Twickenham Green...

Passing the site of the summer's impromptu floral tributes to Amelie, the wind picks up with an invigorating rush. Unburnished copper leaves scuttle across the road, brittle and sheenless commuters late for a train, or scurrying from the rain that will soon drench them to mulch. Perpendicular contrails slash the clear blue sky, shooting stars frozen on still frame. I recall the face of the kitsch Christ on a card of remembrance for the family, tacky and touching at the same time - a quiet sob hurled out in space from unknown to unknowns. The shock and sadness ongoing.

The Light of the World.

As a young child I played football here with my father, Dad a reluctant but patiently indulgent goalie as I played out the matches in my head, with team-mates unseen, sliding in to tackles with invisible adversaries to achieve the desired muddied shorts and socks effect. Lost in my own little world, innocent and safe.

Further on I pass the Red Lion pub, once a sorry dive inhabited by quiet old men, idling over their Ben Truemans. Now it's home to Filthy's rock club - a carefully manicured dive contrived to bombard the young with speed metal and fleece them for weak lager served in a plastic beaker. Pictures of Pete and Dud, Sammy D. Jr. and a collection of actual guitars are pinned to the walls - selling them a scene, off the peg. Happy now? Poor, poor 'yoof'. Poor, poor youth. There's a poster in the window for Rick Buckler's band - The Gift. Yes, that's The Gift as in the Jam LP of the same name, just subtly hammering home the pedigree, the name that's being traded on. The glories now long gone. The past casts long shadows. And I consider now what once seemed unthinkable - the thought of one day dying alone and unknown.

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By Popular Demand: The Return of the Much-Loved Staple the Artichoke to Samantha Morton Game!!!!!...

Regular readers will recall with fondness the hours of harmless fun this whimsical parlour game has provided them over the years. So, by popular demand, here's a welcome return of everyone's favourite vegetable/versatile actress recently acclaimed for her compelling portrayal of the Moors Murderer Myra Hindley match-up game:

Playing Staple the Artichoke to the Samantha Morton couldn't be simpler: just staple one of the artichokes onto Samantha to comic effect and see if your effort agrees with that of our celebrity panel - Roger de Courcey & Nookie Bear, Judith Chalmers, Newt Gingrich and The Brotherhood of Man. A fortnight's luxury squatting outside Heather Mills McCartney to our 416 lucky winners...







As usual we'll be posting up the most hilarious entries over the next few days....

Good luck - and mind out for those spikes!!


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By Popular Demand! The Return of the Ever-Popular Pin the Marrow on the Sophie Ellis Bextor Game!!!...

Regular readers will recall with fondness the hours of harmless fun this whimsical parlour game has provided them over the years. So, by popular demand, here's a welcome return of everyone's favourite vegetable/rhomboid-faced singer and daughter of the sauciest ever Blue Peter presenter match-up game:

Playing Pin the Marrow on the Sophie Ellis-Bextor couldn't be simpler: just insert one of the marrows into Sophie to comic effect and see if your effort agrees with that of our celebrity panel - Derek Underwood, Norman St. John Stevas, Bishop Desmond Tutu and Clannad. A fortnight's luxury accomodation in Jordan's Smeg oven to our 119 lucky winners...






As usual we'll be posting up the most hilarious entries over the next few days....

Good luck - and mind those seeds!!



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By Popular Demand: The Return of Pin the Marrow on the Vorderman!!!...

Regular readers will recall with fondness the hours of harmless fun this whimsical parlour game has provided them over the years. So, by popular demand, here's a welcome return of everyone's favourite vegetable/Numbers & words quiz presenter match-up game:

Playing Pin the Marrow on the Vorderman couldn't be simpler: just insert one of the marrows into Carol Vorderman to comic effect and see if your effort agrees with that of our celebrity panel - Buster Mottram, Lily Savage, Patricia Hewitt and Englebert Humperdinck. A fortnight's luxury cruise around Cardigan Bay to our 134 lucky winners...






As usual we'll be posting up the most hilarious entries over the next few days....

Good luck!!

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Longford...

We've been rather spoilt for excellent terrestrial TV of late, what with the superior Jane Eyre adaptation, the fantastic Prime Suspect: last orders at the bar please*, not to mention the continuing brilliance of Extras and Curb. But last night's Channel 4 recreation of Lord Longford's much-derided relationship with and campaign on behalf of moors murderer Myra Hindley possibly topped even that impressive list.

It's rare enough to see prime-time TV that raises questions worth answering - namely, in a nominally Christian society, what are the limits forgiveness? Are some acts beyond redemption? and so on - let alone being able to do so with as light a touch and without ever appearing to be didactic or moralising. The performances of Jim Broadbent - an uncanny doppelgager for ("Fur-wank") Longford - and Samantha Morton - compelling and just subtly ambiguous enough as Hindley to garner sufficient sympathy for the drama to work. Andy Serkis was equally convincing as a more diabolically portrayed Ian Brady.

The film may well have attracted a lot of more opprobrium (see March BBC item linked at the title) by refusing to completely demonise Hindley in the tabloid fashion we're familiar with. Instead, it sought to view her as Longford, a devout Christian committed to the redemptive possibilities of his faith had, and this brave move worked. Indeed, Graham Greene came to mind as Longford's obdurate belief that human justice, inconsequential as it is sat next to that of divine origin, was not sufficiently equipped to judge


*Please, please, please ITV - give us Prime Suspect: oh alright, just one more for the road.....


