On my way to work I saw people spilling out of a club. Drunk men of such ugliness of the spirit and face I knew sudden violence was imminent. And bouncers who didn’t care: stood like Michelin Men in front of the gaudy facade of the club that didn’t care what crimes its patrons commit. Drunken men my age and older, out for a shag or a fight. This is Ivegate now. This is Bradford now.

Work is full of people younger than me and women who watch Soap Operas. Ambition is measured in the acquisition of jewellery. I pride myself on doing my job well. I like most of the people around me. But I stand apart. As much as I am one of them I will never be one of them.

As I get older I listen to the Rolling Stones more. Chart music seems to be ever shallower, karaoke iterations of bland truisms sanded down to remove any interest. Is Lady Gaga really that good or just the sole purveyor of music with intelligence amidst a sea of mediocrity?

I should have my current course pretty much completed the week after my birthday. Christmas will be relaxation ready for taking two more in the new year. When the economy rebounds I want to be best placed to take advantage.

There is a term used to describe the point in time that exists for hacks and exploits before they are first identified or publicised outside the group of users that created and use them: zero day. Zero days exist at the moment of creation and purity; the moment when their sole purpose is defined by the intention of the creator rather than the observer. The smallest of sub cultures before the moment either dissipates or gains some level of integration into the homogeneity of general consciousness. In my more romantic moments I imagine an ethereal spirit of zero days overseeing discoveries and realisations, shunted aside as they gain traction.

A zero day is a pin prick of existence from which a myriad of possibilities radiate outwards from, some never occurring, several occurring at once and many mingling and interfering with one another to create waveforms of existence and reality that are unimaginable to the instigators of the original event and often wholly unpredictable to anyone. A bit like life in general. For instance: dynamite. Tri Nitro Toluene (and it may be sad that I can still remember the structure) was created by a chemist called Nobel who became very rich from his invention. He also didn’t want to be remembered for this and created an award in his name to reward the brightest and best in their particular fields. For a long time they acted to establish Nobel’s name with altruism, human advancement and achievement. However the Nobel Peace Prize has long since become a political award, given to embarrass establishments, reward token efforts in fashionable pursuits and generally trading on its reputation to highlight causes rather than pacifists. And so it is that Barack Obama comes to be awarded it for rhetoric about nuclear disarmament at the same time as pursuing a hawkish policy in Afghanistan. Something that will cause death. Something he may come to be inextricably linked to. And thus Nobel is once again associated with death.

As an aside, there is a movement afoot to have Barack Obama named as (American) College Football’s best player through a rigged write in vote. As I understand it the voting makes it impossible for him to win, but he is certainly going to place as a result. Brought to you by the same people who made Rick Astley the best performer of all time at MTV and in the fine tradition of Hank the Angry Drunken Dwarf winning People’s sexiest people way back when.

On science and endings; Planetary 27 finally came out. As much as I think the Authority is the absolute pinnacle of super hero comics, as much as Transmetropolitan forever changed my world view, as much as Fell and Doktor Sleepless thrill and upset me, Planetary is Ellis’ greatest work. A century of pulp fiction and quantum and relativistic physics forced through the explorer hero archetype and distilled into some of the best comics ever made. And 27 reinforces the underlying themes of the series and provides a fitting conclusion with emotional heart while remaining utterly true to the characters and concept. If any other fiction moves me as much this year I will be amazed.

South Park came back. Not quite like the comet but probably like a swift kick in the unmentionables to popular culture. Really genuinely funny, but actually creepy with it. I can’t think of anything in the first half of the series I enjoyed as much.

I started an evening class in Book keeping. I thought the teacher was an absolute moron. I ended an evening class in book keeping. My other course continues apace. And, by apace, I mean at as fast as I can possibly manage.

I won an award at work for the month. Got a load of tat. Enjoyed the sentiment. Found out that we may all be working limited hours as a result of the postal strike. Changed the criteria by which I am looking for a new job.

