FYI

No spoof news today, for I have important information to impart, alliteratively. It is particularly important if you are a budding film maker who wants your work to be seen by lots of lovely people at this year's Edinburgh International Film Festival in June, but you will need to get your skates on.

CLICK NOW FOR FURTHER INFORMATION.

30 Day Song Challenge - Day Twenty Eight

A song that makes you feel guilty.

Ah, you must be referring to the soundtrack to my last terrible crime.

Seriously, what does that even mean? I actually just looked up the word 'guilty' to check there isn't another meaning I didn't know about. But it definitely means "having committed an offense, crime, violation, or wrong, especially against moral or penal law."

This surely means I can't even have I Fought The Law, because the law wins in that.

Get this down you. Wrong spelling of 'guilt', but never mind.

30 Day Song Challenge - Day Eighteen

A song you wish you heard on the radio.

I think the world would be a better place if everyone in the world heard the following on the radio EVERY DAY:



LAWL, not really. But seriously, I actually do think that. I spend most nights lying awake in bed wishing the lost art form of the disco odyssey would hurry up and make a triumphant comeback already.

Alternatively, it'd be pretty sweet to have a bit of Cancel the Astronauts on the airwaves.

30 Day Song Challenge

The Facebook users amongst you are probably already aware of the 30 Day Song Challenge .

Essentially you post a song a day according to a set of rules set by - three monkeys, if the community profile picture is to be believed. Loads of my friends and acquaintances are doing it, and some were discussing it in the pub the other night. Apparently it's surprisingly difficult.

Anyhoo, I thought I might do it here, because it means I can set up posts in advance, which might come in handy as I struggle to juggle all my many blogs and projects.

Day One is meant to be your favourite song, which is Train in Vain by The Clash.



I'm fairly sure I first got into The Clash at the age of 15. I remember sitting on the floor in the kitchen of my parents' house, with the patio door open and the sun shining in, as I listened to my mum's copy of The Clash: The Singles for the first time. I think it was after an exam, but I'm not sure which one... anyway, from then on it was love.

Drinking On A Monument With A Man Who Doesn't Like Me

Happy V Day, y'all. To celebrate, why not watch the all new video from Kid Canaveral? It gives you an insight into what love is really all about, through the power of stop motion animation by the very talented David Galletly.



Look out for an appearance of a print by Dundee-based illustrator Sanna Dyker in there as well...

Kid Canaveral's Christmas Baubles

I wrote a guest post for the Guardian - a review of Kid Canaveral's Christmas Baubles. In lieu of anything new here today, you should read it, here.

Iiiin West Philadelphia Born And Raised

You know Will Smith? The Fresh Prince? The only black lead in any of the fifty highest grossing films ever (unless you count Eddie Murphy in Shrek, which I wouldn’t – Donkey is a sidekick)? His career trajectory has been pretty astounding, hasn’t it? And now his kids are following suit, which is nice, but dear god his daughter’s debut single is annoying.

The song begins with the line “I whip my hair back and forth,” which is repeated 8 times or until young Willow gets distracted by something shiny. The verse goes:

“Hop up out the bed turn my swag on” -

I had to conduct not one, but two internet searches to find out what that meant. She’s not referring to ‘swag’ as in a sackful of loot stolen by a burglar in a book by Janet and Allan Ahlberg, or SWAG as in the elite unit of the Philippine Navy. She’s only ten, which lead me to surmise she didn’t mean the valance, either. No, according to urban dictionary, ‘swag’ refers to the way one carries oneself, eg “he got a killa swag.” I am going to be using that, sounding whiter than anyone ever thought possible of a white girl from Scotland.

“Pay no attention to them haters,” she continues, encouragingly.

What haters are these, one wonders. You’re ten years old, what have you been doing to accumulate haters? She explains:

“Because we whip em off.”

Get your mind out of the gutter, people, that can’t possibly mean what it sounds like. Maybe she literally has been whipping them with like a riding crop or something. Ouch. But then she elaborates,

“and we ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong,” which puts paid to the whip attack idea. She must know that assault is bad, hater or no hater. Or does she?

“So don’t tell me nothin’ / I’m just trying to have fun,” she says defensively.

Although that’s pretty standard kid chat, isn’t it.

Adult: Hello, small child! What are you up to?

Child: Nothin. Just trying to have fun, jeez, leave me alone already. You’re so embarrassing.

“So keep the party jumping,” Willow continues vaguely, perhaps referring to the time mom and dad got her a totally sweet bouncy castle for her birthday.

“So whats up? Yeah. / You know they don't know what to do / we turn our back and whip our hair…”

Sage advice for you there. If you got some haters all up in your grill, whip your hair back and forth. They won’t know what to do. To prove the point, Willow proceeds to whip her hair back and forth for about eight years, occasionally exhorting haters not to get her off her grind, until Jay-Z caves and gives her a record contract. Hopefully she will annoy him into writing her a proper song.

