Natasha Paton R.I.P.

This is Natasha Paton.

She died in a coach crash.

17 years old.

I have 2 beautiful, wonderful teenage daughters.

Life is so fragile.

It can never be taken for granted, belittled or scoffed at.

My heart goes out to her family and friends.

Moments.

Cherish every single second.

What is that, chicken?

Every night it's the fuckin' chicken...

So said the great Alan Arkin in 'Little Miss Sunshine'.

To which his son chides, 'Dad...'.

Then the comeback.

'I'm just sayin'. Could we please have something that isn't the goddamn fuckin' chicken'.

I'm beginning to feel that way about food programs on tv.

Mood food; romantic food; quick food; medicinal food; ethnic food; food, food, food, food, food...

Enough with the food already.

I'm stuffed.

And I want to be sick.

Deadville Premiere

Last August a team of dedicated people assembled in Belfast to create something fresh.

Deadville.

The culmination of which arrives on Saturday, 1st May 2010 in the QFT at 6.30pm.

The bar was set high, in order to bring quality production values in script, direction, performance and all technical aspects.

This is a bleak story of apocalyptic proportions, following the release of a deadly virus and it's consequences.

People do whatever they must to survive.

No-one is quite who they seem.

Welcome to our nightmare.

Oh let the sun beat down upon my (gullible) face

Kashmir.

Led Zeppelin.

The stuff of legends.

And, er, nonsense...

Apparently this spot is the final resting place of non other than Jesus.

He'd gone on a package deal after the little spot of crucifixion bother and ended up in India.

Rather oddly though, he failed to take advantage of the hippy trail in Goa and settled instead to get down with the Buddhists in Srinagar (rhymes with vinegar, I assume) in around AD80 or ACE80 depending on your beliefs.

Now the place is a must see destination to tick off on the Lonely Planet circuit.

Oh how the shopkeepers love it.

This week I shall mostly be saying this week I have been mostly saying....

Taramasalata.

For some reason or other my role in Twelfth Night has been equated to Jessie.

I miss him.

Both the character and the notion.

We need more Jessies.

People who think outside of the shed.

Characters.

Individuals.

Those who do their own thing.

Bourbon biscuits.

You know when you've been Tango'd

This is Nick Baker.

Nothing particularly interesting so far.

Did I mention he's a member of the B.N.P.?

Now I'm not equating the entire Orange Order with the B.N.P. however, the Grand Lodge of Ireland seems not to be saying too much over the little matter of him standing for election in his home county of Devon.

Nothing to do with us they moan, it's a problem for the Grand Lodge of England.

Nothing to do with us they say, our members are entitled to their political beliefs.

Of course they are, even if that includes the xenophobic, holocaust denying, gay bashing B.N.P.

The only thing missing from his fancy dress is the pointy white hat.

A Bitter Pill To Swallow

News reports this morning claim chemists who object to dispensing contraception or the 'morning after' pill, will be allowed to refuse to serve people if it conflicts with their religious beliefs.

So under these new 'codes of conduct', people who are fond of the magic man in the sky theory of reality will deny those who don't and probably some who do, the right to choose how to live their lives.

The beginning of the end of religion and superstitious beliefs is now well and truly here. It is time to enter a new era of rationality and scientific advancement to put to bed ridiculous nonsense such as this.

Those who indulge in comfort blankets need to be persuaded they don't need them to survive.

Those who sell them, should be regarded as fraudsters, snake oil salesmen or simply deluded.

Nanny State

Ah the joys of...

Smoking?

Nope. Not allowed. Bad for you. Bad for your kids, your mum, your nan, the barman, the kids you'd thought of adopting, the kids in your car, your colleagues, your clients and look what it did to that 130 year old Ukrainian woman, she's all wrinkly.

Meeting your mates on the street corner?

DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!

Erm,

Having an opinion and voicing it?

No sir, that would be contrary to Section 5 of the 'Thought Crime' Bill.

Looking sideways at a child who has fallen and split their skull open on the pavement?

WHAT ARE YOU SOME SORT OF PERVERT?

We the government would like to remind you the proles that we have your best interests in mind and that only we can protect you from cancer, terrorism, yobs or lazy bastards claiming mental illness is a real illness, I mean it's not like you've got a broken bone or anything.

The pound currently stands at 1.11 Euro, making a Euro 90 pence.

