Bloody Jordan.

In a piece of timing that can only be called 'fortuitous', two papers today have both managed to cover the same story... but somehow managed to write two completely and utterly different ones.

Why is this fortuitous, you say? Well, over at Enemies of Reason, the Author has managed to get in trouble with a couple of stick-up-the-arse NUJ members who came bursting into a recent comments thread of his, flashing their press cards and then practically throwing mud in the eyes of anyone who dare try and report news without one - Next time my Nana asks me how my girlfriend's job is going, I must remember to get 'Anne' round to tell her, lest I say anything legally dubious:- Because we all know that the newspapers never print anything as fact when it isn't, don't we?

KATIE: I Will Marry Alex (The Star)

Katie Price turns down Alex Reid after cagefighter begs her to take him back (The Mail)

Gosh darn it, wrong again.

See, according to "TV Insiders" and "Sources" (Which I'm fairly certain means "My mate John read the Radio Times, and he reckons..."), Jordan and her fella Alex Reid are getting married. Or they're not, depending on which one of these anonymous bullshit merchants you talk to.

Now, I first saw this story on the front of the Star, which as we know, is probably the most truth-free zone in Britain, and therefore I was slightly loathe to believe it - But the paper carrying the counter-story is the Daily Mail, and I'd believe a flying pig telling me I'd won the lottery before I believed anything that hateful rag has to say.

Each paper has even managed to find itself a named source to report their version of the story - The Star picking Alex Reid's management, while The Mail have used Michelle Heaton (Albeit copied and pasted from another paper) as their font of knowledge.

So, it's a good thing that Journalists check their facts before they fling ink at the page isn't it? I mean, if they didn't bother to get something provable or first hand, God knows, we could end up with conflicting stories, couldn't we?

Events like this only serve to prove that the papers don't provide news anymore, just hearsay and Chinese whispers, gleaned from any number of weasly, made up, discreditable sources - The Star, for example, stated that Jordan was seen giggling while reading messages "thought" to be from Reid. Now, is there any way in the world that could mean anything other than "Jordan was looking at her phone, and after a quick ask round the office, we reckon she was laughing at texts sent from Alex?" No, I don't think there is.

Furthermore, The Star claims that the whole thing was "secretly filmed" for Jordan's new series, whereas the Mail state that Reid would have had to have given his consent, and would have been paid - So unless they were secretly slipping fivers into his bumbag while they were talking, someone's telling porkies again.

Interestingly, both stories mention the fact that Reid is a crossdresser - Now call me naive, but what the ruddy hell does that have to do with the story in hand? Nothing, I think it's fair to say - It's a completely unrelated fact that has no bearing on the story. To be fair, both papers have proved before that they aren't above slipping in an unneeded mention to race or sexual preference before now, so maybe clothes are their newest interest. Next week, there'll be stories on Gordon Brown reading "Brown - Who admitted he likes blue ties"... I'm telling you, it's going to happen.

I admit, this is not world changing news - Neither the story, nor the fact that two papers have contradicted each other - But it does make me laugh that shortly after reading somebody say that journalists do so much work to clarify and correctly source their facts and work to reporting restrictions, two of the country's biggest papers have managed to run stories that go directly against each other, written by journalists who so obviously couldn't give two wet fucks about whether their source was reliable, what was the truth and wasn't, just so long as they get the opportunity to fling a little bit more shit at the fan that is the British public, in the hope that it sticks.

Seriously Anton, I can see why you wouldn't want a press card - They only seem to be for cunts.

And as a last thought: When is the Mail just going to face facts and change it's logo to red and white?



This man is a bit of a twat.

I don't like to judge people that I don't know, but this article of his indicates quite strongly to me that he just actually might be, in fact, a bit of a numpty.

The story is this: Charlie Porter, Freelance Fashion Journalist, was heading to a meeting in Canary Wharf. He had with him a red bag, in which he was carrying an iPod, Kindle, and a few other bits and bobs. The bag itself is very similar to handbags which are popular at the moment, and (And herein lies the crux of my argument) USUALLY carried by women - Looking at pictures, it even appears to have rings to which you could attach a strap.

So, Mister Porter, on his journey through Canary Wharf, is stopped by a Security Guard, who would like him to prove that the bag is his, owing to a large number of handbag thefts that have happened recently.

I would like to point out at this juncture that I am in no way criticising mister Porter for carrying a bag (I am deliberately not using the phrase "Man bag" as I know he doesn't like it), and I don't think that carrying a bag is 'gay', 'girly', or anything else. However, the fact is, in today's society, a man carrying a bag of this design is a little unusual - And in an area where there have been a lot of handbag thefts recently, a man carrying such a bag could reasonably expect to be stopped, if the situation was looked at from an independent perspective.

