Surface of the Sun

Up All Night

2011-05-20T02:34:00.002+01:00

I think I can safely say this isn't one of the high points in my short little life. Sat at my kitchen table at two o'clock in the morning wide awake and drinking Carlsberg. This isn't what I wanted, I wanted to be cosy and warm all tucked up in my nice-ish comfy bed. But clearly I'm not, and that's because I dabbled with the forbidden art of napping.

Earlier on today I gave blood. Not that unusual, I've done it a couple of times before, and I've always been feeling tickety-boo afterwards, save perhaps a little bit of light-headedness and my left arm feeling a bit colder than the rest of my body, but never before have I returned feeling as tired as I did today. You know that feeling when your entire body feels like it's going to just shut down whether you're laying down or not? Well, I wasn't quite that bad, but bugger me* I was knackered. Come five o'clock (that's 1700 hours military time Mat), I decided to bite the bullet and go to sleep. Before now, I've been able to sleep for fourteen hours straight with relative ease, but for some reason, my body must have finished making all the blood it needed, because it decided to wake me at eight. Not a problem, I thought, and I decided that I'd just go to bed at my normal time and wake up a few hours earlier. After all, it's an excuse to see the sun rise, isn't it? And I'm sure you've guessed, I didn't manage it. Six hours on from waking up and I'm still feeling like I've had a full night's rest, and that's just bloody unfair.

For those of you who don't know me personally (and that's a depressingly small minority), I am a very good sleeper. I can fall asleep pretty much anywhere and strangely I actually sleep better through thunderstorms, but this is most likely due to the fact that Britain's thunderstorms are about as threatening as week-old piece of celery. Regardless, the feeling of not being able to sleep is very alien to me, and hasn't occurred in many years, but affects several of my friends, most of whom cope with it very well. Unlike them, however, I am not practiced in the art, and the only times I can remember being up this late in the past twenty four months would be either for work or at a party where I should have been in bed hours ago. Suffice to say, this is pretty new ground.

Usually I welcome time alone, but recently I've had a bit of a lull in my number of shifts at work, so I haven't had the stress levels that I've become used to over the past few months, and it's just occurred to me that I'm not entire sure where this is going.

I could ramble on and on in order to use up some of the time I've got left before my body lets me fall unconscious and hallucinate vividly, but that's not the nub of what this post is about. No, this post is about a very serious matter indeed, and I need your full concentration to help me work out what it is, because I've no bloody clue.

Should have though about this a bit more before I committed to writing it really.

*Please ask first, I don't like surprises

Working Nine 'Til Five

2011-05-13T19:14:00.000+01:00

I posted this a few days ago, but for some reason it seems to have disappeared. Most likely something to do with the fact that Blogger went down yesterday. Not one to complain, I thought I'd just repost it in its entirety. I knew there was a reason I made backups. Sorry, but the thousands of comments you all posted cannot be saved, and will forever be lost in the internet. Diddums.

Anyway, enjoy:

-

Tempting way to make a living. I've just got back from a shift, and despite my muscles being annoyed at me for standing up and my liver twitching because I haven't been drinking, I'm enjoying it. How long have I been at this job now, two months? I can tell you, it feels a lot longer than that. I may enjoy it, but let's be brutally, brutally honest; I'm doing it for the money. If I could have the same amount of money that I get from working for sitting on my arse playing Dragon Age II all day, I'd run there right now and hand in my resignation, but unfortunately it matters not how many sovereigns and silvers I collect from hurlock corpses, real money is worth infinitely more. But I digress, the main point I want to make is simple, and that is the fact that education does not seem quite as worth my time as working.

I am looking forward to university with every fibre of my being, but at the same time there's a part of me shouting "Stay at the hotel, if you become full time you may even get a manager's position in a few years time!" from the back of the theoretical crowd in my mind. Now a manager's role may be pushing it a bit, but all my bosses seem to be thoroughly impressed with my work, and it seems every couple of weeks I take on more and more responsibilities. I feel that despite the short time that I've been there, I've already left an impression on the place (or at least the staff), and it would be a shame not to exploit that and drain it of every ounce of life it has.

Of course, the path I will take (because it would be sheer madness not to) is university. With any luck in three or four months time I'll be living the vida local in Canterbury, learning all sorts of fantastical nigh-on non-existent words and their obscure classes, or giving an aardvark a skin graft. Then, the year after I'll be setting sail to Brussels to learn the ancient way of the sprout and gain disgusting amounts of weight with all the chocolate and child abuse*. Yet there's still that part of me that wants to cling on to the job I have, and to make more of a career out of it, and live a normal, boring life.

Then again, I've just remembered that wedding reception we had where ugly, annoying people demanding terrible alcohol until four o'clock in the bloody morning.

...

I'm going to uni.

*Mildly obscure film reference. If you know it, leave a comment below

Chocolate and Resurrection

2011-04-24T17:18:00.000+01:00

Charming. Every year we pay homage to the death and reanimation of our lord Jesus Christ. Even if you're not religious, you'll most likely give or receive some form of confectionary, or if you're unlucky, something inedible but ultimately Easter-themed. If it's not some sort of amusing fluffy chicken near-embryo with googly eyes akin to any worthwhile Nintendo 64 platformer, I'm not interested. If it is, I'm interested temporarily until the novelty wears off and it become just another piece of tat for Stuart Ashen to review.

It's not all bad though, there are many things about Easter that we can enjoy and be thankful for (unless you're a selfish arse like me). Why, roast lamb alone is a reason to get out of bed, without even taking into account the chocolate and other wonders. My favourite part of Easter though, despite the obvious controversies that were raised concerning it's content being 'blasphemous', is what has been known as one of the greatest comedies of all times. That's right, my favourite part of this momentous holiday is the most celebrated of all of Montgomery Serpent's works: Life of Brian.

Most people from bally old Blighty have seen the film, or at the very least heard of it, but for the sake of our foreign friends, the basic plot follows the life of Brian (unsurprisingly), a man who is mistaken by many people to be the son of God, after posing as a prophet and philosopher to escape the Roman guards. After unwittingly performing numerous 'miracles', those following him grow in number 'til the streets are filled with his 'disciples' and 'subjects'. I shan't spoil the ending for you, but it's more in keeping with Easter than you might expect.

As I said earlier, the film attracted a great deal of controversy by being 'blasphemous'. Now, if you've seen the film, and if you were paying enough attention, you'd know that on several occasions it is quite clearly stated that Brian is NOT the Messiah, he's something else entirely. I can never understand why so many people are so offended by material that's out of their comfort zone, and it does my head in. I'm an Anglican, and as I'm sure you can guess the film does not upset me in the slightest, and I don't know anyone who has. I'm currently sat here watching the film with my parishioner grandfather who is laughing and appreciating every satirical reference, every pun and every slapstick gag*. It makes me sick to the back teeth when people complain about such fine entertainment, something that seems to be slowly fading from out screens.

So, mild rant over, a happy Easter to everyone out there in interwebsland! I hope you all manage to get through the day without choking on your confectionary.

What's your favourite part of Easter? Leave a comment below and I can pretend to be interested.

*That's a joke, not a respiratory issue

It's Not What You Know

2011-04-07T21:53:00.002+01:00

Shoot me. It's been far too long since my last update, I know, but time has escaped me and I've only just managed to track the little bastard down. Don't worry though, he's locked up safe and sound in my airing cupboard with Keeley Hawes and Basil Brush.

What I wanted to talk at your about today is a new scheme to expand the audience of this charming little website on the big, scary interwebnets. I have been in contact with several other British (and possibly Irish, I'm all about political correctness, me) website owners in order to create a spread of affiliates, including the lovely chaps over at A Sitting Duck. I must say the interest has been phenomenal, and I have been literally inundated with a reply, and who knows, when the big difficult switchover occurs I might make more internet 'friends' and make the whole world a more popular place for everyone. That's right, I'm not just a blogger anymore, I'm a revolutionary.

So what does this mean for you lucky, lucky readers? Why of course it means that not only will I be updating more often, but you'll be able to make lots of new friends in the comments boxes (provided they load correctly, I really need to look into that). If you could possibly want more, you're a spoiled nobody who has never known anyone to truly love you who will die alone and unwanted upside-down in a wheelie bin desperately trying to cover your shame as mobs of those you thought were your friends laugh at you and make vulgar statements that question your sexuality.

If any of you are interested in affiliating with Surface of the Sun (or know someone who might be), please don't hesitate to drop me a quick email. Top stuff.

*404: Snippet not found

Poetry in Motion

2011-03-19T09:34:00.003Z

The modern poet. To proclaim as one is to commit certain social suicide, as poetry seem to be restricted to depressed inadequates who walk around wearing black and listening to Dirt Pram or SlipperyRope or whatever it is they listen to. Tis is a real shame, because as a nation, poetry is our national art form. The French have their paintings, the Belgians have their chocolate and the Americans have their ignorance, but we English (sorry Scotland, Ireland and Wales, I'm sure your sonnets are lovely) can safely say we hold more prestige in the poetry world than any others. Unfortunately, it seems to many that poetry is a dying art. I mean, the are bags of poetry competitions about, but poets don't get the same recognition they would have a century ago.

Or do they?

It depends what you class as a 'poet', but if you follow my view, you can't help but agree that one medium has made poetry more popular than ever, and young people literally worshipping the most renowned. After all what is poetry? It is a verse with a deeper meaning, or sometimes not even that! A good example is The Little Vagabond by William Blake. It means what it says, that churches should be more like pubs, and if you can read some deeply ironic meaning throughout the whole piece, let me know by posting a comment, because I sure as Hell didn't see it.

No, poetry has taken on a new guise for modern times, and there are an extremely select few who don't know of it. You may know it simply as 'music'.

Think about it, if someone were to show you the lyrics to a song you'd never heard (providing it didn't talk about "bros n der hoes"), you could be forgiven for thinking it might be a poem. Don't believe me? Try this 'stanza' on for size:

I have not bummed across America
with only a dollar to spare, one pair
of busted Levi's and a bowie knife.
I have lived with thieves in Manchester.

And now let's look at a modern poem:

I begged you to hear me
there's more than flesh and bones,
Let the dead bury their dead.
They will come out in droves,
But take the spade from my hands, and
fill in the holes you've made.

Not a huge difference really is there? That's because they both have rhythm, both of these examples have enjambement (where a line ends without punctuation) and end-stops (where a line ends abruptly on a full stop), and they both hide a deeper meaning. I'd analyse them for you now, but I'll leave you to do that if you so desire.

It'll never be accepted by the poets society, but when bands like Mumford and Sons can write more meaningful words than William McGonagall, those in charge can do what they like, it's not going to make Mumford run away crying. Bear in mind though, there is a lot of modern music I wouldn't call poetry because they hold no meaning or real soul, and this is true for a lot more of the 'popular' music. Let's be honest though, N-Dubzzy Snoopy Dogg are more popular than Great Lake Swimmers, and Carol Ann Duffy is more popular than Simon Armitage. You can work the maths out for yourself.