I used to know someone who variously described natured as “untarmacced state” and “green is the colour of mould”. I was never quite so strident, but I do like the trappings of civilization. I like technology. I like engineering. Big machines fascinate me. And I get hayfever.

Today I was in an edifice dedicated to consumerist excess. Minding my own business, travelling down the escalator. I felt something on my neck, a tickle. I thought it may be a stray hair and moved my hand to brush it off. Searing pain in my finger and some form of yellow and black striped insect dropping to the ground.

My finger felt like it was on fire and swelled up. The pain eased some but is still there now (some seven hours later) and, at one point, my hand had pretty much swollen up and gone mottled. At one point the pain was bad enough to cause me to pass out. I think it is safe to say I am allergic to bee stings. I’m working on the assumption it was a bee because wasps have never had this effect on me.

I saw The Surrogates on Friday. It touched on similar themes to Gamer but was much more even and considerably slicker. The direction wasn’t nauseating and there wasn’t the feeling there were 3 or 4 competing films vying for screen time. It did, however, share a problem with Hostage: it veers into routine Bruce Willis saves the day with a gun territory rather than following the more interesting premise of the film to conclusion. It’s also too short to properly ruminate on some of its themes. It is visually consistent and features some neat touches and competent special effects.

Kanye West has become an internet meme. The basic joke is that you place him in a photo of an event and paraphrase his invasion of Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech to include details relevant to the photograph. For instance, you would have a photo of Kanye West invading Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech and have Kanye West at the side saying “Yo, Kanye, Imma happy for you and I’ll let you finish but I have to say that Jarvis Cocker wrecking Michael Jackson’s performance at the Brits is the best musical award show invasion of all time. of all time.” and the meme will have successfully eaten its own tail.

Speaking of which, I am sure he had a point. On the other hand, he was there in the first place which is a tacit acceptance of the rules and ridiculousness of the whole event so perhaps he should have held his tongue?
I have no strong opinion, I find it all faintly ridiculous these days.

David Cameron has been accused of being a con artist by Nick Clegg. Who reminds me nothing so much as David Cameron. David Cameron has also realigned his party away from the centre left in the European parliament and alongside lunatics from Poland. Who wouldn’t even be in the European parliament if it weren’t for the federalists. I am sure the irony is lost upon him.

I went and saw Gamer last night. It is a watchable and sporadically entertaining film that is, to say the least, confused. There feels to be 3 films merged clumsily into one and the crediting of two directors goes some way to explaining the schizophrenic nature of the film. Gerard Butler is largely under utilised as the growling bloke and the lead from Dexter given too little screen time as the main villain. But he is genuinely unsettling, which is a nice touch. Visually it is sometimes great and sometimes nauseating and does have some interesting points to make about online gaming. And also makes me glad I re positioned myself as a more hardcore gamer after years of fluffy mainstream play.

Before Gamer was a trailer for Ninja Assassin. This is from the creative team behind V for Vendetta and has been delayed by nearly a year. Normally a delay of that magnitude is worrying (to say the least) but it looks absolutely incredible. Probably going to be a very nice surprise to end the year on.

Oh, and I start evening class on Tuesday. With a second to follow soon on Wednesdays. So I think I will be online less and possibly less social.

Michael Jackson died. I know: there was nothing about it on the news or radio and you could quite easily have let such a happening pass you by. Even serious minded newspapers devoted days and days of front page coverage to his passing and I do wonder if he is the new Diana in so much as the Daily Mail and Express now have someone else to talk about. For the next ten years.

Bobby Robson has also died. It’s weird how some deaths affect you and some you care nothing about. Bobby Robson always struck me as thoroughly decent, honourable and kindly. A genial grandfather. Not my own, but someone else’s who you always felt had got some great family.

I saw GI Joe last night. GI Joe joins a rarefied pantheon of films that are so bad they’re eminently watchable in a sort of “I can’t believe they made this” way. It’s worse than Ghost Rider. It has special effects that look more akin to the place holders in the leaked Wolverine release than the actual finished article and features scenes so incredibly stupid that people were actually laughing at them. When they weren’t intended to be funny. One of the climatic moments of the film was actually lifted from a joke in Team America and several scenes only served to remind you how much better directed they were in the film that they originally appeared in. It is, in short, an abomination that seemingly exists only to make Transformers look like high art.