"Have you got any ID?" I gave him my cashcard, from the front pocket of the bag.

"What are your middle initials?" he asked. I told him. It was only then that he believed it was mine.

Did he think it was a women's bag? "You can't be too careful."

Does this sound any more disconcerting than being asked for ID at the bank, or post office? This security guard likely sees a few hundred people a day, and if men carrying bags often turn out to have stolen them, they're going to check you out.

Charlie then complains that the guard had considered him 'effeminate' for carrying the bag.

It looks like the sort of bag that women carry far more often than men do. He wasn't judging you or insinuating anything, he just wanted to check that it was yours. Why don't you understand this?

I know that in today's tolerant society, people should be allowed to wear and carry whatever they like, but the fact is, some people wouldn't know a James Long bag if they fell over one, and 99% of the time, a red patent bag is a woman's bag.

Charlie finishes his article by saying:

It made me sad too, that the codes by which we interpret clothing are so entrenched, and that something away from the masculine norm can cause such an unexpected reaction.

Are you honestly criticisizing a security guard for picking on something out of the ordinary? That's his job, for Christ's sake! He's seen something that even by your own admission, isn't usual, and he's checking up on it to make sure it's not a problem! He didn't hurt you, or physically detain you - just asked you to prove your identity (And he could have been a dick about that, if he liked - It's private property, after all), and then let you go on your way. No-one was hurt, no great injustices occurred, a man with a bag just got upset when asked to prove it was his.

One can only hope he never meets an airline check-in person.

Sue Reid.

Having just Read 5 Chinese Crackers' excellent post (Thanks for bringing this to my attention) on Sue Reid'd latest journalistic lazy wank detailing how all those naughty, naughty darkies have come over here and demanded their children be cured of their horrific diseases, like medical care is some sort of human right or something (Which is a moot point, as we know human rights are only for white, middle class Christian Brits), I decided to do something I very rarely do: I clicked through to the Mail's article.

And it would seem that the story is worse than I thought.

Click here for the map in question.

Only eighteen children from the UK? Quite apart from the fact that all this image is based on is a paper frigging map on the wall of a children's ward, You will notice that there are more stickers on Britain than anywhere else - The USA comes in second place, and given how hard they're trying to keep their privatised health care that they're so proud of (Nationalised medical care is for Commies! Oh Say, can't you sing...), I think it's safe to say that those Americans are not health tourists, which is what the article implies. Apparently 3 Canadian children were treated by this hospital. Well, that makes up for the fact that my girlfriend's sister just moved to Canada with her family, including three children then - I think that means Canada and us are equal. After all, as every Daily Mail reader knows, the only way to judge immigration into this country is to compare it to how much we do it to theirs ("You don't see us goin' to no Oogieboogiestan and building no churches...").

The same number of people came from Australia as Pakistan, but interestingly enough, I've never heard a single person complain about all the Ozzies in the country, ("They come over here, barbequeue our food, put up with our weather... Makes me right plum sick, it does") nor all the Americans either; And don't forget, the yanks were more of a 'strain' on 'our' NHS than both India and Pakistan were - In fact, combine India and Pakistan's figures together, and they still don't equal the amount of people treated from the USA and Australia combined - And as previously mentioned, both of these countries have fantastic health care systems, and neither of these countries are mentioned when the Mail start beating the immigration dead horse once again - But of course, it would be churlish of me to think that that's because they're white, Christian countries, wouldn't it?.

In fact, given the fact that 30 million people come to this country every year on holiday, I think we should give the people detailed on this map the benefit of the doubt - After all, it's entirely possible that their children have been struck ill while they're over here, and they've been treated by the well meaning and diligent staff of this ward.

It would appear that 5CC have updated their article with the following quote:

'Chelsea and Westminster Hospital is a specialist referral centre and cares for patients of many different backgrounds, reflecting London’s very diverse population.

'Of the 550 babies admitted to our Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) every year, a very small number of these are overseas patients. In 2009, there have been just two overseas admissions.

'The map was placed in the NICU nearly four years ago to provide the families of the babies we care for, as well as staff, with an opportunity to indicate their background if they wished. It is not an indication of country of residence or citizenship.

'It was intended to illustrate the diversity of staff working on the unit and the families of the babies we care for, to encourage everyone to reflect on different cultures, in a fun and informal way.

'Chelsea and Westminster Hospital’s NICU provides intensive care, high dependency and special care facilities for babies and is a specialist referral centre for neonatal surgery.'