*Super special bonus points for anyone who noticed that the example poem stanza and song verse were in fact the wrong way around. I really am a cheeky devil at times, aren't I?
'It Ain't What You Do it's What it Does to You' belongs to Simon Armitage
'Thistle and Weeds' belongs to Mumford and Sons

Be a Man, Man

2011-03-06T17:11:00.002Z

These days with feminism on the rise, it seems that men are expected to prove just how manly they are, but still remain sensitive, caring, and most of all it seems, domesticated.

That's right lads, you've got to learn how to cook. But don't worry, there's nothing saying what or how you have to cook, so here's my how-to on making a manly meal for men who, like men, like women. Man.

It's simple really, you just have to remember the five steps of MANLY cooking:

Meaty
And
Nutritionally
Lacking
YEAH

Follow these guidelines to the letter, and soon you too will be a man of the kitchen. That's right, A MAN!

Still stuck? Not to worry, here are a few traditional recipes with a manly nipple twist to them to give you some inspiration.

-

Chicken Chow Man
Cover chicken in batter
Deep-fry chicken
Head butt pan of water repeatedly to bring it to the boil
Spit rice in boiling water
Mix chicken & rice
Add gravel
Cover in salt & HP Sauce
Serve on corrugated iron

Muscle Stew
Boil own arm year-old chip fat for 30 minutes
Serve in cupped hands

Mansagne
Basic lasagne recipe with the following changes:
Replace mince with steak
Replace roux sauce with chilli sauce & Branston pickle
Replace pasta with photos of loved ones*
Serve

Leather Jacket Potatoes
Pick out the three largest, fluffiest and most delicate potatoes you can find
Galvanise potatoes
Cover in best-before 1981 olive oil and light
Build bonfire around potatoes and leave for thirty seconds
Climb into fire and retrieve potatoes
Serve with bark

Steel and Kidney Pie
Attack frozen steak and kidney pie with steel girders until sufficiently heated through
Serve

-

Got your own recipe idea? Post a comment below or email me, and maybe (just maybe) I'll give it a go and post a review on a future update.

UPDATE: These lads have the right idea

*Of course (being a man), these will all be self-portraits

Counter-Sausage Measures

2011-03-03T19:43:00.001Z

Chatroulette. We all know it, and a lot of us loathe it. If it's not sweaty fifty year olds trying it on, it's a laughably sized phallus staring you in the face. Of course, we've all heard the legends of the man on the piano, and people with something genuinely interesting to say or an amusing hand puppet, but do we ever see these elusive figures? Of course we don't. How to make Chatroulette worthwhile then? Well it's quite simple if you're not a completely useless bastard: take the initiative to be one of the interesting people. Easy enough, you may think, but it'll require some enthusiasm and a lack of shame. Here's a few ideas to get the old creativity flowing...

Place a sheet over your face and pretend to be a ghost

Place the webcam in your mouth*

Read passages from the Bible and claim to wreak God's wrath upon your chat partner

Treat men as women and women as men

Selotape your face into obscure positions

Throw rice at the webcam and laugh manically

Draw a Hitler moustache on your screen at random and wait for that beautiful, fleeting moment when it lands on someone's top lip

Lower the lighting to disguise your face, and make sexual advances to people whilst keeping the subject of your gender ambiguous

Dress as Paul McCartney and convert people to vegetarianism

Attempt to baffle your chat partner with card tricks

Cover the webcam lens with jam and cream, and lick it off without using your hands to hold it

Pretend to have an epileptic fit

*Best with a throat infection

A Matter of Time

2011-02-25T15:04:00.002Z

It had to happen. That's right, it's quintessential audience interaction day! Or to put it another way, it's time for a re-think.

What with me branching out into the vlogosphere, I'm getting my thinking cap on in the direction of a complete design overhaul. That's right, Surface of the Sun is going to be re-designed with a brand new layout for the modern man and/or woman. Georgia's out, and that'll probably mean Helvetica is in, but enough of this talk of fonts, I'm looking to create a more visually appealing and functional site for you lot to have a lovely little browse on.

The thing is, I can't get started until I've had some input from you lot. What parts of the site do you like best, and what other features would you like to see? A homepage for example? An immediate link to my latest blog entry/video?

The fate of the site rests in your keyboard, so get cracking!*

Better still, if you know anyone with experience in this sort of thing, get them to drop me a line: alexolney@surfaceofthesun.co.uk

*Don't actually crack your keyboard, tithead

5000 Views

2011-02-22T15:09:00.003Z

Five thousand hits. My blog has received five thousand hits? I'd scarcely believe it myself if I hadn't been monitoring the progress since I made it, but nevertheless, it's arrived. A real milestone in my eyes. The fact that there have been five thousand occasions where someone has clicked on a link that I made staggers me, and I couldn't have done it without you lot. At least, not without an auto-refreshing script and no consideration for my pride.

In honour of this, I'm pleased to announce a new direction for Surface of the Sun in the form of vlogging (that's video blogging, oh I'm so witty). Don't worry, a majority of the updates will still be your good old fashioned text form, but every so often I'll treat you all to a lovely poor-quality vid.

You lucky sorts you.

Anyway, here's the first of what could be many videos I'll be making for this. Enjoy.

*Third 'S' not available in any countries

Celebrate Good Times

2011-02-14T17:24:00.002Z

It's that time of year. Every couple are exchanging romantic presents (read: a teddy bear holding a heart) and expressing just how they feel about one another. Nice, isn't it? Even as a single man I do enjoy how this one days brings people together, despite all of the commercialisation of it. I can understand why people get angry over how tacky most celebrations seem to have become, but no-one is forcing you to buy any of this tat, you buy it on your own accord. What's stopping you, say, making a handmade card? Unless you don't have hands, in which case you can make them a footmade card. Now that's dedication. There are so many different ways you can express your love to someone* (or something), so be a little bit different.

To celebrate the death of St. Valentine (that's right, he died on this day), I've rooted through records and peeked under rugs for all of the events that have fallen out of tradition in modern society, so we can start reliving the good old celebrations of yore. Aren't I lovely?

Harrington Sunday (2nd Sunday of July)
Named after sir Harrington Harrington, Harrington Sunday is the one day of the year which is dedicated to the recycling of all organic and synthetic mucus. For one day a year, the descendants of sir Harrington collect the nation's mucus, and turn it into a delicious and nutritious broth, to be served to anyone who wishes for it. The ceremony was sadly dropped after NHS reports deemed the practice 'unhygienic'.

Postman's Day (26th January)
In years gone by, it was customary on this date for the people of Wales to be conscripted into the role of postmen and postladies, and to deliver small gifts to their leader, Lord Cardiff. Cardiff has of course passed on since this tradition was exercised, and so did the celebrations. The Welsh are now free to do as they please on this day.

Dilworthering (3rd October)
On this merry day, it was (and still is in certain parts of Lancashire) traditional to approach young and attractive strangers in the street and engage in sexual congress in the traditional Dilworthian way (on a tandem). Memories of this day ring clearly in the minds of famous persons such as the Duke of Wellington, Frank Sinatra, and of course Anubis, god of the afterlife.

Blarmalade Blunday (5th Monday of November)
Almost unheard of these days, Blarmalade Blunday is the anniversary of one of the greatest scientific discoveries of last generation, the invention of fruit preserves. Founded by Sgt. Armbrad of Basingstoke, Blarmalade Blunday gets it's unusual name from a speech impediment that caused him to be completely unable to pronounce the letter 'm' at the start of a word. Armbrad discovered the art of preserving fruit after an enormous radioactive blast caused a pulverised nectarine and a bag of sugar to somehow combine on a molecular level. These days the same method is used, which is why jam making is such a dangerous profession, and should never be attempted at home.

Opposite Day (CLASSIFIED)
That's right, Opposite Day isn't just a ruse your friends and family member used to pull on you. Allocated with the mysterious Tlentifiti calendar (which has long been forgotten), only a handful of officials and whippets know when this actually occurs. In my efforts of discovering this day, I also uncovered the date of this event, but for the sake of my own safety I cannot repeat it to you. If you should find me acting suspiciously on a particular day of the year, you'll know why.

*The missionary is so last winter

Fix You

2011-02-04T22:08:00.005Z

Is it really that easy? I've always been very sympathetic towards people struggling with addictions, be it gambling, alcohol or (most commonly) smoking. Usually they get pressured into trying it, and before they know it they aren't able to go a day without at least thinking about their vice. I understand that nobody (with half a brain) wants to be addicted to anything, and I myself haven't fallen prey to any such raptures, I simply don't have the patience or determination, but I had thought the other day...

How does someone become addicted to something?

Obviously the thrill is the main factor, and becoming reliant on it to remain in equilibrium taking a firm second, and all those lovely chemical reactions that make our brains so delightfully interesting and complicated are interlaced into the whole palaver, but why are certain people more susceptible to the clutches of addiction than others? Is it a biological reason or is it ourely down to willpower? Is it perhaps the same drive that causes people to commit heinous crimes? I decided to investigate and present to you some fairly conclusive facts and statistics* which you can read exclusively here:

7/20 men under the age of 25 are addicted to embroidery

50% of women are metaphysical kleptomaniacs

Hedgehogs are unable to perform any act of sin

7 in 3 people gamble using primary school maths skills

Vegetarians are actually just addicted to performing acts of indecency with botanical paraphernalia and posting them on internet forums

25% of all alcoholics make up one quarter of all those addicted to alcohol

All but one of drugs in the class A category contain sheep's tears

Those who are addicted to wool are referred to on the news as 'paedophiles'

23% of latex bondage gear is based on fossilised stone blueprints

Suicide is the most effective method for giving up smoking

The word 'addict' derives the Greek 'adicctus horridium', meaning someone who dips one's testicles in hot porridge

After extensive analysis of the facts above, I simply cannot determine whether addiction is a mental or physical anomaly. You're going to have to draw your own conclusion I'm afraid, I can't do everything for you.

*All of the facts in this article are true, apart from this one

Freud Would be Proud

2011-01-26T07:54:00.002Z

The theatre. It's been a fair while since I've been. I think the last thing I saw was a performance of James and the Giant Peach (minus Joanna Lumley, plus a cockney centipede with a boot fetish), which was performed at the Sundial Theatre, which just so happens to be in my college. Now I've always loved the theatre, but I've generally orientated towards either comedies or I've been taken to pantomimes as a child, but last night changed everything.

I went to see Oedipus, a Greek tragedy which most people will know the story of (boy is abandoned, unwittingly kills father, unknowingly marries mother, bears weird mutant tomato children*, discovers the truth, gouges eyes out to prove a point), but even so, this sort of performance is THE reason why film and television will never reach the level of meaning and depth as the stage, even with all this new-fangled 3D technology.