It has always stood at 1.11.

Visit China. Blow Your Brains Out.

It has to be commended that Google is set to stop censoring its searches from one of the biggest potential markets in the world.

They intend to redirect people to a Hong Kong server in order to find out about Tiananmen Square or the dalai lama.

To hear people in the streets of Beijing speak only reinforces the notion that

1. People are genuinely programmed

2. Totalitarianism is alive and well.

3. They are shit scared talking on camera.

That said, the business still remains.

Until it's executed of course.

No going back

Alas, it has come to this.

No more rehearsals, scripts or any other device to hide behind.

Tomorrow we begin.

With an audience.

Twelfth Night.

It has been fun.

And not so fun.

I'm with Mamet.

He loathes 'method' acting, describing it rightly as 'nonsense'.

No tricks or funny voices.

Invent nothing,

Deny nothing.

Damn you all to hell

Calm down.

I haven't had a sudden relapse.

Hell exists only on earth, in our minds and our actions.

This is of course a reference to those criminals, degenerates and power hungry liars within 'the church'.

Under every stone they hide.

Their mealy mouthed, pathetic, holier than thou 'that was in the past culture' attitude makes me want to vomit.

Do people not see the corruption, the cover-ups, the hypocrisy, the lies, the bullshit?

Criminals and those who by association condoned these hideous perversions should not be able to hide behind 'faith'.

They should be jailed, ridiculed, abandoned.

Once a nazi,

Always a nazi.

Red & Black Shack

What the hell is this?

Have I been hacked?

No.

I've been shacked. Red & Black Shack(ed) to be more precise.

The good ship launches at Easter in Castleward on 4th and 5th April.

We shall be there, in our Red & Black Shack, welcoming one and all to peruse our wares.

Wares, curios, precious things to entice to you accessorize, treat friends or simply cheer yourself up.

Do come along on Easter Sunday or Monday then. You can't miss us.

We're the Red & Black Shack

Welcome.

Come on in.

Radio Caley

Yesterday I had the pleasure of listening to my niece, co-presenting Radio Caley's afternoon show.

www.radiocaley.com

This emanates from Glasgow Caledonian University Students' Association.

It was an excellent couple of hours banter between Hannah and her co-presenter Mike during their

3-5pm slot 'Spectrum'.

The sounds were an eclectic mix and I even managed to get Flotation Toy Warning's 'Happy 13' played via Facebook request.

Hats off for keeping me entertained for a couple of hours.

Not an easy task by any means.

Coming Home

It has been four decades, but well worth the wait.

I have reconnected with my inner child and it is awesome.

For years I hid behind plastic smiles, forced politeness, feigned enthusiasm and tacit submission.

The medical profession will say this is known as an anti authority disorder.

I call it normal.

The connection was made steadily over the past few years, but only clicked into place this year.

I have ever since I can remember had a loathing of authority, especially when that authority is abused to put others down, be it in school, work or life.

Why am I telling you this?

The simple reason is I have had a reaffirmation of myself as an anarchist. I have always been one, I just managed to hide it away for self preservation.

No more.

No gods, no masters, against all authority.

This is the year that...

We finally get around to making ice cream, visit the American Folk Park and make tie-dye t-shirts.

Naturally, none of these things are remotely likely to happen, but it's good to have plans.

Last year I said I'd dig the garden.

Man I really dig that garden.

It's so pretty.

And yet...

What really matters, is not what you do but how you do it.

How you treat people.

How you listen to them.

How you speak to them.

How you love them.

Ah the drama...

This evening's dress rehearsal was a little rough around the edges to say the least, given that we are on stage in a week.

That said, there is a time and a place for panic.

Now is not that time.

Marshall Petain needs to take a chill pill, which I can provide on request.

Many others stumble and falter over their lines, yet I appear to be singled out for the firing squad.

'Tis no matter...

On the way home I got a text to say my daughter had been readmitted to A&E after falling last week and damaging her collar bone.

Now that's a drama worth making a crisis out of.

Ridiculous things to do

Last night, being Mother's Day and all, I made an executive decision to have an Indian take away meal.