So, a horrible article, based on wildly inaccurate figures, implying that foreigners are ruining the country and that our tax money is being wasted. All it needed was a picture of Jordan's tits and to implicate the BBC and all of you playing Daily Mail bingo would have had a full house.

Something else has just struck me; This was an Intensive Care ward for children. How many parents, when told their baby is dying, turn to the doctors and say "Well, get him off that drip, doc - We're taking him to Blighty"? None, I think it's safe to bet.

One final thought, however, and I truthfully hope Sue Reid reads this (If there's anybody reading that knows how we can do that, please leave a comment):-


Taken to it's logical conclusion, what Sue Reid is implying is this: That staff at this hospital have saved Children from a multitude of different countries, when they should have turfed them out onto the street for not being British, where they could die in the gutter like the dogs that they are - Hey, one less foreign in the world to worry about, eh?

I'm going to go out on a limb here, and say that if you were to peel back Sue Reid's skin, you wouldn't find bones, organs and muscles like you would in a human; just a shiny metal carapace with the words "DISGUST-O-BOT 3000" stamped into it.


Why I do Comedy.

I've been considering this for a while now, mainly because ever since I decided back in August to take the plunge into stand up comedy, people have asked me "what made you do that?", and I've not been able to give them an answer other than "Dunno, like tellin' jokes an'at, dunn-I?".

And quite frankly, I don't think there's one specific reason why I decided to try my hand it - Actually, I'd imagine that if you asked any other successful comedian why they got into stand up, they wouldn't be able to give you a definitive answer - Unless they'd written a wonderfully decisive and cutting blog like I'm about to.

As a preface to this article, I'm just going to write it as it comes to me, so expect some purely train-of-thought rambling, possibly some contradictions, and, more likely, no insight whatsoever.

For me, at least, there are a myriad of reasons why I will voluntarily climb onto a stage and tell the same embarrassing stories from my childhood to drunken strangers night after night, the first of which is the fact that it's so much fun. Of course, you don't realise this until the first time you do it, and every time before I go onstage my stomach is always turning, but the first time you get a whole room full of people to laugh at something you've said (And not like in school when you called your teacher 'mum'), it's a hell of an adrenaline rush, and you end up pushing yourself to try and get bigger and bigger laughs out of the crowd, just to get your hit - I honestly love nothing more than to watch somebody absolutely hooked on comedy perform - It's more like a dependency than a job to them, and I think the moment they lose that addiction is the moment they start to lose their edge. I quit drinking about the same time as I started doing stand up comedy, and truthfully the feeling described above is more addictive than beer, more addictive than any other drug I know.

What else? Well, you could take the fact that around strangers, I'm actually quite a quiet person. I have this paranoid delusion that if I show people the "real" me before I've got to know them, they're going to think I'm a thundering cretin with pathetic hair - And it can quite often take me a long time to feel comfortable around new people, lest they think me a cock. Put me on a stage, however, and it's a different story - Let's face it, it's basically your job to be a bit of a dick on stage; you're trying to make people laugh, after all! I'm probably about 100% braver when I'm performing than in the 'real' world - consider it a slightly less nerdy equivalent to World of Warcraft; an opportunity to be the person you want to be but haven't got the balls to be in day to day life - Whether that's a wildly offensive comedian or a level 30 Elf.

A lot of people say they got into comedy because they were bullied, and that doing it is a kind of therapy for them - Conquering the insecurites that yes, you might be fat, or ginger, or a bit ugly, but the fact that you can stand on a stage and make people cry laughing is something that not many people can do - And by doing it you've beaten those people that made you feel worthless, because look at you - Even if all you're doing is a 5 minute open slot, for those five minutes, you are the star of the show. People will hang off every word you say... You're the most important person in the room at that time, you're not worthless at all.

Of course, that does suggest that people might get into comedy to feed their own ego, and I think it's fair to say that people like that are the people who don't do very much before they give up. See, part of being a comedian which you don't get in too many other jobs is real time feedback from your audience. Essentially, what that means is if you're shit, they're going to tell you you're shit, and they're not going to have any qualms in doing so. Obviously, that's not great for people just in the game to feel important, or people not willing to admit that sometimes, their material or their delivery just wasn't good enough and that it's time to go back to the drawing board and rework those bits that didn't work too well. Same with thin skinned people - if you can't take a little unconstructive criticism from a pissed up prick with a DIY pritt-stik head, you either need to toughen up, or fuck off sharpish.

The more I think about it though, I think truthfully, it just boils down to one thing:-

Some people like to make other people laugh.

