and this excited us. This was a great opportunity to bring the franchise kicking and screaming back to life.

Then it was announced Paul Feig was directing and Melissa McCarthy was leading the cast. We mourned our lost opportunity, we mourned that some great names would now no longer be on board. And we mourned, most of all, because what should have been a great opportunity to breathe new life into a beloved franchise was instead potentially degenerating in front of our eyes into a layer of dressing for a mediocre comedy.

A lot of comic book, sci-fi, and franchise movies get criticised these days for being 'dark gritty reboots', and yes, Marvel have shown with Guardians of the Galaxy and Deadpool that this doesn't have to be the case, but Ghostbusters would have been PERFECT for that approach. Die hard fans alike have already voiced their displeasure of the film and gone on to slam the new all female cast. Its my interpretation of the film by the pictures and the plot details released that its going to fail not because its an all female cast but rather because the plot seems really uninspired as a Ghostbusters film.

It has nothing to do with the fact they are all female but rather that they all seem to be generic characters. In the original Ghostbusters they were more diverse than that and that’s why made them funny without actually having to try and be funny. Egon was the smart one. Ray was also a smart scientist but also a very warm, identifiable human character, he was the audiences eyes into the world of the Ghostbusters. Venkman was a charming, ducking and diving ladies man. Finally there’s Winston, who wasn’t just the token black guy, he actually represented the everyman. He was just a hard working man looking for a job and got it working as a Ghostbuster.

All this achieved the humour and gave us a memorable movie without ticked boxes and pre-filled demographic quotas, and without the aid of blatant stunt-casting. Already with this reboot I feel as if they’re going with the basic modern comedy formula which will be filled with slapstick, stereotype characters. I feel as if there isn’t going to be that diverse cast of characters but rather four actresses trying hard just to be funny with no other rhyme or reason other than moving the movie forward.

Already with the trailer it seems as if its going to be a lot of trying too hard to make the audience laugh. I feel like its going to be your pro-typical modern day comedy which aren’t really that funny anymore and its not for lack of trying its for lack of storytelling. I feel like everything from character development, atmosphere, comedy, fear, horror, a lot of things could be done better if there was someone different who respected the roots of the franchise.

A different writer and director would have accomplished this. If they did that then the character development would flow right along with the story cause you cant develop a character without first having a story that also flows right along with it. The comedy and fear would be better set up with story telling that gives you a reason to laugh or fear something rather than just having jump scares just because you cant figure out a way to do something that creates that fear or legitimate gritty tension.

And this goes back to the point I made earlier. By making this new Ghostbusters a light-hearted comedy there is no progress with the franchise being made at all, there's no evolution. A 'dark gritty reboot' may not have been to everybody's tastes, but it could have at least learnt itself to more authenticity. I feel this film will fail because its going to try too hard to recapture what made the original great while trying too hard to do something different by making some sort of forced joke or plot detail for a certain piece of technology.

Does this mean I'm sexist ?? Well, the odds are I will go and see the new Ghostbusters because of my nostalgic love for the franchise. The fundamental idea of an all female cast was a GOOD one, and it potentially could have had so much going for it. We had our heroes back in the 80's, and I totally agree that young girls of today deserve the opportunity to discover and be inspired by their heroines too. This new Ghostbusters was the perfect opportunity to do just that, but without squandering the charm of the original and the nostalgic warmth we feel for the franchise 30 years later.

And the funny thing is, with all these popular franchises, there was a time when they weren't part of the comfort zone. There was something about the time we were first introduced to a franchise that made us want to stay there. And unfortunately, that first, energizing experience that bought our loyalty will never happen again within the same franchise.

No matter how much the instalments improve their special effects, no matter how much a fifth sequel boasts of 'recapturing' the original, no matter how many times the writers claim to be 'massive original fans', there can only ever be one moment of discovery.

And for all the controversy, I honestly don’t mind an all female Ghostbusters … but I do mind when the story, heart, and the characters are not there.

STOP MY 30's, I JUST WANT TO GET OFF ...

