Nick Lowe

Muppets In Space

by Enormous on July 27, 2007

I can be pretty irresponsible at times but I have never driven a vehicle whilst under the influence of alcohol. Especially a spaceship.

The fact that NASA are so meticulously cautious and controlled in everything they do, and should then allow two of their astronauts to blast off into space while drunk is reckless and absurd at best, criminally idiotic at worst.

It has been a while since I departed the groves of academe, so my cerebral acuities are perhaps not as extensive as they once were, but even I can see what a completely foolish enterprise it was.

Perhaps it was someone’s birthday or maybe a few creative ground controllers thought that it would be an amusing experiment:
‘Hey, Hank, you ever wondered what would happen if . . ?’

It could have been an elaborate joke played on the American tax-payer. That would be a very British thing to do; to use so much irony that it becomes almost ironic.

Whatever the reason, it does lead one to believe that perhaps a timely review of the agency’s system of assessing the mental health of employees should be ordered. As I keep saying: it’s not rocket science, is it?

But more than anything else, what I want to know is: how did they get caught? How on earth would a traffic cop be able to stop them and pull them over?

On the Fantastic hi-fi today:
At My Age – Nick Lowe

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Eng.Lit. X

by Enormous on July 20, 2007

A few years ago, I discovered, to my dismay, that it is a popularly held belief that children’s author Enid Blyton was something of a racist. I was quite disappointed to learn this as the Famous five books were a big part of my early childhood.

I was even more taken aback by recent claims against Belgian author and illustrator Hergé. I love the Tintin books and still read them today. Audrey is also a big fan and is especially fond of having L’Etoile Mystérieuse read to her at bedtime. Though she regards Snowy as something of a coward, I secretly think that she has a crush on him.

To make matters even worse, I had the unfortunate experience of watching a documentary on Channel 4 the other evening whose subject was obese, northern comedian Bernard Manning, one of my favourite recently-deceased bigots. Apparently, our Bernard was also something of a raving racist. In the programme, someone said of him: ‘No matter what you think of Bernard or how much of a hate-filled chauvinist you may think he is, he did, nonetheless, have a talent that couldn’t be ignored.’
(I do love a challenge – Comedy Ed.)

And now, would you believe it, I have just been reliably informed by a husky-voiced child-psychologist-cum-local-radio-presenter (with a Dutch accent) that top schoolboy wizard Harry Potter is in fact gay. I tell you this: I am glad I was listening to Derbyshire Farming Today earlier on, or I would have gone on living my life suffering under some very serious delusions indeed.
‘Twas ever thus.

On the Fantastic hi-fi today:
The Impossible Bird – Nick Lowe
Song to a Seagull – Joni Mitchell

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Morning Has Broken

by Enormous on June 28, 2007

Ahhrgh! Do you ever get one of those mornings when everything goes wrong?

I am ordinarily quite a clumsy person; but I have thoroughly out-done myself today.

I got out of my bed as normal at 6:00am. The early morning sun that was streaming through the window was shining directly upon Audrey, beautifully highlighting the damson colours in her thick coat. What a lovely start to the day, I thought.

We both bounced downstairs for our wake-up lattés (she has her special Pedigree Canine-Coffee), when: Brzzpt! Bang! Zzzpt! The refrigerator blew up. There was a theatrical blue flash, and a puff of black smoke rather like a household-sized, nuclear mushroom-cloud cheerfully wafted up towards the kitchen ceiling.

‘Oh, deary me. The fridge has had it, don’t you know,’ I said to Audrey, who was looking somewhat startled. (To tell you the truth, I did not use that precise phrase. The actual one was slightly more colourful.) Not to worry, I thought, we’ll have a nice cup of coffee and sort everything out in a tick.

I won’t bore you with the full details of the inevitable catalogue of domestic disasters that occurred during the next half an hour. It would be just too depressing a report.

In short, I burned my favourite hand and left inner-thigh with boiling water; stood on a big slug outside with my bare feet; said ‘F*** off, b*****d!’ at the top of my voice while Mary, my elderly next-door neighbour was standing quietly in her garden with her young grandson waiting to wish me a good morning over the fence (– I quickly told her, in a rather tense accent: ‘Sorry, Mary, I didn’t mean you.’ I stopped and pointed at the gooey mess that was once a fat slug and frowned. ‘I’m having a bad day.’); dropped my crumpets and marmite – face down, of course – on the Persian rug in the lounge; banged my eyebrow on a tambourine (don’t ask); smashed a much-loved pot of chives thus skilfully distributing the contents over the kitchen floor whilst chasing a devious and mocking fly; ran out of toilet paper and endured a rather bracing, freezing cold shower. (I suspect my dog had risen secretly in the night and enjoyed a long, hot, soapy bath without me there to embarrass her.) Ho hum.

Do you ever have mornings like that? Or is it just me? I blame Tony Blair, I do. Where the hell is he when you need him?

On the Fantastic hi-fi today:
The Impossible Bird – Nick Lowe
Songs of Love and Hate – Leonard Cohen

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Official Warning

by Enormous on June 14, 2007

The Baby Jesus has threatened to smack my head in if I don’t get some work done for a change.

Actually, it is a little odd at times being self-employed. One has to be very disciplined and if the work rate begins to drop, you have to seriously castigate yourself.

If things get really out of hand, you do have to consider whether an official reprimand would be applicable to the situation.

There were definitely times in the past – when I was perhaps drinking a little too heavily and suffering the inevitable physical consequences and noticeable dips in mental acuity – that I have come very close to giving myself the sack due to the fact that my attendance was so poor.

And last week I had to call myself into the office and issue to myself a serious and severe warning for unacceptable sexual misconduct in the workplace.

It must be said that cases of sexual harassment at work are rare when you work for yourself, but at the time, I had caught myself touching myself on the arse – and apparently, it was not the first time it had happened either.

On the Fantastic hi-fi today:
Ron Sexsmith - Ron Sexsmith
Dig My Mood – Nick Lowe

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An Apology

by Enormous on May 19, 2007

I have been advised by my lawyers to issue an official apology.
(Solicitors and lawyers – in the main a drain on society – can at times offer useful advice.)

It appears that my reporting of Nelson Galaxy’s drunken night out in London’s Soho with a famous French movie star, and the surprising revelation that said movie star has taken to wearing a baby’s nappy whilst over-indulging in the intake of alcohol and other decadent substances, has caused something of a commotion within the normally dull and stuffy offices of a certain LA law firm.

Thus it is that I am compelled to retract my comments unequivocally and to offer a full and unreserved apology to the person concerned. I am sorry.

If I refused to comply, the actor’s lawyers offered me assurances that they would roughly insert large items of footwear into my fundament – and not in a good way.

In point of fact, I was only innocently echoing the fruity observations of my friend and confidante, Nelson. But apparently, I did not make appropriate efforts to protect the identity of the mercurial Gallic actor. In light of my inexcusable transgressions, therefore, I promise to spank myself rigorously on the behind for an hour and to venture afterwards into the misty fields to find a gypsy whose knuckle I shall endeavour to kiss.

On the Fantastic hi-fi today:
Nick Lowe – The Impossible Bird

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