In a bid to promote my friends' certain future careers, I strongly urge you if you can to go and see the show tonight (Wednesday 26th Jan 2011) or tomorrow (you work the date out). Hell, if you're a full-time student, it'll only cost you four hundred of your new English pence, and let me tell you that it is easily worth that, and then some.

To Alice and Alex, you've restored my faith in the performing arts, which certain people (McCallum, Calder, my office, now) had all but destroyed. Sod your ridiculous horror films made by hapless retards who don't know what an 18k light is (yeah) and get your arse down to see some proper performing. Be moved to tears by fleeting actions such as suicide or self-blinding and watch Oedipus at the Sundial Theatre tonight or tomorrow. It's in Cirencester College, performed by students who express more skill in a wobbly bottom lip than most of the filth people call 'actors' on these snazzy, new, modern programmes have in their entire repertoire of shouting "g'day, mate, I'm in Neeeeeighbours" in high pitched voices. It's not often you see a show where the chorus who have seen the show ninety-nine times before are blubbing as Oedipus holds his beloved daughters/cursed sisters for the final time now, is it?

*I wasn't joking

The Best of... The Nineties

2011-01-23T17:04:00.000Z

I have an opinion. I know, it's controversial for me to express myself in such a way, but just bear with me and all will be explained.

There have been many periods of time, the sixties and nineties to name a couple, but for all three of the decades that I've sampled (and you have no idea how old that makes me feel), the latter tops my charts any day of the week. Were it not for those glorious ten years, not only would I not be around, but neither would many of my nearest and dearest. Having said that, the only competition it faces is the nouts (I refuse to call it the noughties), and our current decade, currently without a title, so I have taken the liberty of giving it one. As our third millennia races towards adolescence, I have lovingly coined the time 'the pubies'. With the pubies barely starting to grow, and the nouts being the age of imbalanced hormones for myself, they don't really have much going for them.

In honour of these fine ten years, I have decided to share with you (you lucky, lucky person) a completely objective view of the very best of the nineties. So turn your baseball cap around, plug in your VCR and pour yourself a glass of Sunny Delight. You're in for a mildly thrilling ride.

Sooty
Sooty is the stuff of legend, a small yellow bear with a heart the size of the moon, albeit with a little mischief buried in his psyche. Anyone who hasn't been blessed with any knowledge of this little bundle of joy quite simply has not lived, and should type his name into YouTube immediately.
Sooty is the longest running children's television character, and coupled with his friends Sweep the dog, Soo the Panda and every so often his pesky little cousin Scampi, he has managed to find a place in the hearts of every self-respecting human in Britain.
Although he was not the first to don the puppet, Matthew Corbett will always be the man I associate with this charming array of characters. His warm, loving exterior and the mind and heart of a true parent made him an unforgettable asset to Sooty and his crew. His father, Harry Corbett, designed the toy to entertain Matthew when he was only a child, little did he know that his creation would be remembered for generations upon generations to come.
More recently, Sooty has adopted a much more modern approach, and now without a television show, he appears only on stage with new mentors and characters by his side. The new ones are simply not the same, unfortunately, but nevertheless, Sooty lives on, and will be available on tape for many, many years to come.

The Neverhood
An underrated gem of a computer game, The Neverhood was released in 1996. I'm including it on here as a bit of a cheat, as I never actually played the full version of the game until a few years ago, but believe me when I tell you that I had the demo on a disc when I was seven. Anybody who wants to argue, take it up with my parents for not conceiving me sooner.
Back on topic, the game itself is a point-and-click adventure with fairly standard gameplay, and nothing exactly to write home about. The reason this game is what it is is quite simply the humour and visuals are unmatched by anything I've played since. Ok, there are funnier games and games that will have better graphics, but the simple fact is that no other game to date (that I know of) has been so adventurous as to make an entire game using stop-motion and claymation for it's graphics. The sheer charm of the design is more than enough to sell the game, but the comic elements make the cut-scenes something historical. Who doesn't want to see a man made of clay running from an insect-like monster twice his size, scream like a girl and run into a closed door?*
The game didn't sell very well unfortunately, and the only real way you can find it these days is the bastion of everything out of date, eBay. If you're looking for a laugh though, you won't find anything more likely to perk you up on Windows 95 than this. Speaking of Windows 95...

Windows 95 and the Birth of the Internet
Anyone who owned a computer with 95 running as the operating system will know all too well of the words "It is now safe to turn off your computer", but whether they'll be emblazoned on your retinas like me is unlikely. A computer that can't turn itself off would be complete madness today, but yes, they existed, and they had a whole load of loveable crap on them as well.
Running with only 256 colours, old computers could barely display anything without having to use interlaced dots to show colour mixes, but we loved them. Remember floppy discs? Happy days...
The internet was also just appearing, allowing us to have dial-up connections to the entire world of human knowledge (or as it was back then, Encarta). Ashamedly, I can still hum the sound my phoneline as it struggled to make contact with the outside world.

Pokémon
What sort of a man would I be if I didn't mention the very fabric that I was raised on? Pokémon revolutionised our lives with 151 quirky Japanese critters that didn't mind fighting on command and having their molecular structure disassembled so they could fit in our Pokéballs. That sounds a bit unsanitary now I look at it again; perhaps the creator was a bit frustrated and lonely.
Pokémon Red and Blue versions were released in 1996 on the most amicable of consoles, the Gameboy, and was the biggest boom the video game industry has ever seen. Anyone who was anyone had at least one of the versions, if not both, and don't even get me started on how many of the trading cards I bought (and still own).
Pikachu was the face, of course, and no matter what anyone did, he always seemed to come back to us. Even my friend who lost his Pocket Pikachu at school managed to find it again years later, and it worked to boot. It seems that no matter how many new and shiny (pun intended) Pokémon they make, Pikachu will always be the one everyone knows.

Pogs
Here's a slap in the face with some hot, throbbing nostalgia. Those little discs brought us all so much glee, and best of all, to get them you had to eat crisps. Joy!
These funny little pieces of card (or plastic, I can never remember) were so popular and fun to play with, yet unbelievable simple. For memory, you had to make a pile of pogs, and somehow hit them with a 'slammer' and do something. The person who knew the rules or had the strongest left hook won.
I don't think anybody really knew how to play, it was just something to do whenever you were bored in the playground, I mean heaven forbid that we play with a pack of cards, that would encourage gambling and ruin our futures forever.

The Full Monty
Ok, so I wasn't exactly 15 to watch it when it came out, but a little insignificant detail like that wouldn't stop me. Or my dad. Known as one of the greatest British comedy films of all time, and quite simply, I would say that a title like that doesn't do it justice.
Set just down't road in modern Yorkshire, it tells the tales of six unemployed steel workers looking to make some quick money so that they can see clear of their pressing problems, be it child maintenance, debt, or just being a fat bastard. We're treated to some absolutely stellar acting by Robert Carlyle (as to be expected), along with some of the most hilariously awkward and clumsy stripping you'll ever see, including Carlyle's character Gaz trying to take a t-shirt off with a lit cigarette in his mouth.
This heartwarming tale of six desperate men paints a picture of modern British determination and the importance of sticking by your mates, so if you haven't seen it, you can probably get it from Amazon for the latter half of a fiver. Do it. Do it now.

*Go on then

Shiny Happy People

2011-01-15T00:03:00.002Z

I'm not going to deny it, I am a consumer. I consume and consume and consume, especially if it's something I believe to be worth having, be it a rather lovely cut of pork, or even a lovely brand-spanking new piece of kit to make my blogging easier, I'm a sucker for quality. What I'm not a sucker for though, is tat. And there is oh so much tat out there.

Not too long ago I curtailed myself into the dreaded lands known as 'Poundland' in order to buy something, I believe my nose was running and I needed a tissue if my memory serves me correctly. As I wandered around aimlessly like a bemused child muses the power tools in their father's garage, I took a closer look at some electronic items that they had for sale. A headset and microphone, headphones by the number, and more memory card readers than I have teeth. Every single one of them was a pound.

How on Earth can you manage to produce a piece if hardware like that for such a ridiculous price? I see absolutely no logic behind it whatsoever, their turnover must be mere pennies per item sold or somehow less. Just why do you torture me with your cheap, ineffective goods like a £5 prossie every time I gather enough strength to enter you Poundland? I know deep down I will not be able to use any if this, but that price makes me want to grab several items just to see if they work, and if they don't to make a rudimentary rocket-propelled SD card launcher. Actually, that's not a bad idea... I digress, my point is that there are entire companies that seem to be able to sell such rubbish, and people buy it! Perhaps they have the same SD cannon visions as I have, but more likely they're in the habit of buying the cheapest solution to everything. Is that too cynical? Who knows. All I know is that this has to stop, and I'm waging war on crappy goods starting this day!

No longer will we have to suffer with toys of our favourite comic book characters crudely assembled by sweaty men in string vests only to be put i the wrong boxes so they get put in the 'My Little Pony' section by mistake. No, we will be free of those that lack quality, and our children will learn to respect everything we buy them and everything they buy themselves. All too often these days I see more and more young people going through Xboxes faster than Steve Jobs after a long, hard day of selling us sparkly pretty things that twinkle in the light o a 40w bulb, and that simply shouldn't be happening. I love my Xboxes, I really do, but they're simply not built to last. They make too much noise, the quality of the materials is below sub-underclass par, and promises to collapse inwards on itself if you happen to stand near it and cough. Something ness to be done.

Join me in the war against tat, buy something just a little bit classier than whatever happens to be in a blister pack amongst display-cased pieces of pure wonder, toss aside that happy meal and instead support a small local bakery and buy a bun that was lovingly hand-made only that morning. It doesn't take much.

Pull your finger out of your arse and get cracking.

Obligatory Snow-Orientated Entry

2010-12-20T22:30:00.001Z

It had to happen. Every blog must have an entry about snow at some point in tis existence (providing it exists through at least one Winter), so here it is.

So my college has shut its gates for the extra three days it was supposed to be open (and it's still unclear why they were to be open) and teenagers are let loose on the streets to frolick in the tundra. Or at least, I thought they would be.

The snow's fallen strangely this year, and for some reason it just doesn't want to stick together at all. That means no snowball fights, no snowmen, and most depressingly of all, no enormous phallic sculptures. Still, there's plenty to do indoors, and it's not as if it's that cold outside (or is it just me?), so you can still brave the Winters to get that packet of Hobnobs you so desire, you tubby bastard. For example, I just spent an evening with my brother and my dad. We started by reliving the old days playing Mario Kart 64 in all the modes and remembering just how unbalanced and ridiculous the whole game is and always will be.

A bit of nostalgia is good for you, but too much can lead to premature loss of hair and earlobes, so we decided to knock it on the head and watch District 9 after my brother made a comment about "f'kin Prawns". That's not a censor, that's how you have to say it. If you've seen the film you'll know what I mean. Unfortunately, we couldn't find it, but it just so happened that for my (recent) birthday, my brother had bought me Shallow Grave by Danny Boyle (a tip-top director and no mistake). After a whopping four seconds of deliberation, we removed the ham from the DVD player* and put the disc in.