Two things: someone at work has contracted swine flu and id Software has sold up to Bethseda.

id Software has sold up!
Jesus. The last bastions of digital independence, programming heroes for whom innovation means freedom of the soul. When Frank Miller turned into a parody of himself and started strip mining his past rather than creating anything new or interesting, when Alan Moore seemed as petty as a six year old girl not being given a pony, John Carmack kept plowing the same path with zeal, integrity and ingenuity. He forced corporate behemoths to bend to his will, showed up his entire industry and became the de facto market leader in any segment he dabbled in. This is a man who is more responsible than any other for the longevity and adaption of OpenGL on the PC platform. Who bequeathed 3DFx, NVidia and ATI their entire (and lucrative) markets through sheer innovation and quality, who revolutionised gaming at every turn and very nearly went into space in his free time. I admired the man more than anyone else alive.

And now he has gone and (seemingly) sold out. More than George Lucas’ inability to realise not everything he does is great, more than Fatboy Slim releasing mediocre albums, more than bad films and dubious politics, this is the moment my childhood is laid bare and any certainty I had rent asunder.

Also, the lack of a sudo command in the command prompt in Windows Vista is really, really annoying.

A while back I complained about an advert with a faux American accent promising that a sale was strictly limited. This was then superseded with an advert using that same irritating voiceman but saying that the sale (while extended) would still end soon. This, duly, ran forever. And made an enemy for me of the store that it was advertising. Thankfully this run has finally ended. To be replaced by yet another advert with the same incredibly bloody annoying voice. So it shall come to pass: when he flies into a rage his enemies shall be struck dumb by his anger. And possibly incontinent.

Speaking of mad regimes, I felt proud to be British for the first time in a good long while yesterday. Too long, truth be told. The Ayatollah (I don’t know how to write or pronounce his last name, but it is not dissimilar to “ham and cheese”) has singled out Britain for particular scorn in a speech he made about how his country men should all stand behind his good buddy the mad holocaust denier in the cheap suit. You can judge a man by the quality of his enemies. Or country.

Bradford’s town hall clock continues to be a source of particularly inaccurate time. This week it was wrong on three of the mornings I went into work, stopped at midnight and two in the morning (or possibly afternoon). I live in a city where the council doesn’t even know what time it is. And possibly run by people so ugly their faces can stop clocks.

Up is bloody brilliant. Not as good as the Incredibles or Wall-E, but head and shoulders above most films. It’s genuinely touching, depressing and uplifting, beautifully animated and terse and pacy. Once again Pixar have opened up a gap on their competitors when it comes to quality of animation, knowing when to hit us with incredibly detailed textures and polygon rich scenes, and when to use the simple quality of their design. More than ever they seem to perfectly realise their vision, and their only limitation if their (very high) standard of writing.

Last weekend I saw Davod for the first time in over a year and saw his son for the first time. I saw people that I haven’t seen in years and spent the time explaining who I was. I feel I look the same but I have mellowed a lot. Or it could be I am not memorable. Juliette looks just like I remember her. She hasn’t aged a day in 8 years, even after the baby. Davod looks the same as his dad, just with fewer white hairs. His sister looks an elfin teen. I felt undistinguished and liable to age badly.

I have upgraded the computer. I may go into it in detail (mind numbing, spirit crushing detail at that) later, but the basics are:
Many SATA 2 drives have the facility (through jumper settings) to allow the user to force them to work as SATA 1 drives, this means they are effectively backwards compatible with a lower data transfer rate without corruption while enabling you to reuse them when the motherboard is finally replaced.
I have read a lot on short stroking. By using the higher capacity of a drive at an exterior edge compared to the inner portion of the drive for distance traveled by drive head I can get much faster seek and transfer times for data. Oddly Windows loading doesn’t benefit massively from this. Loading applications within Windows and general responsiveness does benefit though. Some programs load instantaneously and typing faster than the refresh of the computer can handle is a thing of the past.
Dual boot Ubuntu. Which I will be taking advantage of once I have an internet connection working with it. The idea of being able to code PHP and see the effect instantly appeals to me greatly. I know a WAMP implementation is possible but it feels more right, more proper, this way.
Google Sketch now works. A soft benefit as much as anything else.