Inventory:

1. Chicken Pathia

2. Chicken Korma

3. Peshwari Nan

4. Plain Nan

5. Mushroom Pilau Rice

6. Plain Pilau Rice

7. Onion Bhajis (x10)

8. Red Sauce

7. Yellow Sauce

Even bearing in mind this was for a family of four, I never wanted to eat again after finishing. This coupled with some white wine sent me on the mother of all guilt trips.

This morning it was time for the ipod and cross-trainer.

16 songs, 6.55 miles, 417 calories and 1 hour later I felt some penance had been done.

But my legs have disappeared.

Taking Woodstock

Yes I know most critics slated this, but it isn't supposed to be about the concert, it's about the build up and (dis)organisation surrounding Woodstock.

If you want to hear the music watch the official film.

Of course it's a fictionalised account of what happened, but it does a pretty good job of showing a freer, more radical and dare I venture braver time.

Nowadays everything is so fucking corporate, sanitised, sterile.

The database society we live in ensures our every transaction is logged for eternity, our preferences recorded, our junk mail chosen appropriately.

I am technically a child of the 60's.

The first half seemed to be in black and white, the second in colour.

Of course as with every decade it had its own hells (Vietnam, racist segregation, oppression)

It also had some of the highest highs of the century in terms of creativity in music art, counter culture and anti-establishment action.

Where are they now?

Anticipation versus Actuality

Tonight I am heading out for a spot of theatre in my home town.

The excellent Bruiser Theatre are currently on tour with 'The resistible rise of Arturo Ui', a parody of Hitler's rise to power, set in Chicago.

Swapping one gangster for another, I have seen a different version a couple of years ago at the Lyric Studio, which I enjoyed.

No-one could ever accuse Bruiser of lacking in energy and passion. Physical theatre isn't my bag at all (I prefer naturalism), however their production of 'The Government Inspector' last year was thoroughly entertaining and I know from my wife, who saw the play a couple of nights ago, I won't be disappointed.

I'm just jealous I'm not performing in it...

What is wrong with me?

I can't remember stuff anymore.

I'm deadly serious.

It's worrying me.

I was so looking forward to Tommy Baker's puppet show tomorrow.

Trouble is it was last feckin week.

I walked into the kitchen to boil the kettle. It never happened.

I was supposed to me a good friend for lunch. He went hungry.

Is it medication? Degeneration?

I really don't like this...

Gee (we've been) had

It tickles me when a news source refers to something as 'violent jihad'.

Is there a jihad or struggle to finish a Rubik's cube in under 30 seconds?

Or one where people, like Monty Python's 'Spanish Inquisition' sketch involves the comfy chair and cushions?

Mind you, in the West we threw a little holy war of our own via the 'Crusades' and more recently Afghanistan and Iraq.

Yet another cartoon has provoked someone into offering $1m reward for killing the cartoonist, oh with a 50% bonus if he gets his throat slit like a lamb.

If it comes to it, any conflict will be between the rational and the deluded.

Those who don't believe in fairies and those who believe in their own brand of fairy stories.

I know which side I belong to.

We don't need no headucation...

I noticed in today's Independent some rocket scientist or other has described schools as factories.

Wow.

Breathtaking insight there squire.

They're not factories of course, don't be ridiculous Mr. Man.

They're prisons.

They are designed for one purpose.

Social control.

Sit down, don't run. keep quiet, pay attention, sit up straight, stop talking, stand up, stop fidgeting, open your books and turn to page 39.

Is it any wonder, young people feel alienated, abused, controlled, frightened, isolated and turn to rebellion, 'anti-social' behaviour, defiance and hostility when they are treated like pieces of shit.

Pastoral care is a lie. It doesn't exist. It's a bullshit ass covering title.

The answer?

Make all 'education' voluntary.

Make it so out of this world in terms of nurture and stimulation and genuine care that people will climb the walls to get in.

Then have a look at what sort of society we have in 50 years.

It couldn't be any worse.

Michael who?

Ah yes, Michael Schumacher.

He's back in the centre of the circus ring that is Formula 1.

The 'sport' that has become so entwined in quantum physics that it bores the utter arse off me.

The 'sport' that allows, even endorses fake crashes, cheating, seedy and shady people in their shadier shades.

But no, you scream!

It's all about the competition, the skill, the rivalries, the excitement, the history.

Bollocks.

It used to be.

When I was a child it was about skill, courage, determination, sportsmanship and the best man won, not the radio controlled, temperature cooled, instrument recorded digital machines they use today.