What a film, Boyle really knows his stuff, but if you've seen it you'll know what I mean when I say that it's fine, didn't ever want to sleep again anyway.

So you see? You don't need ice tits or snow clitorises to enjoy the Winter. Gather 'round with your family and relive the old days when you weren't a hopeless failure (or too young to realise it). Light the fire, roast your chesnuts, baste your puddings. But most importantly of all, enjoy yourselves.

I don't know if I'll post another entry until after Christmas, so in case I don't, here's a merry Christmas from me and all the others behind Surface of the Sun. If you don't speak English, please choose the appropriate translation below:

Joyeux Noël
Fröhliche Weihnachten
Feliz Navidad
С Рождеством Хрисовым
Felix dies Nativitatis
メリークリスマス
Gleðileg Jól
ميلاد مجيد
Geseënde Kersfees
圣诞快乐
Nadolig Llawen

Any language I missed out (there's bound to be at least one), I'm sure you'll get my sentiment when I simply say:

Merry Christmas and an enormous thank you to everyone who has supported my blog over the months!

God bless us, every one!

*There's method in the madness

Chin Up

2010-12-13T20:46:00.002Z

It's here again. Winter is upon us, regardless of what the calendars say, and what with the build up to Christmas not yet in full swing, the innumerable amount of viruses in the air and the constant spending on gifts for those whom we most hold dear, most people are feeling a little bit down. Not me, my birthday was on Friday. Yes it was lovely, probably better than yours anyway. Back on topic, we're all a little bit gloomy and could do with a hearty and well-thought-out method of cheering up. I don't have any well-thought-out methods, but here's fifteen I conceived off the top of my head, along with the obligatory marks out of ten. To keep up with the festive theme, imagine they're marks of good cheer or for the more negatively-minded of you, Death Stars:

1)
Turn up the heating and put on your Summer clothes.
6/10

2)
Peel a clementine using only your chin.
5/10

3)
Hold a door open for all the single ladies (all the single ladies) throughout your day. As soon as one of them fails to thank you for such an act of chivalry/politeness (dependent on your gender), grab her shoulder and simply shout 'pigeon' in her face repeatedly for as long as you can bear.
9/10

4)
Wrap up a body part festively and give it to someone you love.
(Depends on which body part you choose. No, not that one you disgusting beast)

5)
Write a line of Shakespeare in the snow.
8/10

6)
Turn off all the heating, remove all your clothes and pretend you're a feral child.
3/10

7)
Find something you've lost, then burn it for Winter fuel.
2/10

8)
Go carol singing with your family and break into freestyle jazz scat halfway through 'Away in a Manger'.
8/10

9)
Engage someone in a debate about the use of grammar in freshwater crabs.
2/10

10)
Learn all the words to a carol that seems to have inspired Harry Potter*.
7/10

11)
Open all of your Christmas presents in your sleep, then refuse to apologise.
6/10

12)
Rub the lotion on its skin.
0/10

13)
Perform 'A Christmas Carol' with a cardboard cut out of Michael Caine.
9/10

14)
Create armour plating out of soup tins and blu tack.
5/10

15)
Forward this page on to all of your friends.
10/10

*Alternative

You are the Elephant-Balloon Guys

2010-12-08T21:37:00.002Z

First, apologies. It appears that due to my personal and educational life muddling up my mind, I have been lacking in supporting my lackies. You lot. Rest assured, I have not yet vanished, you need not despair. All I will say is that the ten minute challenge* has still not been completed as I promised, but I will get around to it eventually.

So what delights do I have for you today? It's simple really.

Relationships.

I know, I know, it's out there and it's far removed from my usual topics consisting of toast, tales and ridiculous lists, but bear with me, for I am about to delve into the unknown depths of my own personal life...

So relationships have always been something that I have relied on. Don't get me wrong, if I'm single I don't suddenly collapse inwards on myself and reduce to the size of a small garden pea, but it's not far from it. I love love. Love is one of those things that can keep you going through anything and everything, and one of those things that can shatter them as well. I can put my hand on my heart (no pun intended) and say that every relationship I have been in has ended up with one or both parties feeling like their innards are curdling, even if it's only for an hour or two, but the fact remains nonetheless, and this raises a question...

Why do we do it? Why do we love when it leads to heartbreak? For that, I don't have a conclusive answer, and I scoff at the idea that there is one. I was recently parted with someone, and it's because of them I suppose that I'm writing this more personal entry. Initially, I was absolutely mortified, and it still hurts now. But do you know what has made this so much easier? The fact that they haven't given up on me yet. We're not intimate any more of course, and there's no denying my love for them, but the fact that they still treat me as they always did gives me a great boost of confidence about the human race.

So many people part sourly, which is such a shame, because when you've been that close to someone, to be completely cut off is so much harder than still having contact. If you've got balls big enough and you're prepared to swallow your pride a little, things go rather swimmingly.

I'm not going to give myself false hope in that things may mend themselves between the two of us, and I'm not going to bombard everyone with clichéd tales of revelation and enlightenment. All I'm going to say is that if you can't work with the relationship, work with the friendship.

A little of something good is always better than nothing.

*Or given its new title: Duke Nukem Forever

Ich Spiele das Plinky-Plonk

2010-11-18T16:43:00.000Z

So I've taken up piano. I say 'piano', we don't actually own a piano, so I'm settling for a keyboard. It's not quite the same, the main difference being a lack of an extra 17 keys, but I'll just have to make do.

Oh, and bear with me if this post is a little short, I've challenged myself to type an entry before my laptop runs out of battery entirely, which is usually between three and ten minutes.

Anyway, back to my point, yes, I can now proudly say I can play the piano, albeit to a rather limited degree. It's a rather unusual instrument in the sense that the notes are so defined and unique that you can work out how to play pretty much any piece of music just by hitting the keys until they 'spell out' the song.

My laptop seems to think it has two hours and ten minutes left before it conks out. Or is that two minutes and ten seconds...?

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this update-

ARAGH! IT'S GOING INTO HIBERNATE* MODE!

Ok, so I failed at my own miniature challenge, but haven't we all learned something from this? If you don't think you have, think about it a bit more carefully. Answers in the comment box below, on the Facebook page or to the usual email address. If you don't know what that is by now, you're either a new reader or you've just been making a very long cup of tea.

Tarrah for now. Next week, I'll be posting the results of the ten minute challenge! But which one will it be? You'll have to wait and see...

*In honour of its maiden hibernation, I'm renaming my computer 'Hedgehog'

If These Were Little Chickens...

2010-11-12T20:25:00.002Z

The worst Del Boy puns are always the best. The more observant of you may have realised that there is a new addition to the blog. Twitter has now been fully and successfully integrated, allowing for those of you with more time than sense to check up on the latest that is happening in my world. This 'microblogging' will be a more personal insight into my life, allowing stalkers to track my every move and sorrowful mishap. Bear in mind that I am restricted on how many characters are in each tweet, so don't expect a flood of detail if something terrible happens. I'm not one for bad news, and if it's good news I'll probably post a full entry on here.

Anyway, have a look if you're even mildly interested. Or don't, but you'll make me cry. Maybe that's what you want*. You can find a little tab to the left of the page saying 'Follow Me'. Click that and it'll take you straight to my Twitter page. Not only that, but if you look at the top of the page, you'll see a short little snippet that is in fact my latest tweet. Shiny, eh?

That's all really, keep telling your little chummies about me, and if you happen to be of the chartable type, search 'surface of the sun' in Google, go on to the second page and click the entry that will link to this blog. If you do this, it will improve the standing of the blog and push it further up on the list. Not to mention I'll love you forever.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to wait ten hours in the Treasury on Fable III in order to accumulate enough cash from my real estate to keep the citizens of Albion alive.

In the words of Reaver:
Tatty-bye.

*Marmite

Well Hot Damn...

2010-11-11T15:26:00.000Z

I was surprised the other day. After waking up and lying in bed for the best part of an hour doing little more than scratching my face with something that felt like a dead badger's tit, I decided it was probably time to rise and breakfast myself. Upon arriving in my kitchen, I opened one of the many fridges to be greeted* by two medallions of charmingly cheap bacon, and single egg, some beans and two slices of bread. Perhaps they weren't all in there and perhaps there were more than I said, but it's far more original to describe your whole meal inside a fridge door than simply listing them as a table of contents. Anyway, I collected said ingredients and made my way over to the frying pan.

Long story short, I cooked the foodstuffs and sat down to eat my meal. It was only when I looked up at the clock and saw the time that I really surprised myself. It had taken me ten minutes to prepare a 'full' English breakfast. Now many of you will be thinking that this isn't a particularly impressive feat, and if I was pushed I could probably reduce the time by a good few minutes. The thing that made this all so strange was that I usually take a very long time to cook. It's not because I'm rubbish, I just like to take my time over things, cooking's a relaxing activity for me.

This got me thinking... What other things could you do in just ten minutes?

Now here's a shocker, I'm NOT going to list a load of obscure and ridiculous activities involving woodland creatures. Crumbs no, I'm going o get you to do that for me, and as a special treat, I'll attempt to perform the one I consider the most intriguing, challenging or indeed outrageous idea.

So, post your ideas underneath in the comments section, post them on the Facebook page, or email me.

*Food should never actually speak to you. If this happens to you, you might need a cold bath and a slap

Is There Life on Mars?

2010-11-06T18:06:00.001Z

As you may have noticed, The Surface Of Then Sun is having some changes applied to it. Most notable of which is shiny, new dedicated url for the blog, namely 'surfaceofthesun.co.uk'. Catchy, eh? Not only that, but the name of the blog has also been ever so slightly altered, from 'The Surface Of The Sun' to 'Surface of the Sun'*. This may seem a very small change, but it's a change nonetheless, although the chances of anyone truly caring are slim to nil. Sod it, it makes me happy. You will have to be a little patient, as the domain name will take a while to fully link with the blog. If you get directed to a website with "Namesco" scrawled all over it, take a deep breath, reload the page, and if that doesn't work, bludgeon your monitor with a croquet mallet.

Not only that, but now if you have any thoughts of feeling about the site, you can get in contact with my directly by emailing me on my stalker-proof email address:
alexolney@surfaceofthesun.co.uk
If that link just opened an irritating and useless email program, I am deeply sorry.

Don't think I've finished yet though, the site will also receive a shiny new design, perfectly suited to the modern man or woman. Yes, this does mean a departure from my beloved font Georgia, which will be sadly missed. Think of it as a tired old workhorse. It's served you for as you can remember and it's a dear old friend to you. But it's limping, its nose is gangrenous and you think its catheter has fallen out. The best thing to do is to take it outside, give him a blindfold and a cigarette, aim carefully and precisely with a tear in your eye, and punch it to death. It's ok, because soon you'll have a shiny new motor car with the power of THREE horses to help carry your vegetables.