Multimeeja Mad Skillz

Nevermind snowpocalypse, here's a piece of multimedia journalism about NaNoWriMo which I did for The Edinburgh Reporter.

However, I must apologise profusely to one of the contributors because I originally credited her as Kath when her name is in fact Cathy! Very sorry for that journofail, which has now been rectified.



If you're interested, you can download the tracks featured in this video for free, here. I recommend getting Mid Life Crisis Man too.

Chapter Twenty Two

I have broken 40k! Exciting times. This is a shorter chapter than the rest to celebrate. Chapters 1-21 here.

Aloysius was lost.

Not that he’d known where he was going in the first place, but now he knew even less. The majestic mountains had looked pretty large from a distance, but now he had reached them they turned out to be two dimensional cut outs placed at right angles to form the walls of a fiendishly difficult maze.

He suspected that the amulet was at the centre, partly because the crudely drawn scribble on the scroll included a bunch of squiggles with the word ‘amulet’ written in a circle in the middle, and partly because the bag lady who wasn’t really a bag lady had told him in a sonorous voice,

“Go to the middle of the maze in the majestic mountains and there you will find that which you seek.”

That which he sought was of course the amulet – it wasn’t rocket science, really.

Al squatted down on his heels awhile, to check whether things were any clearer from a lower perspective. That and he was feeling a bit tired. The huge purple mountains on their wooden bases gazed back at him, impervious to his ninja examination skills.

“Hmm,” he said to himself, standing up too quickly and getting a head rush for his trouble.

It was then that he heard the siren song of the amulet for the first time.

The sound pierced his heart like an arrow tipped with a delicious cherry flavoured poison, echoing around his brain like the ghost of a love never spoken out loud. It was one part the best song you ever heard; one part the sweetest voice you’ll ever know; two parts the truest joy you’ve ever experienced, and a just a dash of the bitterest pain imaginable. The Skinny gave it five stars, and promptly exploded from the excitement of it all.

Without knowing he was doing it, Al moved towards the sound, like sailors of yore being lured to the rocky shores of the sirens’ island. And him with a classical education as well. How humiliating.

He followed it left and right and left and right then straight on then right, right, left, straight, and so on, till eventually he was at the central point of the maze which had eluded him for nearly half an hour. The space was littered with skeletons, people made of stone, and other horrific evidence that the amulet was not to be trusted.

However, the jewel itself was nowhere to be seen.

“What’s making the noise then,” he wondered aloud, looking around him to see what he could see.

In the furthest away corner he could just make out a rather lovely collie dog, lying asleep in a wicker basket. Al wasn’t sure at first, but as he approached he thought that the sound was definitely emanating from the pooch.

He was torn. Should he wake the sleeping animal, which was having one of those dreams where it was chasing something – a cat, most likely, or possibly a squirrel – and seemed quite content? Or should he wait until it woke up on its own? Who knew how long that would be, dogs are notoriously heavy sleepers. Even a fire alarm at 4am won’t rouse them from their slumber.

In the end, he was saved, because the dog woke up of its own volition.

“Hello there,” Al said, “is it you who’s been doing that strange and beautiful singing?”

“Yes,” said the dog, who could talk, “but it’s not because I want to. I ate something that disagreed with me, and now I can talk and dance and I can’t stop this constant blasted singing.”

“Oh,” Al replied, “I am sorry to hear that. What was it that you ate that has affected you so?”

Of course Al had his theories about what the dog must have eaten to be so transformed, but it would have been bad manners not to allow it this opportunity to hold forth on its woes. It may have been suffering in this way for years without ever having the chance to vent its frustrations, and Al was experienced enough in the ways of being alive to know that this was a dangerous way to live.

“I’m not sure,” the collie dog began slyly, “for I eat a lot of things. At first I wondered if it was a shoe I took from one of those bodies, but I’ve chewed on hundreds of shoes like it before and never had a problem. Then I wondered whether perhaps it was the old eggs I took from a nest that had fallen from a tree in the forest on the other side of the island. But they were too foul smelling and sulphuric to be the source of this strange and beautiful gift of mine.”

“Have you eaten anything else unusual of late?” Al prompted.

“Well now that you come to mention it,” the dog said, “there was the magical amulet that lives at the centre of the maze. I did eat that the other day.”

“Why did you do that?” Al enquired.

“To keep it safe,” the dog explained, “whilst I transport it back to my master.”

“And who is your master?”

“The head of the clan of the black cape, of course,” the dog informed him scornfully. “It’d be a member of staff from the Battersea Dogs Home, sending me on my own to a mysterious island to eat one of the most evil artifacts in history just for safe keeping.”

“Who is the head of the clan of the cape?” Al asked, not really expecting a sensible answer.