So, then, here I am, in just a shade over 24 hours from now I will have turned 35. I am no longer just a 30-something, but a person in their MID-30's ... not long to go now before my age finally catches up with my waist size, and from then the two can happily start going up together concurrently until I end up in a coffin with a hump in the lid. That is unless posthumous liposuction is approved by the government.

Thirty-five trips around the sun since yours truly emerged into this universe, and the universe in kind cracked it's knuckles, snicked it's jaw, wricked it's neck and said; "Right then, sunshine, here's where it gets complicated …".

There was a change in media culture starting in the 80s, when I emerged dribbling, crying, naked, screaming and covered in all sorts of bodily fluids I hope never to encounter again. The Internet and video games emerged at the same time kids weren't out playing with other kids, what they were doing was sitting around in front of a Nintendo all day. Add to that the fact that as soon as they grew up and moved away from home in their 20s, there was free and abundant Internet porn to satisfy them with.

The only thing the world has in abundance is people looking to exploit these ills. Especially in the ever-over-complicating, horrendous, ultra-competitive sport of relationships. Dating sites are ready and willing to lift money from lonely people, then there's the booming self-help industry that teaches people with no dating prospects what they're doing wrong, despite the fact that they still walk away without any prospects after buying the books and therapists and whatever else.

Now, I’m pretty unremarkable in most respects – neither fantastically attractive (if only), nor absolutely hideous. I’ve got plenty of friends, male and female. They always express confusion and disbelief that I’ve been unable to get a girlfriend in the 20 years or so I’ve been interested in the idea. Apart from this, I’ve lived a full and active life, but somehow this particular aspect has, through more quirks of a fate than a superhero film directed by someone having just ingested a bucket of heroin, passed me by.

My parents met and married through work. They have been married for 40 years. And it hurts me to the core to be 35 and unmarried. Alone. Without a loving wife or a long-term girlfriend. I feel the pain from it every single day like I'm wiping my ass with a cheese grater. Or maybe it's because a random advert for Justin Beiber's new album spoiled my enjoyment of the Nostalgia Critic's review of "Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice".

It’s a cliché, but it really did seem seem like one day all my friends were suddenly shacked up with a partner and squeezing out kids right, left and centre expect me. Arriving at 35 as a single man happens via one of three routes. The first is because there were series of relationships that never panned out. Or, there was one epic fail of a marriage that lead to a series of relationships that never panned out. The wake of this type of failure leaves a trail of broken hearts and disillusioned souls.

The third, mine, is because simply no-one has bothered to give me a bloody half decent chance because someone else arrived, with an agenda, therefore automatically gaining the upper hand before I had the chance to even offer the prospect of pistols at dawn at thirty paces.

Distrust of each other turns relationships into transactions. There is literally a universe of information consolidated into constellations of blogs on the topics of sex, love and relationships. As a society we keep talking about it, and by talking about it we make it important. Products, lyrics and lives coalesce around it.

Love is both form and substance yet, if you find yourself single at age 35, love isn’t nearly as important as feeling legit and being desired. And desire will continue to kick your sorry, pink, hairy ass until you find that you can notice it without having to turn your head. It doesn’t matter what bracket you are in. There will always be another rung of the latter to climb, someone to be jealous of and past failures to reconcile.

And I think the greatest lesson I’ve learned being 35 and single is that ultimately nothing matters in reference to the big picture. Emotions drag us into the fray and spur storylines that can both catalyse and interrupt the flow of creation. It's how I managed to drag it out into three "Ghostbusters" scripts and a mountain of "Doctor Who" fanfiction.

When I first set off to write this blog there was a very particular angst welling up in me that wanted to provide a narrative to the joys of being 35 and single. But, I had to stop myself because, honestly, it kinda sucks too. Four generations of rampant new wave feminism have not exactly produced a plethora of well-balanced traditional men who are equipped to head a heteronormative family and deal with non-feminist women, in fact, most young men are feminists or equalitarians who have been brainwashed into despising our civilisation.

In other words, they are just as unhinged and difficult as the young women that feminism produced - this is what you reap when you sow anti-authoritarianism and tolerate gendermainstreaming. Slowly but surely younger generations are realising what is wrong, but given the power of the Internet and mainstream media it won't be undone in a generation.