Either way, it's happening, and I know it's for the best. I'll keep you all up to date every time something remotely interesting or shiny appears.

*If you noticed the re-capitalisation, well done, have a biscuit

Friends Overseas

2010-11-04T23:22:00.000Z

Today, I noticed something. A small number of people who are reading this blog are not of English origin, and in fact come from all over the world, which I'm absolutely thrilled about. I'm not going to mention what countries for the sake of their privacy, but let's just say we've got people from all over the shop. Now I'm not sure how your English fares in comparison to your first language, so I'm going to ask if it would be of any benefit to any of you if I implemented a way to automatically translate the page into any language you wish? If so, please let me know below, or via the Facebook page*.

This coincides with the change that is happening to the blog, so if you have any other suggestions, please don't hesitate to post them below.

*Most prestigious TSOTS fan page in the world

Times Are A-Moving

2010-11-02T09:52:00.000Z

It's been over four months now. Four months of informal, enjoyable yet informative updates for all you plucky young (or old) viewers of the blog aforementioned atop this web page.

What can I say? It's been fun, there's no denying that, even if I have lapsed every now and then with the frequency of my updates. I want to thank everyone who's supported me, but as I am currently unable to walk due to an infection in both feet, you'll probably have to pat yourselves on the back to suffice. I'm sure you'll cope.

Four long months, and many more to come I hope! And to mark the event, I've written a limerick:

-

There once was a blogger named Alex,
Who found few other rhymes than perplex,
So he followed suit
With his usually route
And made things cantankerously complex

-

It may not be Shakespeare, but it's probably better than Tony Blair's autobiography.*

Back on to the main topic, expansion expansion expansion. I want to know from all of you what I can do to expand my blog further, not just to reach out to new people, but to make it better for everyone. What do you suggest? Perhaps a mailing list so that you can be informed every time I update by email? A new layout and design? More pictures of Boris Johnson?

It really is up to you, how do you want to see The Surface Of The Sun improve?

Leave comments below this post, or the more adventurous of you may wish to leave a note on the Facebook page associated with here.

Your feedback means an awful lot.

*Outsold by Aleksandr Orlov's autobiography: A Simples Life

Half Term

2010-10-27T18:59:00.006+01:00

It's that time again, chaps and chapettes! Half Term is upon us and I can guarantee a good majority of students like myself have found themselves at a loss of things to do at certain times in the day.

"Hark!" I hear you cry, "You posted a very similar entry telling people how to enjoy themselves when they're alone, surely you're not going to simply repeat this?" - A terrible accusation. No, I will instead be giving you the DOs and DON'Ts of half term life, which isn't the same, because last time it was a 'Top of the Pops' style list.

So just sit back, put your reading glasses on and bathe in the following 'wisdom':

-

DO remember the day of the week. All too soon the weekend will approach and your pants will have all the wrong days on them.

DON'T wake up too late. Yes, I know it's very tempting to have a nice long lie in, but long lie ins have been proven to lead to back pain, high cholesterol, and unexplained loss of teeth.

DO help out your dear old parents. It's hard for them, they have to pretend to work every day of the week, and seeing you watching Tom and Jerry naked in a puddle of urine is only going to make them jealous.

DON'T let any other siblings control you. Stand tall, stand firm, and let them know that you're in charge. Fail to do so and the atomic structure of the calcium in your teeth could completely collapse, resulting in the Helvetica Scenario.

DO use public transport. I know it's inconvenient and a health hazard, but public transport is the sole source of power for Boris Johnson. Travel by bus enough and Boris will be able to overthrow every other country in the world with his superhuman powers*.

DON'T become a hermit. Your friends are just as lonely, bad at spelling and sexually unfulfilled as you are. Don't leave you or them out, organise yourselves a lovely orgy.

DO count your blessings. You don't know what you've got until it's gone, so remember to remind yourself how lucky you are. Unless you don't have many, in which case it's probably just going to depress you. Bring on the ice cream and razorblades, or better still, razorblade flavoured ice cream.

And finally,
DON'T for the love of God leave your 'specialist' magazines around your friend's house. It's more trouble than its worth. Worse still, they might not tell you and keep it for themselves.

-

With this, all your troubles will be gone, and Britain will be great once more.

*It has begun...

More Juicy Literature

2010-10-08T14:15:00.000+01:00

I learned an interesting technique today. In English we read a short extract from Atonement, a novel by Ian McEwan*, and a very interesting literary device rose to the surface, and I'm amazed I haven't seen it before.

Two third-person narratives from different perspectives about exactly the same event.

I had to have a go, so here's a short little story about two old friends who have arranged to meet up in a pub after eight years of no contact:

-

Tony sat down at the bar and ordered two pints. Clide would be here soon, he thought, as his head raced with all the good news he had about how he had turned his life around. No more did he have to scrounge an illicit living through petty (and some organised) criminal activities, he had his own home, new prospects, but most importantly of all, he had hi own job. Becoming self employed had been the best decision of his life, throwing off the shackles and debts of gang life had given him a new lease of life, a fresh verve and positive attitude. He had even playing with the idea of offering Clide a position in his new firm, which was rapidly becoming larger and more successful with every day that passed.
He looked around the pub he had chosen. Perhaps it wasn’t the best choice, but it was certainly convenient. This was the only place in the area that allowed tabs, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his old school friend to be buying drinks after such a successful turnover of his lifestyle.
Tony heard the sound of a hand slipping on the pub’s door handle, and as he recognised the face that emerged, his eyes widened and he grinned as he saw his old school friend for the first time in eight years. He wasn’t quite as he remembered him, he walked into the room looking very on edge. Tony noticed his palms were moist from sweat, and his eyes were darting all around the room with a tense suspicion. He beckoned his friend over and pointed to the pint he had bought him and winked cheerfully as he used to at school all those years ago. Clide sat down beside him and stared with reluctance at his drink, mopping his brow in apparent discomfort.
“How have you been you old bastard?” Tony cried merrily.
“Errm, good, yeah, you wanted to speak to me about something?” Clide answered nervously.
“Yeah, I’ve got a bit of business happening and I was wondering if you could give me a hand-” Clide didn’t let him finish.
“No, Tony, I’m really not interested, you know I’ve never wanted to get involved with your work, and I’ve absolutely no interest in starting.” He gathered his coat in his arms and straightened his hat, “It was good to see you again, but I’ve got things I have to do. Sorry about the drink.” and he stormed off in a manner Tony could only describe as of loathing and disgust.
Tony stared at the door as his friend exited the pub without so much as a fleeting glance in his direction. He watched his pint solemnly at a complete loss for words.
~
Clide peered in through the window of the ramshackle pile of bricks some would call a pub. He wished he didn’t have to meet him today. Why today of all days? He’d much rather have stayed at work, eaten a sandwich and smoked. The thought of this made his nerves tense up even more; it had been three days since his last cigarette, and he had come to the conclusion that quitting simply wasn’t for him. He reached into his jacket pocket for a nicotine patch, but found nothing but the remnants of five he had already used that day. He had also forgotten to put in his eye drops, so frustrated, he pulled the little glass bottle from his pocket and applied the liquid that would apparently save his vision. He went to open the door, but his hand slipped on the moisture from some rain they had had earlier that day. He tried again and caught a better grip with both hands simultaneously, causing the door to swing open.
As he entered the pub, he rotated his eyes to allow the drops to work effectively. As he looked around, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Tony was staring directly at him, with a cold-hearted grin on his face. As he wandered slowly over, wiping his rain-soaked hand on his trousers, he suddenly realised why he had asked to see him, and his heart sank. Tony was always up to something, even when he was a boy he was shoplifting and stealing from his parents, and not too long ago he’d read that he had been accused of organised crime, and pleaded guilty. Clide had never wanted anything to do with his criminal tendencies ever since they were caught by their parents and Clide had had to go and work as a volunteer in the local church for three months. Tony always got away with it though, his parents weren’t exactly the caring kind to say the least. Against his better judgement, Clide sat down.
“How have you been you old bastard?” Tony asked with a cold and manipulative smile.
“Errm, good, yeah, you wanted to speak to me about something?” Clide responded with impatience. He prayed it wasn’t what he feared.
“Yeah, I’ve got a bit of business happening and I was wondering if you could give me a hand-” Clide cut him short, he had heard enough and knew exactly what he was after.
“No, Tony, I’m really not interested, you know I’ve never wanted to get involved with your work, and I’ve absolutely no interest in starting,” he said as he hastily picked up his jacket and re-positioned his hat into a more respectable angle, “It was good to see you again, but I’ve got things I have to do. Sorry about the drink.” Without looking back, he raced off in the direction of the door and didn’t look back.
“Some people never change” he thought to himself.

-

If you have any pointers or opinions about this short story, don't hesitate to use the comments box below.

If you don't have any pointers or opinions, use the comments box anyway, it took me long enough to code you ungrateful bastards.

*It's also a film, which is essentially Kiera Knightly's wet dream

Zip Zap Zoop Zib Zippity Zap

2010-10-01T14:04:00.005+01:00

In the modern times we live in, I simply can't be doing with Google connect. I'm sure it's a very good system and I know I can't match it on any level, however my lovely sexy audience* usually use Facebook, so I've decided to integrate a comment system that allows you charming lot to use your Facebook profiles to express your feelings towards my postings. It's faster and far more efficient. So much so it makes me want to speak like Bill Cosby (see post title).

It's a little disjointed at the moment, and practically impossible to see, but despair not, I shall use my astounding technological know-how to remedy the situation.

Bear with me, and with any luck things will be running swimmingly before we know it.

*I'm looking at you, James

Awright Lads?

2010-09-30T15:42:00.001+01:00

I'm currently in the process of writing a script. Originally I planned to write a novel, but I decided that for the sake of time and my terrifyingly short attention span that I should change the medium to that of the theatre. "Hark!" I hear those of me who know me well cry, "Haven't you already written a script?". Yes, back when I was a wee nipper of only fifteen, I did indeed write a script, but it was hardly a serious project and the result was amusing, but crass and unoriginal. I also believe I lost the digital copy of it, so all I have left is one hard copy that I intend to keep for myself and not to distribute. You'll have to suffer with my new one.

The story is a black comedy that revolves around the life of a chap called Charlie. Charlie lives with his sister (and her boyfriend) and works in a paper merchant, although after three years of working there he still doesn't know this. After being stood up in a pub by a date, he drowns his sorrows to the point of coughing up his guts and passing out. When he comes around he overhears two shady characters who believe they're alone discussing plans for a job that "even an idiot could pull off". After a long deliberation session lasting all of thirty seconds, he decides to get one up on these crafty bastards and do the job an hour before them and live the life of a king.