I bet on Middlesbrough to stay up. I thought 16 to 1 was impossibly generous odds for such a result. They weren’t.

I saw Crank: High Voltage tonight. Whereas Crank was a pure action film, stupid and adrenaline fueled, Crank 2 is an altogether more insane beast. Starting with an altogether more improbable premise and afforded a budget which allows it to indulge it’s madder whims. This isn’t an action film, it’s a full blown acid trip that I would recommend to anyone. Anyone who isn’t offended by anything. Or squeamish. Or inclined to actually think about narrative structure or logic.

The cinema was virtually empty. A couple who no doubt intended it as a date movie left within minutes. Weak stomachs or a lack of sense of humour, the film didn’t even get going till after they had gone. In the rafters two girls laughed like drains. I was reminded of the time we went to see From Dusk to Dawn and stumbled across a pensioners’ day out at the cinema. Disapproving tuts to our every guffaw . . . .

The recurring soap opera at work inches forward. Apparently someone I tangentially knew (but strongly disliked) used to work where I do. And died of a heart attack. In the office. I shall find a delicate (not at all) way to ask about it.

The Post Office down the road is for sale and I have seen the listing. The asking price is 113,500 pounds. Apparently the weekly turnover is 5,000 pounds and the stipend for being a post office is 33,000 pounds per year. Something in those figures does not add up. At all.

Toni and Guy in Bradford appears to be closing. Where will the chic denizens of this multi cultural and cultured metropolis go for sleek bobs and avant garde hair now?
I seek to start unsubstantiated rumours it will be replaced bya shop selling naught but Kappa, LaCoste and velvet tracksuits. Or do I mean velour?

I had a dream last night. I probably dream on lots of nights but it is rare that I remember one. I was helping to supervise a school trip with the people I work with largely being the children on the trip. We were on the coast (although we were in Calderdale, which is land-locked) and I wanted to look at some huge motor or engine (not sure what the distinction is, to be honest) and the children/colleagues wanted to go and see Mickey Mouse. So I ended up watching a man in a not convincing Mickey Mouse costume do the same thing over and over again while I never saw my beautiful engine/motor and the children loved it while I stood at the back. Fuming.

At work today (he says, by way of segue) a girl who works in the main office (I work in the little adjunct where things actually get done and people aren’t desperately scurrying around trying not to get noticed) was dumped by her boyfriend. Who works in the staff canteen. Via text message. First he tried getting another girl (who I also work with) to tell the girl he was dumping to move her stuff out as he needed more space, then he just ended it via text message. She looks about twelve and I have never seen him, but I have an image of a spiky haired urchin who is all swagger and practiced nonchalance. It felt like I was at school, only this time hanging out with the normal kids and bemused by them rather than sat finding out about technology or drawing.

The bane of my working day is an advert for Coral Windows. In it, the announcer puts on a really strained American film trailer voice and tells anyone unfortunate enough to be listening about Coral Window’s sale. Initially it was a ten day sale, so as much as I hated it I knew it would be over. Now, unfortunately, the sale has been extended. And gives no firm date as to when it finishes. I fully intend to boycott Coral Windows and would beseech everyone else to do the same. Unfortunately, this course of action would leave them with excess inventory that I now know they will advertise indefinitely. In an annoying way.

Terminator Salvation looks like a good film from the trailer. Christian Bale has yet to turn in a bad performance (although he has been in some bad films) and the special effects look incredible. What I can glean of the plot is promising too. And yet. And yet it is a McG film. And he is one of those rare people with a reverse Midas touch. I’d say he is the anti-Christ of American cinema but that is unfair: the anti-Christ could at least blame his upbringing and parental pressure . . .

