Alasdair Watson

I’ve been meaning to link to this for ages, because it’s side-splittingly fucking funny – Ill Will Press home of your lord and master, Foamy the squirrel. Go. Watch the cartoons, especially the “Five More Minutes” one you’ll find the archive. (Note – requires audio, may not be worksafe.)

Like Andrew said: go here type ‘marysiak’ (without the quotes) and hit post comment. The karma gods will thank you.

Ah, the vomit streaked back alleys, with their bouquet of late-night drunk’s piss. The drizzle washed roads. The sound of buses reversing in the night. Weird christian sects chanting at odd hours on a Sunday, and strange shops selling saris (apparently, the area is one of the top places in Europe for high quality Saris) and Bollywood videos and overseas calling cards, and assorted ghastly knick-knacks. The Popular Front.

I quite like where I live. One of the nice things about it is that parts of it are gentrifying at speed, although as the aborted attempt at a fondue restaurant that opened up briefly downstairs from us last year proves, perhaps not at the rate that some people might like. Still, it’s always nice to find a new bar or resturant that’s not full of pikey filth in the area, and we ran across a rather nice one yesterday, a place called Smoke, where they do good food, adequate coffee, and, importantly, for my non-beer-drinking self, cocktails.

And as for vistas beyond Tooting, I picked up the London compendium the other day, full of little gems about my beloved home, and Raw Spirit, Iain Banks latest, and his first non-fiction, book, an account of a tour of Scotland’s distilleries, sampling whiskies, and seeking the perfect dram. Despite his strange fondness for Islay malts (I just can’t get on with them myself – too medicinal) he does pick out a few good other ones, and I picked up a bottle of the Glenfiddich 21 year old Havana Reserve – I’m quite a fan of their 15 year old Solera Reserve, so I thought I’d give it a go, and it doesn’t disappoint. In so far as I make any sort of resolutions at this time of year, I think I’m going to devote a bit of time this year to getting to know a wider range of whiskies – I’ve got a few I tend to stick to at the moment, and I think it’s time to try a few more, so I may have to lay out the seventy-odd quid, and join the Scottish Malt Whisky Society, so I guess the question is, if I did, would anyone actually want to come with me (Edit: as a guest, unless you really want to buy your own membership) and try their range of drinks (preferably more than once, because it’s a lot of money to spend for a one off night out)?

What do I want in 2004?

I want the fucking war to stop, unsurprisingly. I want Bush out of office. I want incredible riches, or at least a property market crash that’ll allow me to think about buying a house. I want work that’ll challenge and excite. I’d like to write something I’m happy with, which is the least likely thing on this list so far. But most of all, what I want is something bloody new.

I liked 2003, I really did. I had a good year, but it was completely unchallenging. I did pretty much nothing I had not done before. I cannot recall any cultural artifact of 2003, however much I may have enjoyed it, that will really stay with me either for it’s ideas or execution. So that’s what I want in 2004. Surprises. Something unlike everything I’ve seen before.

Saw Fin play gig. Acquired cold everyone else had sense to have early in December. Went to shops on Xmas eve, despite best intentions, as brother and self had got Mum same DVD, so took mine back. Attempts to sleep thwarted by cold, rather than pre-Xmas excitement, as am now old, and like to lie in on Xmas day, although parents continue to thwart this ambition. Gave presents to family. Dad particularly chuffed with gift of collected edition of Master Li and Number Ten Ox stories by Barry Hughart, and a domain name of his own. Had Roast Turkey Dinner. Went to see Fin’s family. Dragged Fin back home. Watched Raiders of the Lost Ark. Slept, interrupted only slightly by cold. Watched rest of Indiana Jones movies. Made roast beef dinner. Pissed about on computer while Fin watched 24. Contemplating sleep and/or more booze.

Forgot how to use pronouns.

Given that I’m going to be away from my computer for less time than I am some weekends, but still, I’m heading off now, so like everyone else who’s buggering off to the bosom of the family or whatever it is they do at this time of year, I bid you all a happy holidays. Have fun. Eat too much.