Obviously it doesn't work out like that, and he gets dragged into a world he knows nothing about. You'll meet characters such as:

Tez, Charlie's friendly but untrustworthy right hand man

Sarah, Charlie's caring but impatient sister

Harry, the gang leader with a violent obsession for biscuits

Expect thrills, spills and chills; idiocy, idioms and incompetence; guns, gangsters and garibaldis.

And just for you lucky few who actually read my blog, here's the opening monologue by the lead character himself as he describes his life until the pub*:

My name's Charlie, and… Well basically, my life's shoddy. It seems no matter what I do my life will always be that way. "Why so glum Charlie?" I hear you asking. That's a question and a half, but I suppose it all boils down to two weeks ago. I was working as I usually do, which is usually as little as I can get away with, at the wonderful cesspool known as Wildorth Smith Ltd. Three years of working there and I still don't know what it's supposed to do, I just sit in the corner typing up receipts for overpaid wonkas whose job it is to tell people to flip off in as many creative ways as possible. Anyway, I went home to get ready for a date I had that night, just a drink down at the Red Lion, nothing special, but the girl clearly thought I was a bit 'special' and decided to leave me dribbling into a bowl of peanuts for the rest of the evening. Of course I handled the situation in a sensible and mature manner, calling her up telling her I was going to chop up her dog and eat it before drowning myself in two pound pints of lager. I'm not quite sure what happened, but I did wake up in a cubicle a little bit surrounded by my own vomit and urine to the grating sound of two blokes talking at the urinals.

*In the interest of taste, all harsh swearing has been replaced by friendlier words in bold - kitten approved

The Circling Pool Of Consumerism

2010-09-27T19:34:00.006+01:00

Technology. Marvellous isn't it? The ability to send information at the speed of light to any country with an oversized ethernet port on it* has completely revolutionised the way we live our lives, we're now more informed, efficient, and streamlined, we can just grab the latest gizmo and then when it breaks we simply buy a new one.

And it makes me sad.

Whatever happened to the rustic, charming way of life? When was the last time you saw a copper kettle or a telephone with an actual bell and doesn't just bleep expectantly at you like a whippet with Tourette's (I realise that the telephone is still technically sending information at the speed of light, but it's such a raw, basic form in comparison to something like the internet I'm going to let it slide)? Many years ago people would buy something and hang onto it for years, maybe even decades because everything worth having was much more expensive. Nowadays you can own a mobile phone for barely a year before it breaks or becomes obsolete.

The public figures I admire the most are the sort of people who uphold these marvellous traditions, namely people like James May and Stephen Fry. Now many of you are probably thinking "Hang on, Stephen Fry is nationally renowned for his love of modern technology you blithering idiot!", and you're right. I am also a sucker for shiny gadgets and the latest toys, but the reason I care about a lot of technology nine times out of ten is not because of its functionality, but for its ability to make me beam with joy every time I so much as look at it. Let's go back to mobile phones and take a look at the iPhone. A very handy piece of kit, with all sorts of flashy features and wonderful pretty colours. Now there are hundreds of different smartphones out there on the market, some of them probably more functional than Apple's wonderbrick, so why do people buy the iPhone? I'd gladly put money on it's success not on advertising, but on it's build quality. There have been many reports about iPhones breaking on people, but the only reason we hear about it is because it is seen to be this immovable object that can only be destroyed with kryptonite. If there was a report on how often my Sony Ericsson W705 froze on me, there'd be little room for any other news.

Charm is attention to detail, and you rarely get that these days. Too many companies are just interested in making a quick sell, and very little else. This is extremely apparent in the automotive trade as well, with companies like Kia and Peugeot producing plastic cars worth about three and six, it's difficult to find a decent affordable car. The same goes for many supercars, who cut corners to save money and still whack £10,000 onto the price tag for having a badge that says 'Ferrari'. There are very few exceptions, but I think the one you'll be most familiar with is that holy grail of engineering known as the Bugatti Veyron. I know it's not exactly the cheapest car at about £850,000, but when you consider that each one costs over £5,000,000 to make (yes, five million pounds), eighty-five hundredths of a million is a snip. I've obviously never driven one, and I would be lucky to even catch a glimpse of someone who had ever been inside one, but as Jeremy Clarkson put it, the birth of the Veyron really was a "Concord moment".

I believe that eventually consumerism and this whole disposable lifestyle will die when people start believing the threat of global warming and the melting ice caps (even if it isn't true). Whether it will be in my lifetime is a matter open to debate, but I'm sure as Hell going to have wing-back chairs, stuffed animals and an 10ft wide open fireplace in my house before I die. Right next to the 60" marble TV and the Xbox 1440.

How To Make Everyone Hate You

2010-09-22T07:08:00.001+01:00

The game.

Chocolate That Lingers In The Mind

2010-09-13T16:29:00.000+01:00

Last Saturday I tore myself away from my Xbox long enough to enjoy the wonders that are housed in the Soil Association Organic Food Festival. It was certainly a day well spent, some of the food there the likes of which the world has never seen the likes of which.*

For today's entry I'm going to be posting a short extract from an article I'm writing about the event, focussing on one particular stall that truly caught my eye, owned by a company called Montezuma's, who produce organic chocolate in varied and exciting flavours:

As I wandered around the various canvas-covered attractions laid before me, I noticed a series of chocolates that caught my eye. I recognised them immediately, and upon closer inspection realised that I had seen the very same company there two years ago at this very festival. Itching to know more about the company brave enough to launch chilli & lime as their flagship flavour, I asked a young lady how the company started.

"Our company was started in 2000 by a couple in London who decided to drop everything and go into chocolate, they went travelling and our first shop was opened in Brighton in 2000 and we are now based in West Sussex in Chichester"

A stirring tale indeed, but is their cocoa ethically sourced?

"Our house blend is from the Dominican Republic, but we also source beans from Peru, Ecuador, Venezuela and some from Papa New Guinea as well. We know all the places they're sourced from and we remain in good contact with all the suppliers"

Always good to hear, but how do they feel about appearing at such festivals?

"We've done this fair a number of times now, we're also at the several chilli festivals, the BBC Good Food Show, and we’re going out to Glastonbury and Reading, the really big events"

Chances are that you'll see Montezuma's if you plan on attending a food festival any time soon. After the interview I bought myself a bar of chilli and lime chocolate and went on my way with an enormous smile on my face. I can safely put my hand on my heart and say that they are true pioneers of the chocolate industry, and I hope to see much more of them in years to come.

If you'd like to know more about Montezuma's or buy some of their chocolate (and I explicitly suggest you do), follow the link below.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some more chocolate to eat.

Montezuma's Homepage

*Repetition intentional

Cymru

2010-09-07T14:27:00.003+01:00

Most people like to splash out on holidays, go the extra mile, really push the boat out. My family certainly pushed a boat out, but not the metaphorical one I was hoping for.

Friday morning, all of my things had been packed, and I was sitting on my bed drying my hair like a girl as I did every day, preparing for the excitement and thrills that can be had in sunny Wales. Don't get me wrong, I love Wales to pieces, it's about as close you can get to being in England without actually being in England, and I do love England. What I don't love, however, is spending my valuable week off with my parents in a drizzly carbon copy of the country I come from in an area where the person closest to my age not directly related to me was a aged sheepdog with arthritis. The time when I go on holiday is one of the only times when I actually feel and act my age, spending the rest of my days behaving like someone twice my age, so I feel like I want to go out and really enjoy myself as an eighteen year old should, and this becomes very difficult in a tiny little village with a name I still fail to pronounce (how on Earth would you pronounce 'Llangors'?). The two pubs the village held were full of ancient Welsh folk with fewer teeth than they had eyes, apart from the one girl I recognised as being around my age, who looked like she had just finished her shift at the local brothel, which was sadly non-existent.

The place we stayed was very nice I have to admit, and if I was pushed for an answer I would agree that I enjoyed my holiday. I probably would have enjoyed it more if I had had a little more privacy from my elder brother and his friend (I still don't understand why she was there) at night. I used to find it difficult to sleep without someone in the room, but when you've spent so long on your own, it's difficult to fall into a pleasant slumber with someone else in the room.* Now back to my boat reference.

The best part of the holiday was probably the lake that was only a stone's throw away from where we were staying. Admittedly it was a far stretched stone that had to have landed on a car and then carried the extra miles to the shore, but a stone's throw nonetheless. It truly was a gorgeous expanse of clear (ish) water perfect for rowing on. Now you're beginning to see where the boat comes in. Unfortunately, the boat I was in was being shared by my brother and his friend, who I had only properly met the day before. We've been rowing before, my brother and I, and it has always been a great sibling bonding session of brotherly relations, proper man stuff. Throw a woman into the equation and it quickly becomes three people desperately trying to keep themselves entertained for forty minutes. The phrase 'two's company, three's a crowd' has never been more relevant.

To sum up, let me give you some advice about Wales:

Only go there if you're going on your own or with friends and one of you possesses the ability to get you to a half-decent public house. If this is not the case, cancel your plans immediately and sit alone for a week drinking yourself into a coma. You'll save money for next year when you can spend it on a decent holiday without your family-orientated baggage.

*Providing you're not diddling them behind everyone's back

The Death Of A Gentleman

2010-08-24T14:22:00.003+01:00

I try and deny it, but unfortunately it's true. The true English gentleman is dying out.

This leaves me in a very difficult position, for I like to uphold the traditional values of this country and behave as gentlemanly as possible. Sometimes I would prefer not to do the honourable thing and simply do what is easiest for me, but nine times out of ten I will ignore my petty desires in order to make the woman in my company happy, which is more than I can say for a majority of the male population these days. Everywhere I turn I see more and more witless wankers with gormless expressions picking their noses and letting doors swing shut on the mother with the pushchair behind them. It takes little to no effort to hold a door open for a few seconds longer than you would have done, and let's face it, they're hardly likely to need to be anywhere. However, this is merely trivial in the light of my other point.

The amount of times I've had my female friends approach me in tears because of a bloke is staggering. These nanny-shagging tossmongers* seem to lack the empathy to even realise that using and then leaving a girl is heartbreaking and scarring. I was absolutely disgusted by what my friend relayed to me after hearing two blokes talking to each other:

"So what are you going to do about her?"

"I don't know, I just want to shag her and get her out of the way"

Before we go any further, I am going to admit that I have not lived my life bereft of one-night stands. The difference being that I have never strung a girl along purely for sex. No-strings-attached sex is a very appealing and enticing proposition, I'm not going to deny it, and as long as both parties are willing, it's perfectly acceptable. It become unacceptable when one party (mainly the girl but it has happened to lads as well) believes that they are forging a relationship. As you know/can imagine, this scenario leads to all sorts of very serious ramifications.

I'm not suggesting that every man becomes a saint overnight, but next time you pass through a door, hold it open for people following you or coming the other way, help someone pick up their bags if they fall, or even just smile and say thank you when you buy something from a shop. These also apply to all you ladies out there. Chivalry is 90% manners, and manners don't cost a thing.