There are 60 years of terrible mistakes to undo.

Sadly, I means bypassing those such as yours truly, who have long since given up the ghost.

Happy Birthday to me ...

A-Z OF EVERYTHING IMPORTANT

A is for: Antubis

Antubis was the Egyptian god of something or other, you know, the one with a head like a jackal. For some reason his symbol was a penis. He must have been at the back of the line when they were handing out hieroglyphs. I'll bet all the other gods giggled at him behind his back.

B is for: Butterscotch

A type of confectionery it is illegal to purchase if you are under 65 years of age. Werther's Original is a prime example of this slightly unpleasant treat.

C is for: Choirboys

The best way to get your son to hate you - make him join a church choir. It mixes all the fun of strange robes, religion and high-pitched singing. Does anyone actually like listening to it? Doubtful, although a young Aled Jones managed to get the brain-piercing "We're walking in the air" into the charts. The best thing about Aled Jones is that his career evaporated when his voice broke. Ha!

D is for: Duck City

One of those post-Simpsons adult oriented cartoons shown late at night on BBC2 in the late 1990's. I have never seen an episode and, seemingly, neither has anyone else. So in theory, it might be quite good and nobody would know.

E is for: Evangelists

Those smarmy, suit-wearing sods who knock on your door and try to convince you that you have to believe exactly the same things they do or you're evil. America has now produced a new breed of tele-evangelists, who have the power to annoy more people and accept credit cards. Perhaps not coincidentally, 'evangelists' is an anagram of "evil's agents".

F is for: Fetish

I once read that the most common fetish is for women's feet. This is clearly an unhealthy and twisted practice that I will NOT tolerate, even if posting a related picture would increase traffic to my profile. Boobs are better anyway.

G is for: Greensleeves

A piece of music supposedly composed by King Henry VIII between bouts of spousal decapitation. It goes, "Da da, da da, da da doo doo, doo doo da da-da-da-daa doo doo". No, wait, hang on a moment - that's the theme tune to 'Airwolf'.

H is for: Halitosis

A medical condition which causes people to forget how relatively cheap Polo mints actually are.

I is for: Interactive Movie

A horrendous (and now almost defunct) genre of computer games which appeared when consoles became capable of playing full motion video. Such games consist of watching bad actors talk crap whilst you occasionally click on something with the mouse. More tedious than watching somebody else watch paint dry. Worryingly coming back into favour.

J is for: Junk Mail

THE scourge of modern society. Sending off for anything by post will now result in your letterbox being endlessly bombarded by credit card offers and AOL internet CD's. Perhaps one day companies will accept that if we want something, we will go and get it. Until then they will repeatedly claim on the telephone that we have been selected for a prize before trying to sell us double-glazing.

K is for: Klingon

Those aliens from Star Trek that look like they've got cornish pasties stuck to their foreheads. Come to think of it, most aliens in Star Trek are just people with funny foreheads or noses. The USS Enterprise must explore some very cheap galaxies. It is now possible to learn the Klingon language, as for some reason it has been invented in full. Great - millions of people are starving all over the world and what do people do? Invent fake languages for fun, or write stupid blogs …

L is for: Vatican

Hang on, no it isn't !!

L is for: Lion

That's better !!

M is for: Marge Simpson

The least used member of the Simpson family, Marge deserves a mention if only for her fantastic haircut. Episodes based around Marge tend to be less funny, which is probably why there are relatively few of them. Her purry voice is unique amongst cartoon characters. All together now - "Hrrrrmmmmmmm..."

N is for: Nightmare

A nightmare is a bad dream. I have a recurring nightmare involving a bucket of pens. You may have that one yourself.

O is for: Organisation

Possibly the most difficult task in modern society - organising any sort of social event. Even the most carefully planned outing will be met with a barrage of people who don't pay on time, people who drop out at the last minute or change their mind, and people who just don't turn up. Scientists believe that this behaviour is caused by a faulty gene and are developing tests for it. Offenders can then be diagnosed at birth and humanely destroyed. With a blunt axe.

P is for: Penguins

Funny little birds that swim rather than fly. Which is obviously why their name was used for a brand of chocolate biscuit.