Humbug I say! Christmas is cancelled. Return to work. Cease all festive activity. We’re a shitty species, and we don’t deserve a happy fucking holidays.

As you’ll have gathered, holiday mirth has fled my bones. This is because I had to give a statement to the police on my way to work this morning. I hoped on my bus, running only slightly late, full of seasonal goodwill – I finish at lunchtime, after which I shall go shopping for festive foodstuff and a last couple of things, and then I’m on holiday until the 5th, so you’d think it’d take more than a slightly crappy busride to dampen my good spirits – I’m used to those, after all.

What I got today was a testament to the depth of human malice and apathy. So, I’d been on the bus for 10-15 minutes, and we’re just passing where I used to live when a couple get on the bus, and sit on the top deck, at the back, a row or so behind me. Whereupon they proceed to have a row. Well, rather, he proceeds to harrangue her, some something involving a mobile phone. His every third word was fuck or cunt. This was pretty shitty, and everyone on the top deck was shifiting uncomfortably in their seats.

I’d like to say I was on the verge of saying something to him as a result of this, and maybe I was, but I honestly think it’s more likely that, like everyone else, I’d have sat there uncomfortably while he continued to berate her, because I’m not really any different to the rest of the toerags on the bus, but as I was sitting there uncomfortably, thinking that maybe I should say something, he hit her.

Backhanded her across the face, to be exact.

That rather made my decision for me – so, hoping the someone else would step in to stop anything else, I went downstairs and had a word with the bus driver, and got him to call for the police. Which naturally meant that we sat for quite a while halfway along the route. As far as I could tell no-one upstairs had stepped in, because he was still berating her when I got back to my seat, although he managed to restrain himself form hitting her again, thank fuck.

Eventually, the police turned up, and after a brief scene he was escorted off the bus, and I gave a short statement to the officers. Seeing me talking to them, he put two and two togther, and has threatened to find out where I live and fuck me up, but I’m a bit more worried about what he’ll do to the poor girl now, who really wasn’t happy to see the police.

So between this arsehole, wondering if I did the right thing, and the colossal indifference of the public on the bus (up to and including the living shit who complained to the driver about the interruption to his journey), I have no more goodwill toward mankind left, and am forced to declate the festive season at a premature end. I would say I’m sorry, but it ain’t me who failed to display any goodwill toward my fellow man.

In 24 hours, I will finish work for Christmas. In about eight hours, I will be seeing Eddie Izzard. But right now, I’m bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. So I’m going to do that 2003 survey that’s doing the rounds. But if it’s any consolation, I feel slightly guilty about it.

Out with the old

I got home this evening to find an amazon package on the doormat addressed to me. Upon opening it, it turned out to be a DVD – Pirates of the Caribbean, to be exact. The note said that it was for myself, Andrew and Marysia, and that we should be nice and share it, which displays either a rather sweet naivete, or a pleasingly cyncial wit.

Either way we’re all unspeakably grateful, of course, but the person that bought it forgot to sign their name, and we don’t know who to thank. So if they’d like to speak up, we will heap our blessings upon them.

Or, put another way: Ta very much, whoever you are.

[Update notice: Black Ink has new content.]

2004 is heading toward us with unsettling speed. Still, there’s time for one last look back over the year, and I’m in the mood for novelty, because it’s Christmas, and there isn’t any good new music out, or if there is, it’s drowned out by gimmick singles and greatest hits albums, and that fucking Slade song.

So, what new music has come into your life over the last year (note – not nessecarily released this year, just something you first heard this year), and who put it there?

In my case, the stand out for the year is Jason Webley, courtesy of Fin’s Mum. Courtesy of Jason himself, I’ve gained a greater appreciation for Charles Mingus and Leonard Cohen, both of whom I liked what I’d heard but hadn’t bothered to seek out more.

Honourable mentions to Mclusky, courtesy of zoo_music_girl and The King via stu_n.

What about you?