Billy No Mates

2010-08-22T09:52:00.010+01:00

I've just spent the best part of 36 hours on my own, and I can tell you now that it's simply not for me. True, I enjoy spending some time by myself, who doesn't? The thing is trying to find things to do that won't make you go blind, so I've compiled a list of activities you can do to pass the time that won't diminish your bucket and a half, complete with a boredom-fighting score out of ten:

Go to your local coffee shop, sit in the corner and judge everyone who comes in.

9/10

Prepare food in unconventional ways.

3/10

Deface popular figures with Photoshop.*

8.5/10

Perform day-to-day tasks naked. Or naked from the waist down to emphasise.

7/10

Arrange your things in alphabetical order (or alphacronological if it makes more sense).

6/10

Invent a new 18-rated card game.

4/10

See how much vinegar and baking power you can consume without vomiting.

3/10

Sharpen your knives with something valuable.

4/10

Test all the batteries lying around the house.

1/10

10)

See how loudly you can shout the c-word without the police becoming involved.

10/10

11)

Create a new cocktail using Mr Sheen.

7.5/10

12)

Re-order your iTunes library and try to find a particular song.

3/10

13)

Read Wikipedia.

2/10

14)

Discover a new religion and coax gullible people to join.

7/10

15)

Paint your toes like talons, pick up mice with your feet and pretend you're an eagle.

8/10

16)

Rename all the contacts in your phone to things you won't remember.

9/10

17)

Stab Russell Brand in the chest.

∞/10

18)

See how much toothpaste you can force up your nose.

4/10

19)

Strip as many batteries as possible in a minute, then try to beat your own score.

3/10

20)

Write a blog entry telling people how to enjoy themselves when they're alone.

0/10

*Example

Sweat, Shaving, And Shameless Advertising

2010-08-20T15:52:00.003+01:00

Well this has certainly been a peculiar Summer. Gloomy, drizzly, but strangely muggy at the same time, so you sweat/perspire/glow on to your already clammy body. This is perhaps my least favourite type of weather, and also why I prefer winter to summer without question.

Winter is a wonderful for so many reasons. For example, you can control your body temperature more easily (it's much easier to warm up than to cool down), you get a wonderful mix of dazzling winter sunshine and chilling December nights, and the colder weather means it's legal to press your face into a girl's chest in order to conserve warmth.*

Summer is also the time when you don't need any extra hair keeping your chin toasty, so shaving becomes paramount. I used to be able to get away with not shaving, mainly because my facial hair was so blonde it was practically invisible, meaning nobody could tell if I'd shaved last night or last month. Thing is, my body has decided to rebel against my laziness and has decided that this century's fashion is now deep brown, meaning that should a day or two elapse when a razor has not touched my skin, it looks like somebody's sneezed pepper all over my chin. Admittedly the spread isn't complete, but that if anything is worse, I just have patches of brown on my face and neck, which brings me onto my next point... Why on Earth does facial hair grow on your neck? The whole idea of keeping your neck warm is redundant! We have scarves for that! Mother Nature is really taking the piss with this one.

I imagine a lot of you women out there are thinking 'Well it's just as bad for us, we've got legs, armpits (or underarms if you're a pretentious deodorant advert), gussets etc.'. You're right, social pressure requires that you keep your body relatively hair-free, but what happens if you cut yourself when shaving? You wear [insert feminine clothing] to cover it up, and the only people who will notice otherwise will be people far too interested in your nether regions to give a damn about a small scab. Now think about us lads. If we cut ourselves shaving, we have to wander around for the best part of a week looking like we've had a fight with a cheese grater. And do you know the worst part? As soon as you need to shave again, you cut the wound open accidentally and the whole process begins again.

Mindless rambling aside, I would like to draw your attention to a few blogs belonging to close friends of mine, as they fail to receive the attention they deserve.

http://innateramblingsofaninsomniac.blogspot.com/

http://dressedlikeadietcoke.blogspot.com/

http://hannaholichavoc.blogspot.com/

http://solowing633.blogspot.com/

*European Act of Bosom Responsibilities 1997

If You'll Pardon The Football-Themed Exclamatory, Result!

2010-08-19T14:17:00.002+01:00

Results day. Easily the most painful day in every student's life, with the possible exception of walking in on your parents in the missionary position. To make it easier, here's my easy-to-use guide on how to make results day more pleasant.*

Step One - The Night Before

The night before results is guaranteed to create a pang of anxiety and worry, leaving you with a dreadful night's sleep, and that's certainly not going to make things easier when you turn up half-clothed in front of your friends as they relish in their victories. To ensure a blissful night's slumber, open your fridge and consume:

5 pints of cider

1 pint of fancy Belgian lager

2 shots of 48.5% whiskey

2 halves of Guinness

The two halves of Guinness may throw you at first, but I can assure you that two halves is at least twice as much as a full pint. Your head will hit the pillow in a wonderful state of euphoria, having forgotten everything about who you are, where you live, or why your liver has emigrated.

Stage Two - The Morning Looms

When you awake at seven o' clock the next day, you may find a large throbbing sensation in your frontal lobes and a prostitute on your face. Do not panic! Pay the whore, drag yourself downstairs and consume the following items:

2 ibuprofen tablets

2 antacid tablets

2 pints of water

1 glass of orange juice
Orange juice contains vitamin C, which improves the speed at which the body can process alcohol, allowing your brain to rehydrate and flush the poison from your system. The painkillers and the indigestion tablets give you swift relief from any immediate pain, and the water and orange juice will clear you up before the numbing effects wear off.
IMPORTANT: Do not consume any food! If your nerves get the better of you your chums may be wiping lumps of carrot off their shoes.

Stage Three - The Journey
Arrive at your school or college as quickly as possible. Any length of time will give your brain moments to allow the situation to stew and make things worse. If you can, travel with at least one other person and try to get there as directly as possible by car. For added distraction, some inspirational music should be played loudly at all, preferably with singing and air-guitar. Here are a few examples:
Livin' On A Prayer (Bon Jovi)
Monster (The Automatic)
Viva La Vida (Coldplay)
Just Say Yes (Snow Patrol)
My Generation (The Who)
I Thought It Was Over (The Feeling)
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger (Daft Punk)
Take Me Out (Franz Ferdinand)
Goodbye Mr A (The Hoosiers)

Stage Four - Reading Your Results
This point is crucial if you don't wish to spoil your sexy and charming reputation. Take the paper from the paedophile behind the desk, making sure it is folded over. Step away from the desk, look directly at your friends and open the paper before looking at it. When you do look at the paper a few seconds later, make sure your reaction is appropriate and not melodramatic. This can be helped by wearing dark sunglasses and looking at the paper without anyone realising before acting pleased/depressed. Reputation sustained.

Stage Five - Coping With Your Grades
Repeat stage one until body withers away.

*Guaranteed to improve A-level results by 100%

It's Been A While

2010-08-16T15:58:00.004+01:00

Well, I haven't posted on here for a good long time, have I? I'll admit it's mainly due to the fact that I never found an easy moment to update, I've been up to my neck in Mass Effect and don't even get me started on the pub.

Anyway, lots has happened since I last saw you (using 'saw' in its broadest sense), I've rediscovered poetry, I've rehearsed a traditional Filipino coming of age celebration (i.e. birthday), and I've realised that margaritas really are not a good idea after several bottles of lager and half a bottle of wine.

Yes, I've grown a little wiser, and in some ways, a little sadder. Still bereft of female partnership of the squelchy kind, I am realising the magnitude of the task before me. I have to charm a girl into my pants, and then manage to keep her there after she realises that I'm not the duke of Kidderminster. Woe betide her. Still, the way I see it, if there isn't a girl I'm willing to go out of my way to ask out, then I probably don't like her enough to make something of us anyway!*

So, another year of college ahead, fifteen hours of English a week and one hour of journalism, not to mention winter's just around the corner. A cocktail that would make most grown men cry, but I'm not like most people.

I'm going to bloody love it!

*Chipper optimism specifically designed to irritate the pessimists out there

Noodles For Lunch

2010-07-27T13:45:00.002+01:00

I love noodles. There's no point denying it, there's just something about them that make you want to leap out of bed and break out the chopsticks (which I can use, by the way), and there are a huge variety of freeze-dried noodles that you can cook in minutes. However, I am one of those terribly pretentious people that follow Dave Lister's example. If I were stranded in a decrepit, lifeless environment, no matter what else there was (a tube of gum ointment, dog food etc.), I would eat the pot noodle last. Yet I love noodles so much, so I decided to remedy the situation. I was going to make my own, fresh sauces to mix in with noodles for a tasty lunch.

I've tried this a few times and most of the time the sauces (which are never the same) have been perfectly edible (one time it was too salty and I couldn't finish it. Go easy on the stock if you do this at home). I have never actually written any of the recipes down, though, so I have decided to regale you with today's attempt. This post may become a little disjointed, as I will be cooking and writing at the same time, which is never an easy task.

As I'm waiting for that to cool down a tad, I'll list the ingredients:

Chicken stock

Leftover lamb

One carrot

Soy sauce

Brown sauce

Chilli flakes

Lea & Perrins

The noodles were obvious just noodles, nothing fancy except I fried them in a little oil before adding the sauce.

The result? Very nice, although not exactly traditional Asian cuisine, and it's not exactly designed for those trying to watch their weight. Accompany with a glass of Robinson's Fruit & Barley and enjoy whilst browsing the internet.

Congratulations! Student food!

Things I Have Noticed About Toast

2010-07-16T11:01:00.009+01:00

Toast is a marvellous thing, isn't it? Crispy and warming, it lights up your soul as it cuts the inside of your mouth to shreds. This got me wondering though. What is the perfect slice of toast? I admit that I prefer white toast to brown (call me racist) as I've always found most brown bread smells of onion after it has been toasted, so I'll stick to white for the purpose of this investigation.

For me, the toast has to go well with a glass of orange juice, as I drink very little else in the morning, along with perhaps lager if I've had a particularly long night out. Luckily, toast is usually quite bland, so to make things more interesting, the perfect slice has to also take to marmite well, as we all know marmite is the zenith of all toast toppings. They're in ascending order to make it easier for all your stupid people out there.

So, without further ado (and to quote one of the greatest programmes of all time):

Three...

Two...

One...

ACTIVATE!

Mass-produced luxury supermarket brand

A lovely slice of bread. Not a good slice of toast, though. Flimsy, uneven cooking, and it smells of onion even though it's not brown. Butter soaks in too far and drips through onto your lap, which is never good when you're wearing a fluffy maroon dressing gown.

>2/10

Mass-produced economy supermarket brand

A standard, plain, thin, plate of disappointment. Holds heat terribly so by the time you're wrapping your chops around it, the butter will just sit and congeal on top. It must be said, though, that it does hold a very good crispy shell to a fluffy, e-numbered centre, so it's gained a few extra marks there.