Q is for: Quetzlcoatl

Some sort of Incan snake-god thing. It appears in a film called "Q - The Winged Serpent" (which I breifly mentioned in my post "A-Z of Everything I Hate About The Movies"), which is partly about a failed bank robbery and partly about a giant flying snake terrorising people. Strangely, Quentin Tarantino was genuinely influenced by that film when he wrote Reservoir Dogs. It's true. Ask him.

R is for: Resident Evil

Abysmal adventure game for Sony's PlayStation 2 that enjoys huge success despite having identical gameplay to a crappy Spectrum game I bought new for £2.99 back in 1993. It's all there - picking up objects and using them in unlikely places, not being able to carry enough things and having to drop them off in linked storage boxes, and of course a combat system which involves holding down one button whilst pressing another. Other highlights include ludicrous dialogue ("Jill, the master of unlocking!") and frog-like enemies that can cause game over with a single hit. I paid £40 for that! Grrrr. But never mind - it had pretty graphics and lots of blood, right kids?

S is for: Suggestively-Shaped Vegetables

Always funny.

T is for: Tie & Die

Method of producing t-shirts that look like they've been washed by your Dad.

U is for: Unexpected

Surprise endings are great, aren't they? But so rarely seen these days. It's all too obvious in most films, TV shows and even books that the hero or heroine will beat all the naughty people and live happily ever after. Until the sequel, which will end the same. "Tales of the Unexpected" was an old TV show, written mainly by Roald Dahl, that offered only stories with a twist at the end. But due to the title of the programme, viewers were expecting a twist, so it wasn't really unexpected. Oh well.

V is for: Vikings

Nordic hardcases who invaded everywhere they could find, raping, pillaging and drinking as they went. Most people remember them for singing a song about spam in a Monty Python sketch.

W is for: Waiters/Waitresses

People who serve you food in a restaurant. On television there seem to be only two types - arrogant French waiters for French restaurants, or jovial Italian waiters for Italian restaurants. Whereas all other eating establishments employ young, jaded American actresses.

X is for: Xylophone

When I was at school X was BLOODY ALWAYS for xylophone. But in modern children's books, it seems to be represented by a fox. Or a foX, indeed. This is probably better for teaching kids, but it seems like cheating to me.

Y is for: YouTube

Of course it is nowadays.

Z is for: Zygote

A zygote is a sex cell - but also the last word in the dictionary. So if anyone ever says to you, "You always have to have the last word!" just shout "Zygote!" back at them. Then run away as fast a possible before they smash your face open.

FANTASY FORMULA ONE

(Disclaimer: This post WAS meant to be published before the Australian Grand Prix, and therefore before the farcical qualifying system that was about as entertaining as a programme on BBC4 in which a man with a beard explains why air is see-though ...)

January:

Organisers of the new European Grand Prix in Azerbaijan issue a statement denying that the track is too dangerous for Formula One, but it is unrecieved as all the press fall down a ravine on their way to the track. Lewis Hamilton grows sideburns to look more aggressive. Nico Rosberg finds a goldfish in his helmet. New Haas launched in controversy when someone points out that the word 'Ferrari' is faintly visible under the paintwork. Max Verstappen & Carlos Sainz make TV advert for Old Spice.

February:

Malaysian GP moved from Kuala Lumpur to Knockhill at the request of Sir Jackie Stewart and is renamed the Albanian GP. Nico Rosberg finds a ferret in his helmet. Bernie Ecclestone announces FOCA will be renamed as Formula One Constructor's Union & Properties Society. Toto Wolff and Christian Horner unhappy that they now are represented by FOCUPS.

March:

Australian GP is again threatened by both environmentalists and also people who cannot receive 'Eastenders' on BBC1. Banners read "Save Albert Park and Albert Square." Lewis Hamilton shaves his sideburns. Nico Rosberg finds an iguana in his helmet. Kimi Raikkonen wins Bahrain GP, lapping everybody twice after he finds out Finland is also leading the Eurovision Song Contest. Algerian GP cancelled and replaced with an inter-driver Cricket match in Kuala Lumpor.