I used to detest him, for his untouchability. In the same way I detested Steve Davis, John McEnroe et al.

Now that he has returned, the question is this.

Ringmaster or clown?

Nazi Spycalists

Unless you happened to be alive during WW2, it is impossible to grasp just what the hell was going on.

Even if you were, it must have been confusing in the extreme.

Take the story of the friendly exchange visit from the Hitler Jugend for a pleasant trip to an open arms welcome from the local Rotary Club and special praise from that old colonialist Baden Powell.

This followed being wined and dined by the Nazi Joachim von Ribbentrop, who ironically was driven to Mount Stewart in my own home county by my grandfather's friend, to be wined and dined by our own appeasers.

The founder of the Scout movement is also said to have praised 'Mein Kampf' as a 'wonderful book'.

Hindsight is of course, a wonderful book also.

Do you remember your first time?

Let's get this out of the way at the start. This is not about sex.

For anyone still reading, it's about memory, specifically your earliest one.

Memory is an enigma.

Do we really remember things?

Or is it hand me down stories?

Fragments.

I seem to remember being on a caravan site in Galway.

I seem to remember an old teak and metal Roberts radio sitting on the shelf of the caravan.

Brilliant, bright, white sunshine.

Holding my older sister's hand on the trip to the site shop for dad's newspaper.

Usually getting a few pence for our troubles.

These are my earliest memories.

Now I have trouble remembering what I did 5 minutes ago.

What was I talking about again?

These Are A Few Of My Favourite Things

Beginning with the letter S

1. Sunlight

2. Silence

3. Solitude

4. Shopping

5. Sharing

6. Singing

7. Sensuality

8. Solace

9. Serenity

10 Subversion

Cause I've seen things that you can only dream about...

Filthy Slush Puppies

You don't have to look far to find ridiculous stories from around the world.

This one concerns an dirty, filthy, disgusting, pornographic version of the Venus de Milo, fashioned in snow

It turns my stomach every time I look at it.

Thankfully, a decent, upright, moralistic neighbour had the good sense to alert New Jersey police to this obscenity.

A good thing too, as who knows how many young minds may have been corrupted otherwise.

Faced with knocking it down or covering it up, the pervert who created this so called 'art', chose to dress it modestly in a fetching green bikini top and royal blue sarong.

Public decency must be upheld at all costs.

Doing the right thing

I don't give a flying fuck about money. I don't give a shit about acquiring stuff.

I do care passionately about doing the right thing.

I want my epitaph to read

'But I tried didn't I? God damn it, at least I did that.'

Trying can hurt.

It can be hard.

It doesn't always work out like you want to.

When something grates on you as being wrong, expose it; shout it from the rooftops; rage against the machine.

You will be able to sleep at night.

You can look anyone in the eye.

You can live happy.

You can die happy.

Living in the past

Just for your entertainment and a little gin influenced (but not maudlin) here is the definitive list of all the jobs I have ever had the displeasure to have done.

1. Paper boy

2. Student Helper

3. Assistant Leader

4. Lemonade Factory Worker

5. Praktikant

6. S.S.

7. Sales Assistant Grade III

8. Assistant Leader

9. Handyman

10. Labourer/Driver

11. Civil Servant

12. Residential Social Worker

13. Civil Servant

14. Tour Guide

15. Education Welfare Officer

16. Actor

Current post held: Freelance Human Being

The best laid plans

You know one of those days you expect that nothing much will happen and you can chill?

This was one of those.

Unfortunately as John Lennon said

'Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans'

The ice cold shower was excruciatingly painful...

The boiler man didn't arrive...

The phone rang, the dog barked, the nerves jangled.

Tonight's rehearsal was as energetic and enthusiastic as an old dog being put down.

Tomorrow is another day...

Leave none behind

Ok then, here goes...

A friend has just posted a sad but unsurprising story of an old man falling down in the street and plenty of people walking by rubbernecking, but not stopping or helping.

Tonight's episode of Glee (yes I confess to watching it), features some wheelchair empathy and a character with Down's Syndrome who wants to be a cheerio cheerleader.

The moral of these tales?

A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.

That link is only as strong as we make it and allow it to be, how much it is looked after in other words.

To those who think they would make the world a better place by eugenics or genetic engineering I say this.

You are the deformed.