barrynicolson (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} barrynicolson) wrote,@ 2004-12-05 19:37:00 |
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A Plan So Cunning You Could Put A Tail On It And Call It A Weasel...
Has there ever been a finer TV series than Blackadder? Yes, it is a bastion of a peculiar kind of middle-class English wit, whose laughs are drawn from history textbooks and words looked up in dictionaries, but by God, no university student could hope for more chuckleworthy bourgeoise humour. Why, occasionally I forsake drinking on a Saturday night to just sit in and watch the entire saga in order. My personal favourite would have to be Goes Fourth, followed by Blackadder II, then III, then the original series. I always thought the character of Blackadder in the final three series was much funnier and less wimpish than in the first series.
Anyway, on to business. Last night was spent not watching Blackadder, but sitting by the phone pining after Franz Ferdinand, who were supposed to be doing a brief-ish phoner with me from New York at 6pm last night. Around half one in the morning their tour manager Glen told me that they were so caught up in a recording session that they couldn't do it, and told me to email all my questions to Alex and he would reply to them all by the time I got up this morning. He didn't, but hey that's ok, we all have to suffer a little in the wait for the new Franz Ferdinand album. Either way, he should hopefully email me back tonight with his answers.
In other news, I've recently procured a drum kit from my friend Adam for £250. I used to play the drums incredibly badly when I was 16, but I gave it up when I got bored. Now, however, I am determined to become semi-competent. It's all part of my current renovation project, whereby I transform my garage into a rehearsal studio, so myself, Richard, Jess and Nic can arse about noisily and maybe make some music, when we're not getting drunk. Other people's music, mind. I can't be arsed with being in a proper band again, it's a fucking mentally draining experience. Perhaps I was in the wrong band - in fact, I definitely WAS in the wrong band - but the tantrums, egos and pretentious guitar solos that were the defining features of my old band are something I could do without.
Other stuff that's been happening - I've found out my ex-girlfriend has a new boyfriend, who, rather fantastically, is in a band who last year tried to convince my mate Richard to play bass for them. He declined, as he was of the opinion that they were the most terrible band he'd ever heard, and sounded like a bad Oasis tribute act.
Finally, my best friend Jess celebrated her 19th birthday yesterday, and I bought her a crap present. Crucially, I didn't do it on purpose. Thank God I kept the receipt. I love Jess, but she's difficult to buy for. My original idea of a vibrator went right out the window when I realised I didn't have the brass balls to go into Ann Summers and ask for one. Scandalous really, that in this century of pan-gendered metrosexualism one still can't bring oneself to go up to the counter and ask for a double-intruder, but such is my prudish nature...
Has there ever been a finer TV series than Blackadder? Yes, it is a bastion of a peculiar kind of middle-class English wit, whose laughs are drawn from history textbooks and words looked up in dictionaries, but by God, no university student could hope for more chuckleworthy bourgeoise humour. Why, occasionally I forsake drinking on a Saturday night to just sit in and watch the entire saga in order. My personal favourite would have to be Goes Fourth, followed by Blackadder II, then III, then the original series. I always thought the character of Blackadder in the final three series was much funnier and less wimpish than in the first series.
Anyway, on to business. Last night was spent not watching Blackadder, but sitting by the phone pining after Franz Ferdinand, who were supposed to be doing a brief-ish phoner with me from New York at 6pm last night. Around half one in the morning their tour manager Glen told me that they were so caught up in a recording session that they couldn't do it, and told me to email all my questions to Alex and he would reply to them all by the time I got up this morning. He didn't, but hey that's ok, we all have to suffer a little in the wait for the new Franz Ferdinand album. Either way, he should hopefully email me back tonight with his answers.
In other news, I've recently procured a drum kit from my friend Adam for £250. I used to play the drums incredibly badly when I was 16, but I gave it up when I got bored. Now, however, I am determined to become semi-competent. It's all part of my current renovation project, whereby I transform my garage into a rehearsal studio, so myself, Richard, Jess and Nic can arse about noisily and maybe make some music, when we're not getting drunk. Other people's music, mind. I can't be arsed with being in a proper band again, it's a fucking mentally draining experience. Perhaps I was in the wrong band - in fact, I definitely WAS in the wrong band - but the tantrums, egos and pretentious guitar solos that were the defining features of my old band are something I could do without.
Other stuff that's been happening - I've found out my ex-girlfriend has a new boyfriend, who, rather fantastically, is in a band who last year tried to convince my mate Richard to play bass for them. He declined, as he was of the opinion that they were the most terrible band he'd ever heard, and sounded like a bad Oasis tribute act.
Finally, my best friend Jess celebrated her 19th birthday yesterday, and I bought her a crap present. Crucially, I didn't do it on purpose. Thank God I kept the receipt. I love Jess, but she's difficult to buy for. My original idea of a vibrator went right out the window when I realised I didn't have the brass balls to go into Ann Summers and ask for one. Scandalous really, that in this century of pan-gendered metrosexualism one still can't bring oneself to go up to the counter and ask for a double-intruder, but such is my prudish nature...