April:

Lewis Hamilton voted 'Best Dressed Man in Formula One', the judging panel includes Worzel Gummidge, Bob Geldof, and Gok Wan wearing some very dark sunglasses. Nico Rosberg finds a kitten inside his helmet. Lewis Hamilton re-grows sideburns while Max Verstappen and Carlos Sainz make TV advert for L'Oreal.

May:

Lewis Hamilton re-shaves sideburns and copies the fringe of the singer from the Human League. Nico Rosberg finds a hamster inside his helmet. Gene Haas tries to add a few drops of RED-EX to the teams fuel tanks. The entire Barcelona pit goes up in smoke. Cricket Test Match GP in Kuala Lumpur cancelled and replaced with a Trolly Dash round Jenson Button's local Sainsbury's.

June:

Lewis Hamilton wins Canadian Grand Prix despite spending half the race trying to stop his new fringe getting caught in his visor. Nico Rosberg finds an adder inside his helmet. Post-British GP rock concert transferred to Glastonbury. Fernando Alonso finally quits Mc'Laren and goes to compete in the World Scalextric Championship.

July:

Lewis Hamilton trims his Human League fringe and grows a moustache. Nico Rosberg finds a parrot inside his helmet. Max Verstappen and Carlos Sainz make TV advert for Gillette. Lewis Hamilton shaves his new moustache off after Murray Walker calls him 'Nigel'.

August:

FIA announce slick tyres are to be banned and replaced by wheels made from Adamantium. Lap times slowed by 24 seconds per lap. Max Verstappen and Carlos Sainz make TV advert for the Belgian Slipper Manufacturing Company. Nico Rosberg finds a badger inside his helmet. Lewis Hamilton dyes his hair blond aka Jacques Villeneuve France '97'.

September:

Italian victory at Monza after all foreign cars are refused entry. Franz Tost said to be delighted. Nico Rosberg finds a chicken inside his helmet. Bernie Ecclestone announces that FOCUPS is to change it's name again to Formula One Constructors International Transactions. Christian Horner and Toto Wolff complain they are now represented by FOCIT.

October:

Malaysian Grand Prix replaced at last moment by originally scheduled Cricket Match in Kuala Lumpur, Kimi Raikkonen scores a century and also takes 6 wickets for 23 runs. Lewis Hamilton gets a Naval Officer's haircut, but the Naval Officer is none too pleased.

November:

Bernie Eccelstone tries to organise a Grand Prix in Hawaii but can't tear himself away from the Baywatch lookalikes. Nico Rosberg finds Bear Grylls looking at his crash helmet; the assault charges are due to be resolved in the Old Bailey next year.

December:

Bernie Ecclestone announces the entire World Championship will be held on each planet of the solar system after signing a new title sponsorship agreement with the Klingon Empire. Kimi Raikkonen complains he won't be able to have a choc ice during the Grand Prix of Mercury.

As if Formula One would ever get this mad, I mean, it's not like they have crazy rules, drivers more worried about their hairstyles and a crazy midget running around fiddling with everything, is it ?? ...

... oh bugger.

DIARY OF A PROFESSIONAL IDIOT

Monday: 

Started construction on a second prototype. It's proving difficult without Johnson because he had nicked all the sellotape. Underson told me he should be back next week. He also told me to push the project ahead, as both Sony and McDonalds are working on rotating spoons. We need to get ours on the market ASAP, even if it does cost a few more lives. Stopped off at the library on the way home - everyone had drowned.

Tuesday:

Underson revealed the full details of my new task this morning. They want a revolving dessert spoon. It needs to hold at least 3 types of sweet, two internally and one on the spoon itself. Design seems simple - should have a working prototype by the end of the week. First blueprints already produced and look promising. Stopped off at the library on the way home - still no water.

Wednesday:

Have constructed a scale model of the spoon, but Johnson can't make gears small enough for it to work. The principle seems sound but the prototype will be the first real test. Underson has authorised me to proceed with testing, providing that the wind doesn't change. Don't understand why. Came home to discover a note from the post office - they tried to deliver a parcel when I was at work. There was also a screaming man with a loaded shotgun in the bathroom. I arranged for the parcel to be delivered Saturday morning.