They like spreading a bit of joy, of happiness (And christ knows, in this world we need as much as we can get), and quite often, one of the most direct ways to do that is to stand on a stage made out of crates in a dingy pub in a town you hate, and tell some fucking jokes. You don't have to be some adrenaline junkie, hooked on the sound of human laughter, nor a bullying victim baring his soul to get a few laughs and cleanse himself at the same time. Deep down, really, I think all comedians would admit that the reason they do it, the reason they pick up that mic and step on them boards is nothing more than the fact that at their core, they like to make people laugh.

...Although, thinking about it, that means that really, my answer to the original question actually is "Dunno, like tellin' jokes an'at, dunn-I?".


But, at least now when people ask, I can give them a URL to read in their own time. People are very busy and I don't want to waste their lives with this twaddle.

I'm amazed you're even still reading.

That's it.


Fuck off.


A Poem.

To Ceri,

I miss you.
I am blue.
Wish I was in
Ca-na-da too.


The Papers.

It would seem that I've been a little bit naive.

See, until I started reading the rather fantastic Tabloid Watch, Enemies of Reason and Angry Mob, I pretty much assumed that the papers weren't as bad as people made out. I mean, they couldn't be, could they? Surely, if they really were as full as blatantly made up bollocks, people would pick up on it, and there'd be complaints, and the paper would be forced to apologise... Wouldn't they?

Wouldn't they?

Wouldn't they?

Huh, looks like the people who's job it is to inform the good people of this country are a bunch of wankers. Who'd have thought?

In seriousness though: OH FUCK!

Seriously, how are we supposed to go about our day to day lives with the media so willing to lie to us? I know that this is a very old topic that's been discussed by anyone who matters at one time or another, but I don't think people realise just how much shit the papers spread (For a rough estimation, imagine a farmer fertilising his fields with manure. Then double it. Then heap a load more shit on top of that. And triple that).

The problem is, if you're anything like me, you're either far too busy, far too lazy, or a combination of the two to actually research the stories the papers present to you - You haven't got time to look back at last Thursday's Star to find out what they thought about the latest immigration figures; all you know is what the papers have told you today, which is that THE STREETS ARE FULL OF THEM LOT AND THEY'RE GOING TO NUKE US ALL.

Of course, if you read the story through and actually check the details yourself it's plain to see that it's bollocks, but consider the main readership of the Star: Generally, we're talking blokes who have very little time for things that aren't whistling, calling women "love" and adjustable spanners - And as a result their opinion on the world is generally based round the headlines, which often read like JORDAN: ARAB SEX BOMB PLOT, which could be about an explosion in a whorehouse in the middle east, the script for Katie Price's inadvised Bhangra musical being leaked, or possibly just a collection of buzzwords lumped together to make people buy the paper. After all, I think it's fair to say that the editors of this tat couldn't give two lustrous turds whether or not the content within the pages of their publication is decent, just so long as there's words vomited carelessly on the front page that are either relate to darkies, cancer or famous bits being put in other famous bits - The exception of course being the Express, which would rather give it's main story to a cup of tea than a war widow - Because they know that daft fuckers will buy it and take it as gospel.

Speaking of daft fuckers, the daftest fuckers of all, in my opinion at least, are the columnists who write for these tat rags. Reading the literary piddle of people like Littlejohn and Amanda Platell, one gets the distinct impression that every week all they do is flick through the headlines of their 'home' publication, repeat the headlines verbatim, throw in a few "jokes", thinly disguised calls for militantism or blatant hypocrisy, then spunk it into a few hundred words an hour or so before deadline, email it to the office, and carry on deciding which pile of money they'd like to shove up their big ignorant arses this afternoon. "You couldn't make it up", as Littlejohn would say, after reading pages of (quite often demonstrably) bollocks in the paper that pay him nearly a million a year to be a little volcano of hate.

The Gig List.

Below you'll find all the dates, times and places you can watch me embarrass myself in the name of Stand Up Comedy.

No gigs booked at the mo - You change that by clicking this here link.

Let's Blog.

Well then.

I sit here, with my girlfriend in Canada, the end of Johnny Vegas' new DVD fumbling chaotically to a close, wondering why exactly I started this here blog.

And honestly, I don't really know. I'm fairly certain it's not going to be on one given topic, given my mind's frankly irritating habit of flitting from one obsession to another like a meth crazed, ADHD suffering magpie in a vault full of milk bottle tops.

So, as Russell Howard's new DVD spins in the tray, a thought struck me: Why not make it about anything and everything, seeing as absolutely no one will read it?

I mean, I'll tag and label it all nice and everything, so you can cut out the crap you don't want, and read the crap that you do.

Let's Blog!