>4/10

Mass-produced standard supermarket brand

A solid, reliable slice of toast. You can expect one slice to be exactly the same as the next, which is always good if you know you like one type and one type alone. I, however, enjoy a little bit of variety and unpredictability, so I'm taking that into account. It retains heat a fair amount, but don't make a plate of it to share around. The bottom slices will be soggy and the top slices will have all gone by the time you can get to them.

>4/10

Supermarket bakery

This is the toast I have most often, and it's a fair contender amongst everything else. The only major downside to it, and that's that it is cooked by 'hand' and en masse. This means that one loaf toasts drastically differently to another. It also has that problem that occurs with fresh-baked bread, being that it changes it's Toastability™ with every day that passes, and because each loaf is different, it's very hard to judge effectively. On the whole, though, they take to butter like a (living) duck to water, even if their hand-cut texture can leave scratches in your mouth.

>7/10

Independent bakery

This is of course completely impossible to judge due to every bakery being different, but I'll try and summarise all of my experience with these. On the whole, the toast is very good, it holds butter well, has a nice, crispy crust, and the flavour is generally superior to supermarket bread. There is always one thing that I love most about it though. The smell. I don't know why, but the smell of real bakery bread being toasted is right up there next to your girlfriend's cheap perfume. Others will appreciate it, but because you've bought it with your money from a little bakery off the beaten track, it smells of where you bought it from, which is a wonderfully sentimental scent, and let's face it; you don't want to smell a supermarket first thing in the morning.

>8.5/10

Farmer's market sourdough

Ok, it was always going to come down to this. Alex Olney with his love for farmers' markets comes out on top as usual. It's true though. Go to one and buy a loaf of sourdough. Take it home, wait a day, and then toast it. Sourdough toast is unlike any other toast, in the sense that it is unlike any other toast. I know I repeated myself. Shoot me. Anyway, on to the judging:

A thick, crunchy piece of bread in the same league as pork scratchings for keeping teeth in place. Butter just melts, soaks and yet still sits on top, something you don't get with any old bread. It's also very useful in the sense that it is very difficult to overcook, due to its incredibly dense nature, so no problem if you end up making Gilly-toast most of the time (sorry mum). I can't really explain how good it is, you have to test it for yourself. Prepare to bring a chequebook though, as sourdough is the most expensive bread you'll find outside of Fortnum and Mason, and for good reason, for it takes seven days to make a loaf (as Mr. Guinness always says, good things come to those who wait). It really is the perfect slice though, so give it a go.

>10/10

Friends

2010-07-14T21:38:00.002+01:00

Today has ben a good day. It's good to know that I don't need alcohol to have an absolutely tip-top time as long as I have a Hannah with me! We used to make plans on how to spend the day, but now we just go with it and let the day unfold as and how it does, and it really makes for a fantastic time.

Today got me thinking though. How many of the friends I hold nearest and dearest will I know in ten years time? I still know many of my friends from ten years ago, but then again I haven't had the chance to get away from them exactly (no offence, you lot). In tens years time I'll probably be married, but will those who I know now even remember me then? I hope so. I hope I know all my friends in the years to come, but I have to face the cold, hard truth and realise that that's probably not going to happen. We all lose touch with certain people, and I know a lot of people who I will lose contact with, and I'll miss them, but it certainly won't be the end of the world. Originally, I thought Facebook would keep me in touch with everyone, but the truth of it is, I talk to very few people who I actually have as friends on there. Why? Because I have in excess of three hundred of the buggers. Now don't get me wrong, I'm as sociable as the next man (probably more so), but I can't keep track of three hundred sods, and there's no point pretending I can. I know a lot of people, and I mean a lot, but I could probably count those people who I don't think I could bare to live without (who aren't directly related to me) on two hands with no problem at all. The truth is, you only really lend yourself to a select few because those are the people who you share a truly deep bond with, and as I've aged I've realised that those who I thought I shared this bond with have drifted slowly and slowly further from me, and I'm not going to lie. I miss them, but I'm not beside myself about it. Take a lesson from me: find out who it is you care about the most and make sure you hold on to them, and don't let them out of your sight. The drab and 'sameyness' that you get from those you've known the longest may seem like a bad thing compared to the exciting, fresh, unbridled air of mystery that comes from your new friends will never match up to the fact that you could sit in a room with one of your real friends for hours in complete silence and still want to see them again the next day.

Those who are closest to me, you know who you are, and I wouldn't trade any of your for the world. You're the one who make me want to leap out of bed in the morning and live life to its fullest. I love you all (except those with testes, I just like you as friends), don't ever change.

The Joys Of Cooking

2010-07-08T18:31:00.003+01:00

I love cooking. Always have, ever since I was able to "kneel on a stool to cut out gingerbread men" [source]. So it's no surprise that today I decided to try a new recipe. I started making it at about half five. The recipe guaranteed me that it would take half an hour to make. It's taken over an hour for the potatoes alone. Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure it varies greatly depending on the potato you use, but fifty minutes longer than the original estimated time for those tubers is a little bit off to say the least.

Anyway, on a slightly happier note, the lovely Hannah is back from holiday! I can't wait to give her the little souvenir I bought her. I may have downplayed how much I spent on the item, but it's not the cost I find important, it was just there, staring at me, and I knew she'd love it. How could I say no when the chap at the counter also knocked a good few quid off it as well? I know a bargain when I see one!

Well, the beef recipe was a success (after much waiting), so I don't suppose I can really complain, eh? I also polished off the last of my gorgeous Guinness (free) cakes, which are decidedly more-ish though I say so myself!

I've also just realised that this blog post has taken me an hour to write, coming back to it every now and then to add little things... Still, I suppose it works so no harm done! Tomorrow should be good. 24 hours to myself. Time to start writing I think!

Until next time...

The Marvels Of The Internet

2010-07-06T10:53:00.002+01:00

The internet. It's revolutionised the way we work, the way we recreate, even the way we meet people. So why is it that no matter how fast my internet connection is, I can never stream anything properly on 4oD? Every major channel now has to compete with BBC's iPlayer in order to keep up with the market, yet they fail to produce a service even close to it. Don't get me wrong, 4oD is a very useful tool for keeping up with The IT Crowd, but I have to load it up, wait for the introductory adverts to finish, and then pause it for about ten minute in order to be able to watch it without it breaking up on me every thirty seconds. I used to blame my internet connection, but it's the middle of the day and I'm the only one in the house using a 4MB download speed. It's clearly not my internet connection. Many people will just argue that 'the servers are busy', but the sort of people that watch 4oD regularly (not meaning to generalise) are the sort of people who stay up until three in the morning and don't wake up until noon. It's eleven o' clock in the morning, I'm probably one of only a handful of people streaming from their website at the moment.

But the worst thing of all? The adverts. I don't mind adverts on telly, they've been around so long they're practically a given. But adverts when you're streaming on the internet is completely redundant, I can't remember the last time I watched an advert on an online video and thought "Hmm, I could really do with buying an American football game for my Xbox, as I'm not only interested in the sport, but also wish I could cheat myself into thinking I'm a professional by sitting on my arse eating fried chicken and pushing my greasy fingers against a controller for nine hours". 4oD not only has adverts, but its service is so poor it actually lags on the adverts (which are impossible to pause), making a twenty second ad last forty seconds.

I've never seen a service equal to iPlayer, and I doubt I ever will if I'm honest, but if episode two of the fourth series of The IT Crowd isn't properly viewable by the time I've posted this entry, I can't be held responsible for my actions. More to the point, if the reason the service is so bad is somehow related to Big Brother, I might just have to poison myself.

Time For Pancakes!

2010-07-05T09:12:00.003+01:00

So I'm back from my jaunt to Wales! No, don't get up.

I enjoyed it, I really did. I must say I'm glad to be home though, as with any family holiday, I rarely got any time to myself, and what little time I did, there was still the hum of my dad watching Avatar and Bloc Party emanating from my room, who I was sharing with my brother and his friend (which was peculiar to say the least). This being the case, I got very little writing done, which is a bugger. I did finish the synopsis though (well, the most part of it), so I can start writing as soon as I have the time. I did pick up some very good books on my travels though, which will hopefully increase my literary ability no end. I bought five in total, three of which were a collection entitled 'The Oxford Library of Words and Phrases', one was 'Fowler's Modern English Usage', and lastly Stephen King's 'Cujo'.

On an unrelated note, I watched Sunshine (which this blog is named after) for the second time that holiday, and I couldn't believe how much I'd missed before. Pinbacker is slowly starting to make more sense as a completely insane, rather sunburned old chap who has spent seven years talking to God, and intends to sabotage the sun's restoration so that human's die when he believes God has chosen them to. I also realised why the shots were so distorted and unreal when they were plummeting into the sun, as Cappa said earlier on in the film, the bomb will reach such a velocity at one point that space and time will become distorted, making it impossible to determine if the mission will be a success or not. I could go on about that film for hours, so I should probably cease now...

What to do today? I've got to occupy myself somehow! I'm home alone all day, which is absolute bliss so far. At the time of writing this, I am in fact making pancakes with the leftover yorkshire pudding batter from the roast last night (with a little milk, mind, I don't want them to be too thick!). Three pancakes for breakfast, mmmm. It should be four, but there was an... Incident... Irregardless (that's for you, Ms Bissell), those pancakes were absolutely top-bombing! I've just finished them, clearly. I'm also planning to start making cakes again, in order to venture out and discover new and delicious recipes. Today I'm just going to be making something wonderful and simple. chocolate muffins with a 'head' of plain cake mix, with white chocolate around the plain. My hope? To create a cake that looks like a little pint of Guinness. I know, I'm too cool. I'll let everyone who's following (me) know how they went later on today. That reminds me, I need some white chocolate...

Captain's Blog, Stardate 24/6/10

2010-06-24T10:28:00.004+01:00

Well, exams are over, and it's time to give myself a project to keep my from going out of my tiny little mind for the summer, so I've decided to start a blog. That's right boys and girls, I'm writing a blog about my daily happenings. Don't think it'll be updated daily though, ooh crumbs no.

You're probably wondering why this blog is called 'The Surface Of The Sun', well, that's simple really. Even more so if you've seen the film Sunshine. If you're still pondering, have a look at this quickly. It's a score from the film itself, and I simply fell in love with it and decided to name my blog after it.

On a more related note, I'm off to Brecon tomorrow (that's in Wales (that's in Britain)), I reckon it's going to be faaaaantastic! Plenty of time to relax with the family (and for some unknown reason, Si's friend...) and embrace the country air. With any luck, I'll also be able to get some writing done on my book. Who knows, if I really like it, I might send it into a publisher! It's a British gangster novel set in London (as they all are), and it's about a bloke who gets caught up in all this gangster business when he's simply trying to earn his way out of his sister's house and into a better life. Great amounts of tomfoolery to be had, with one scene where an Irishman, an Englishman AND a Scotsman all walk into a pub. My originality knows no bounds!

Anyway, this is about right for an opening post, so I'll leave you charming, sexy people to it!