Thursday:

Crashed the car on the way to work this morning. Too many Rory Bremner impersonators on the road again - had to swerve into a ditch. Car was pulled out by some brown thing. Only minor damage fortunately - a scratched headlight and a chafed spark plug. Arrived 20 minutes late, to discover Johnson putting the prototype together. He's done well - I may let his wife live after all. Construction was complete by 4pm, but I wanted to finish some diagnostics and the Metro crossword. Will test first thing tomorrow. Stopped off at the library on the way home - still no water!

Friday:

Protoype testing went well - only 3 people were killed, although Johnson was horribly maimed. Basic design is sound but a few wrinkles need to be ironed out ... I think the poisoned needles may be gratuitous after all. Underson was very pleased and offered me a small pay rise. Received a note of commendation from the Bee Gees as well. I'm very pleased with Johnson's work - I may make him my personal assistant when his arm is stitched back on. Was late home after writing up the results, so I telephoned the library. STILL no water.

Saturday:

Was awoken by the postman with the parcel. I'd forgotten all about it. Inside was a box full of odd socks and an egg whisk. Mother must be ill again. Decided to get rid of the bricks left over from the barbecue. I put them in a bag, weighed it down with some kittens and threw it in the river. Some maniac screamed abuse at me and fished it out!

Sunday:

Didn't sleep well. Kept having the nightmare about the bucket of pens. Spent most of the day watching videos and eating almonds and watercress. Went for a walk in the afternoon. I found a big stick and attacked a stranger with it. Don't know why.

A-Z OF THINGS I HATE ABOUT GOING TO THE MOVIES

A is for: Advertising

Go to the cinema 20 years ago and you would be treated to cheaply-produced adverts for local restaurants, amusement arcades and bridal fashion shops, which usually consisted of a single piece of cardboard held in front of the camera, wobbling in and out of focus, which had a telephone number and logo on it. Then it would be 20th Century Fox or something and they got the on with the film.

Now it’s a glut of spoilerific trailers, more adverts than ITV ruin their Football coverage with, a test of the THX audio and visual systems that melt your retinas and shred your eardrums, and it’s always ‘A Cheeky Monkey Title’, or ‘A Cheeky Monkey Production’, or ‘A Cheeky Monkey Project’ … who cares !! I JUST WANT TO WATCH THE SODDING FILM !!

B is for: Blues Brothers 2000

An absolute travesty of entertainment which urinates on all the good things from it's predecessor, including John Belushi’s rotting corpse.

C is for: Carry On Films

How to write a Carry On Film in 5 Easy Steps; Bernard Bresslaw chases after Jim Dale, who trips and knocks into Barbara Windsor. Her bra flies off, hits Charles Haughtry in the face and Kenneth Williams says "Oooooh!" Sid James looks at Windsor's breasts and laughs like a stalling tractor engine. Hattie Jacques scolds him. The End.

D is for: Dark 

As in glasses, black suits, black ties, and possibly a hat or earpiece. People who wear black suits with black ties are so common in movies that they might as well just turn the camera off.

E is for: Edward Scissorhands

Modern-day fairy-tale conceived and directed by the interestingly twisted Tim Burton. Plans are allegedly afoot for a sequel involving new characters Richard Calculatorears, John Rulerpenis and Jemima Pencilerasorknees.

F is for: Full frontal nudity

A sure-fire way to get any film an 18 rating and add several thousands of pounds to it's takings at the box-office is to feature lots of lady bumps, and the odd one-eyed trouser snake. At least, that was, until it became commonplace on Channel 4 in the mid 1990‘s.

G is for: Git

That insufferable man who deliberately sits in the seat behind you in the cinema, and spends the entire film crunching gravel out of a crisp packet fitted with a 900-watt amplifier borrowed from the Foo Fighters.

H is for: Harvey Keitel

Mean Streets, Bad Lieutenant, Reservoir Dogs. He specialises in playing mean gangster-type people, which curiously fails to explain why he was in kiddie-ape film “Dunston Checks In“. My Dad likes that film, because it feature mindless cartoon violence.