“Hell if I know,” the dog replied, expectedly. “Some ponce in a fancy cape. Wears a mask as well. Not sure why, in front of me. It’s not like I’m going to sell my story to the papers. I’m a dog.”

“A talking dog, though,” Al pointed out encouragingly, “that’s pretty good.”

“I’m not actually talking,” the dog explained wearily, “I’ve set up a telepathic link between us for the purpose of exposition. And I’m only able to do that due to the power given to me by the magical amulet that’s sitting in one of my bellies.”

“One of your bellies?” Al was perplexed.

“Yeah, one of them. Dogs have two stomachs, genius.”

“I thought that was cows?”

“Yeah right, because cows have the monopoly on extra bellies. That is so species-ist,” the dog complained.

“Sorry,” apologized Al. “I didn’t realize it was such a sensitive subject.”

“People never do.”

“So you’re going to head back to the clan now, are you?”

“Guess so.”

“Can I tag along?”

“Don’t you want the amulet for yourself?”

“Well, I’ve been told to get it before they do, but there’s not a lot I can do about that now is there. So it’d be interesting to meet my nemeses, I think.”

“They’ll probably kill you or something,” the dog warned.

“Oh, I’m sure they probably aren’t that bad.”

“Well, OK. It’s your funeral.”

And so Aloysius followed the dog out of the maze, and down to the well.

Dawn was breaking as they reemerged into the woods to the south of the city.

It was time to meet the clan of the cape.

Stewbilee

"Americans demonizing the man from BP is akin to a sex tourist punching a prostitute in the face because they're so disgusted by their own desire. Americans love oil, they've got the highest oil consumption per head of any country in the world. All the man from BP has done is float it closer to them."

I'm paraphrasing, but this is roughly how Stewart Lee began his one-off 'Silver Stewbilee' show at the Festival Theatre last night.

Well actually, Kevin Eldon opened in the guise of unpublished poet Paul Hamilton, a character he played in Lee and Herring's Fist of Fun. The only poem I can remember in its entirety for you is the following:

I am a dalek. LITERALLY.

But there were funnier ones than that. And quite excitingly you can download his stuff from the FOF radio show here. Or of course go to his first ever solo fringe show, which I'm hoping to do soon.

Other guests included Paul Putner doing his Earl Stevens bit, Simon Munnery doing his Urban Warrior bit, Bridget Christie doing some of her ant bit (one of the strongest parts of the show and based on that I will definitely grab a ticket to the full thing at The Stand); and Richard Herring appearing from the audience, ripping up Lee's book and throwing it at him. Apparently the reviewer at Chortle thought this was an actual surprise rather than an orchestrated bit reminiscent of some of their old routines, which prompted Herring to devote part of today's daily Fringe podcast he does with Andrew Collins to playing a voicemail message of Stewart Lee asking him to come and do it. Egg and Chortle's face must surely be in alignment.

Lee performed a range of material, with older stuff in the first half and a new routine in the second which was really good. I do like the William Wallace bit but I've seen it a few times now and it was nice to hear some grandfather-related whimsy and Russell Howard inspired vitriol. Will feel like some kind of comedy traitor whenever I watch Mock the Week now. Well I won't at all, but it was funny stuff.

There was also an appearance from Look Around You character Tony Rudd (Eldon again), singing Machadaynu accompanied by Franz Ferdinand, which seemed quite surreal until Frank Chickens* came on to do a couple of songs. And then there was Lee himself singing That's How I Escaped My Certain Fate (the Mission of Burma song that inspired the title of his book) to close the show, which confounded my expectations (and from thence the humour arose... Except he actually pulled it off pretty well). I suspect this may have been an enactment a pretty long-held fantasy, and good on him for doing it.

*If you are a user of the internet and interested in this year's Festival, you may be aware of the Fosters-sponsored 'Comedy God' poll and Stewart Lee's distaste for it. He pointed out that acts like Frank Chickens who haven't been seen at the Fringe since 1984 are hardly going to get many votes from a festival-going public who may not even have been born then, although they could be the funniest thing ever. Thus he inadvertently launched a campaign to get people voting for them, strongly supported by Richard Herring and Twitter, and they now have something like 50% of the votes in the poll.

Activities

Couple of free things to do in Edinburgh, courtesy of the libraries blog (for which I occasionally write things).

If you like graphic novels, or Burke and Hare, or both, then you might want to go to the launch of a new graphic novel about Burke and Hare. The writer and the artist will be there and everything. This is occurring at Central Library next Thursday (28th January) and although it is free you do need to book a place. Full details here.

Then almost a month on from that, one of the events for Carry a Poem month (which is February, by the way) includes a thing at Central Library with some songs being sung by Aidan Moffat of Arab Strap, poetry being read by Jackie Kay of being a poet, and general chat from author/musician Doug Johnstone of Fence band Northern Alliance. Again you need to email to book, but it sounds like that might be worth doing. It's happening on Thursday 25th February, and further details can be found here.