The Sunday Express has a headline screaming (I am paraphrasing) “Gordon Brown least popular PM since polling began – Worse than Michael Foot.” Now, I am confused. I know I was but a small child but I am sure I would remember Michael Foot’s triumphant victory following the Falklands War and headlines such as “Incontinent PM soils himself at peace summit” and “The wheelchair’s not for turning.”

The Inbetweeners finished a triumphant second series in the week. Not the saccharin ending of the first series, a savage and very funny look at exams and heartbreak instead. Often intermingled. Quite simply this series has been one of the funniest things ever broadcast and I would recommend everyone seek it out and hunt it down.

I didn’t go swimming this morning, I appear to have broken Wayne using the medium of water.

Wolverine is apparently doing quite respectably for a leaked, poorly reviewed film with bad word of mouth. Fox are not so much happy as breathing a huge sigh of relief. Or, at least, until nest week when the new Star Trek comes out and Wolverine loses over 60% of its sales.

South Park seems to be on summer hiatus without having delivered any truly great episodes. Stewart Lee has finished and The Inbetweeners is already on the penultimate episode of the series. The Inbetweeners may be the biggest loss, the new episode is brilliant and the series has been consistently better than the last one.

Swine Flu, luckily is the new SARS rather than the new Spanish Flu. The media reported it in hysterical terms, then reported on the panic and hysteria they created, and are begrudgingly reporting how it isn’t that dangerous really while trying to suggest everyone got it wrong but them. All the while I stood wondering what the big deal was, only for the thing I was wondering about to be in a constant state of flux, just not my reaction to it.

Gordon Brown is being rallied around. At the moment there seems little going round to rally round him because of, which either means it is pre emptive or the leading lights of the Labour party (a phrase chosen for alliterative value rather than any semblance of accuracy) are so used to him needing their collective support that they just do it out of habit.

A guy I work with was apparently resident at Bradford City’s Valley Parade ground the day it caught fire. It’s one of those things I understand as an abstract but never really had any first hand appreciation of. Shocking, really, considering I live in the city that it happened in.

I got a book on Escher, all the things I remember as being examples of his great use of perspective are, in fact, isometrics. All the things I thought looked a bit odd are examples of perspective. It’s a funny old world and I don’t know how to draw any of it.

I went swimming at an unearthly hour this morning with Wayne. There were 3 partitioned areas, one for the slow, one for the less slow and one for serious swimmers. Unfortunately I am above less slow in less speed and nothing like a serious swimmer. I kept running into the person in front while being lapped by people who actually wear swimming caps. I now ache in places I didn’t even know had musculature.

Last night I went through a lot or Jim Lee art and was inspired to draw. Which I have done, and it looks nothing like Jim Lee. It’s hard lined and has no feathering or hatching, at all.

Apparently you can now catch death from sausages. And Mexicans. Especially from Mexicans wielding sausages.

Last weekend, through poor planning and a lack of foresight, I found myself at Asda in Shipley of a mid morning on a Saturday. It was horrendously busy and full of people ambling along with trolleys they periodically abandoned on the aisles as they browsed and couldn’t find what they wanted. “Never again” I said to myself, and promptly forgot about it. This morning I found myself in an identical situation some 10 minutes later than the week previous. I really have to keep the promises I make myself, or at least remember them.

Bradford Town Hall Clock has now been corrected. The morning it was telling the right time for the first time I sauntered, knowing I was very early and was in fact merely on time as a result. However, if I need that blast of incorrect time keeping in my life there is always the clock on Bradford Cathedral, which runs about five minutes fast and caused some concern having been around Forster Square.

It’s been a week of little sleep as well as incorrect clocks. One night I went to bed at about ten thirty only to get a call at ten to eleven. a text at half eleven and then three phone calls from a drunk with the wrong number at around two. The following night one of the neighbours decided to set off a whole battery of loud and bright fireworks between about one and one thirty. I spent the following morning with the idea of reporting them for child abuse, drugs offences and benefit fraud they almost certainly not commited keeping me warm and awake. I also toyed with the idea of using a window trembler alarm through their letterbox as a more directed way of letting them know how not fun being woken in the middle of the night is. They’re late risers, I could do it on my way to work.