I is for: India

I still haven't seen a Bollywood film. I think it was one of my new year's resolutions in 2002 …

J is for: Jar-Jar Binks

It has been suggested that Binks represents a human being created by over 500 generations worth of inbreeding. His place in the British royal family is assured. Since I hate the Star Wars prequels and would rather allow a diaphoretic buffalo to poop into my ear than watch them, I really don’t give a toss.

K is for: Kill Jar-Jar Binks, Jar-Jar Binks must die, Jar-Jar Binks death

Items that appear under the "popular searches" heading on Google if you search for "Jar-Jar Binks". Peter Kay’s Doctor Who monster was worse, but what the hell ??

L is for: Live action versions of cartoon series

Cartoons are cartoons - they - are - not - real !! Unless you're watching Cool World. And that had a cartoon / human bonk scene in it.

M is for: Mystery Science Theatre 3000

The format: A crappy old horror film is shown. Superimposed on the bottom are a row of cinema seats, two of which are occupied by strangely shaped robot puppets. As the film is shown they take the piss out of it. And that's about it. Now superseded by Rifftrax and the Nostalgia Critic.

N is for: No point in watching this whatsoever

Fifty Shades of Grey.

O is for: Orange, A Clockwork

Beethoven loving sociopath Alex likes nothing better than to get out of his face on drugged milk and commit some "ultra-violence" - until he is treated with equal brutality by the penal system. Banned by the director, it was re-released following Kubrick's death. The film is now unsettling for one reason: the portrayal of Britain in the near-future looks exactly like Alum Rock.

P is for: Pi

Tedious, plodding, pretentious twaddle - a fair description of Pi. Filmed entirely in black and white, it centres around a mathematician who is about to solve an equation that explains the universe. Or something along those lines, anyway. Later reshot as "Life of Pi", which sounds like a Gok Wan cook book.

Q is for: Quigley Down Under

The only film I can come up with off the top of my head which starts with the letter Q. Except Q: The Winged Serpent. And that wasn’t a proper film.

R is for: Rewriting History

America won and everyone else lost. Period. Hollywood is effecting the necessary historical changes. Apparently us Brits were too busy drinking Pimms and waxing our moustaches to get into the planes and fight, so Ben Affleck did all by himself. And the American’s DID NOT lose the Vietnam War … it was a score draw.

S is for: SenSurround

An early 90’s cinematic gimmick which entailed having whacking huge bass speakers screwed into the floor of the theatre. All the seats would then shake at strategic points in the plot, providing 'force feedback' feature for the audience. The idea was great for films about earthquakes and volcanoes, but somewhat redundant for documentaries and films about romance and teenage angst. And when someone shat themselves during the bit of “Jurassic Park” when the T-Rex makes it's first appearance, it was game over.

T is for: Twilight.

If you would excuse me, I am now going to be rather hideously sick.

U is for: U-571

See: Rewriting history.

V is for: Video Games

Dear Hollywood … can you possibly please, please, please, please, please, please, please just STOP making any more movies based on Video Games. They will suck. They just will.

W is for: Worst movie of all time

Titanic - you have to wait 2 bloody hours for the good bit where the boat sinks and DiCaprio drowns. Then you need not watch the rest of it.

X is for: X-Men

Best movie to be spun-off from a comic book. Ever. Period. Apart from Deadpool. And probably Avengers Endgame.

Y is for: You don't need to watch the movie because …

Save time, money and retinal wear by just reading the following list and not bothering to see the film;

* The Usual Suspects: Kevin Spacey's cripple character is Kaiser Sozay.

* Fight Club: Tyler is a schizophrenic extension of the protaganist's personality.

* The Sixth Sense: HE’S ALREADY DEAD !!

* The Crying Game: She’s a guy in drag.

* The Blair Witch Project: They all die and you never see anything.

* Titanic: The boat sinks and DiCaprio drowns. (See: Worst move of all time)

* Twilight: Nothing even remotely interesting happens the whole way through.

* Scream: The killer is the boyfriend, working with an accomplice.

Z is for: Zulu

Second most watched film by me and my Grandad when I was off school with Chickenpox. (most watched btw … is The Great Escape)