One of the few TV shows I watch, and the only one I watch as it airs rather than using BBC iplayer (or other means) is The Apprentice. It was the first week I picked both the losing team and the person who would be fired. I don’t know if that means it was more obvious this week (it did seem singularly obvious, but I have been wrong on that before) or I am just getting better at working out what is fair representation and what is a swerve to make the boardroom scenes more dramatic at the end. It’s well orchestrated television, but I don’t think it represents anything like business reality, especially in the current climate.

I also saw the new The Inbetweeners, South Park and Stewart Lee. The Inbetweeners suffers only in that it came off the back of a truly excellent episode and doesn’t compare. By any normal standards it is brilliant. South Park is amusing but rarely laugh out loud funny and feels oddly slack, I expected more ferocity and a greater density of jokes. I don’t know if Stewart Lee suffers in the editing, but his timing seems off and he sometimes comes across as bitter without being venomous. He’s funny, but sometimes he’s too deconstructionist and he wants you to intellectually appreciate the artificiality of it all, the construction and craft, rather than the humour.

I am slowly reverting back to the sleep pattern I had when I worked at the bakery, short hours during the week and catching up at the weekend. Three and four hours a night Sunday to Thursday and Friday as a decadent excess, burrowing into my mattress and getting eight or more hours.

I have a new job which involves working in the largest office I have ever worked in. The office is so large that different areas have distinct temperatures. Fortunately I am located at the cool end, which I find to be merely too warm rather than stifling. I sit opposite a girl in a shirt. And jumper. And fleece. Who complains it is too cold.

The office is largely full of (mainly girls) teenagers and the middle aged, with me being one of the two in that odd middle ground of old enough to shave but too young to shop in Greenwoods. The other is a woman who is a year older than I am but looks like she is in her mid forties having had a largely disappointing life (remember this, it is important). Anyway, apparently people have been guessing how old I am. And, for the first time in my life, they have got the age wrong by guessing too young! Apart from the woman who looks to be in her forties, who thought I was about her age.

Going to work, of a morning, I pass Bradford Town Hall. On Bradford Town Hall is Bradford Town Hall Tower. And in Bradford Town Hall Tower is Bradford Town Hall Tower Clock. Which is eight minutes fast. And causes me to hurry to work only to find out that the clock is in fact fast. Every single morning.

Today I went shopping in Asda. Now, when I shop in the supermarket, I carry a large sports bag on my shoulder to put things in. This is not so much to reduce my carbon footprint by using fewer carrier bags but rather because I find it easier to carry things like that. Today, in Asda, there were some form of scouts packing bags at the checkout with large buckets in which they hoped to receive a donation for doing so. Having had a bad experience a decade hence with a boyscout deciding eggs were a suitable foundation on which to throw tins of vegetables I don’t let any of them near my goods. So I told the girl I wasn’t interested and she went and stood to one side to talk to her friend on the next line and I packed my bag. Now, when my bag is packed I sling it over my shoulder with an expansive swinging motion. This is normally safe to do at the end of a checkout because no one is stood next to you. You know, talking to their friend or anything. So not only did I not give any money to the scouts, I also hit one of their number. That is how much I don’t want any of you dib dib dabbers packing my bags.

The new episode of The Inbetweeners is uproariously funny. Funnier than anything I have seen on television since the best moments of Father Ted. Better than anything this decade. It is cring inducing, embarrassing, crass and hilarious.

The new South Park had a really funny South Park joke and some good moments, but couldn’t really compete.

I finally watched Death Proof and Planet Terror. Assuming you’re even further behind with films to watch than I am, may I just offer the following advice?
Watch Planet Terror but not Death Proof.

In Bradford City Centre there is a bin designated for used chewing gum. Which is a great idea. On the bin is a sign saying “recycle your gum here.” Which is a truly disgusting idea. What is recycled gum used for?

The Inbetweeners is back, and is very good. Again. Astonishingly the entirety of the cast seem to be back also, which, when you consider it is an ensemble piece and many are just in cameos and that a year has passed, is quite an achievement.

Stewart Lee is as provincial and urban as any other comedian in the country. His jokes are largely routed in city living, especially London. I like him, but I think he could be better and find myself longing for Rob Newman.

Red Dwarf has a new set of episodes airing over the Easter Weekend. Is it possible to go home again?

The new South Park series is uneven. Sometimes funny, sometimes mildly amusing. When it comes back for the second half of the series it will probably revert to multiple part stories to stretch out what material they have remaining. It isn’t great but even when it isn’t great it’s better than most things out there.

Jaqui Smith has turned into a huge source of amusement. Firstly, she seems confused as to where she lives. Secondly, she seems to think that the taxpayer should pay for her and her family’s TV. Thirdly, she employs her husband (looking something like a cross between a sex offender and trendy college lecturer) to work for her which categorically isn’t nepotism. Fourthly, most amusingly, her husband watches porn on her expense account. That she is borderline incompetent isn’t the issue here, nor is it the corruption and stench of her dealings, it’s how funny and ludicrous she now appears. This one will run and run.

Stewart Lee’s comedy vehicle was plodding along as an exercise in mediocrity until this latest episode. The latest one is VERY funny. Even the linking sketches are far better than normal and there is a pleasant sense of absurdity running through that was missing in the two previous episodes.

The new South Park is also good. The global economic downturn seen in purely biblical terms. Only just not how you thought it might be. When South Park is good, it is very, very good. And makes comparisons that seem utterly ridiculous at first but are so well done they become obvious by the end of the show.

And this marks my 200th post, apparently.

The Guardian is the most transparent, honest and fair purveyor of financial news and recommendations in Britain, if not the world. I know this because The Guardian tells me so. In an offensively smug manner. Do you know how you can tell how good it is?
Because it has the financial news before the comments and not after them. On this basis the Sun and Star are even better at reporting the death of Jade Goody because they had it on the left hand column on the cover rather than the right hand one. And the Independent and Telegraph are utterly useless at reporting her demise because they don’t have her death on the cover at all. How can they sleep with themselves?
As an aside, the Star costs less than half as much as my local paper. And has just as little you’d actually want to read in it.

On the topic of newspapers, did anyone catch David Baddiel’s piece in the Times at the weekend about starting off his career with the Mary Whitehouse Experience?
Crap, isn’t it?

The new South Park starts with a Watchmen parody and descends into a sub Batman rip off. It has a couple of good jokes but isn’t great. In fact, I only laughed out loud a couple of times.

Watchmen has been released after months of hype and years of expectation. It cost $150million to make, required an unprecedented deal between Warners and Fox and has beaten many producers and screen writers. It opened below expectation and declined precipitously in the second week of release. This saddens me, but I am not sure how much it surprises me. Watchmen is a good film. It may even be a great film. It is not, however, a blockbuster. Too many threads are left unresolved, good does not conquer all and there is no final act of revenge, redemption and resolution. Not a crowd pleasing one.

In many ways the ending is that of the middle film of a trilogy, the sense that the real struggle is just beginning and that the heroes can still triumph. Unfortunately, that is not to be (and on the box office numbers we can at least feel confident that there wont be a sequel) and many viewers may leave feeling cheated. It’s also a long film that has to move at breakneck speed to get everything that needs to be in covered. It’s sumptuous and I think would reward repeated viewings. I await the DVD excitedly.

There is a new South park. It echoes what I feel about Disney and manufactured pop music perfectly. It is also as vicious as it has ever been. And probably disgusts and offends far more people that it entertains.

Stewart Lee has a new tv show. He was young and represented the shock of the new when I was growing up. Now he is overweight in too tight a suit and has white hair at his temples. His targets are deserving but obvious and he sounds snobbish throughout. I feel the same sort of sadness as I do at realising that no new pop act is ever as old as I am: I grow old and my future never came to be.