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Longford...

We've been rather spoilt for excellent terrestrial TV of late, what with the Beeb's recent superior Jane Eyre adaptation, the fantastic Prime Suspect 26: last orders at the bar please*, not to mention the continuing brilliance of Extras and Curb. But last night's Channel 4 recreation of Lord Longford's much-derided relationship with and campaign on behalf of moors murderer Myra Hindley possibly topped even that impressive list.

It's rare enough to see prime-time TV that raises questions worth answering - namely, in a nominally Christian society, what are the limits forgiveness? Do some acts put the perpetrator beyond redemption? and so on - let alone being able to do so with as light a touch and without ever appearing to be didactic or moralising. The performances of Jim Broadbent - an uncanny doppelgager for ("Fur-wank")** Longford - and Samantha Morton - compelling and just subtly ambiguous enough as Hindley to problematise the surprising degree of sympathy for the character her performance otherwise elicited. Andy Serkis was equally convincing as a more robustly diabolical Ian Brady.

The film may well have attracted a lot of more opprobrium (see March BBC item linked at the title) by refusing to completely demonise Hindley in the tabloid fashion we're familiar with. Instead, it sought to view her as Longford, a devout Christian committed to the redemptive possibilities of his faith, had and this brave move worked brilliantly. Longford's obdurate desire to see the best and not the worst was tested to the limit - first by the hatred and anger generated by his prison visitee, then by Hindley herself as she undermined his Lordship's years of patient work to win her a probation hearing. You could have been excused the belief that someone had unearthed a hitherto unknown dramatisation of the story by Graham Greene. Indeed, the evil conjured up by Brady & Hindley made Greene's own evil incarnation in Brighton Rock, Pinky Brown, seem tame.

Longford presents a chilling thesis: without faith in a redemptive, Christian God, life is absurd and meaningless. Forgiveness is the cornerstone of that faith and yet how to forgive Hindley and Brady - assuming even that we could/should. The Moors Murderers Hindley's personal betrayal of Longford represents the

*Please, please, please ITV - give us Prime Suspect: oh alright, just one more for the road.....

**"Who's this speech impedimented tosser??" asked a clearly worse for wear and tear S. when Broadbent uttered his first line...(that grammatical lapse is most out of character, btw.)

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Longford...

We've been rather spoilt for excellent terrestrial TV of late, what with the superior Jane Eyre adaptation, the fantastic Prime Suspect: last orders at the bar please*, not to mention the continuing brilliance of Extras and Curb. But last night's Channel 4 recreation of Lord Longford's much-derided relationship with and campaign on behalf of moors murderer Myra Hindley possibly topped even that impressive list.

It's rare enough to see prime-time TV that raises questions worth answering - namely, in a nominally Christian society, what are the limits forgiveness? Are some acts beyond redemption? and so on - let alone being able to do so with as light a touch and without ever appearing to be didactic or moralising. The performances of Jim Broadbent - an uncanny doppelgager for ("Fur-wank") Longford - and Samantha Morton - compelling and just subtly ambiguous enough as Hindley to garner sufficient sympathy for the drama to work. Andy Serkis was equally convincing as a more diabolically portrayed Ian Brady.

The film may well have attracted a lot of more opprobrium (see March BBC item linked at the title) by refusing to completely demonise Hindley in the tabloid fashion we're familiar with. Instead, it sought to view her as Longford, a devout Christian committed to the redemptive possibilities of his faith had, and this brave move worked. Indeed, Graham Greene came to mind as Longford's obdurate belief that human justice, inconsequential as it is sat next to that of divine origin, was not sufficiently equipped to judge


*Please, please, please ITV - give us Prime Suspect: oh alright, just one more for the road.....


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Let's Hear It For Rush Limbaugh!!!...

About time that someone stood up and told it like it was. Right-wing American broadcaster Rush Limbaugh has delivered a blow for freedom of expression and performed a great service to us all by fearlessly mocking Democratic candidate and former movie star Michael J. Fox's Parkinson disease (clip here)

Honestly, what's the world coming to if you can't take the piss out of a crip when all your other arguments are demonstrably pathetic and patently wrong?

Really - it's political correctness gone mad!


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Kate Silverton Appeal/Desperate Attempt To Get More Hits From Pervs...

Seasoned Swipe readers (OK, Spinny and Ro-Mo) will remember a time, sadly long gone, when there was occasionally the odd post up here that could almost be described as amusing. I'm referring of course to the now legendary (well, as close as this blog will ever come to that, anyroad) Kate Silverton is Turning into Ollie Beak post from several decades ago. Not only is that piece the single most amusing thing we've ever managed to come up with (...I know...) it's also proved our most popular, turning up as it does with alarming frequency on google searches along the lines of KATE+SILVERTON+TITCLAMP+BESTIAL+BEAK-JOB and similar.

Obviously we will never scale such heights again, but I thought it might be fun (well, you know what I mean - less painful than yesterday's post) to show you some of the searches that we come up on - they invariably concern Kate and a variety of sexual peccadilloes and scanty costumes etc.

Here are some of my favourites:

# 1

# 2

# 3

# 4

Or this just in - I'm sensing the hand of the Dickster here - least, I *hope* it's his hand....

Those of you who've enjoyed this might want to check out the site meter box - that's not rude, it really *is* just, like, a box - at the bottom (...steady....) of the page. You won't find anything interesting there, obviously, but if enough of you do have a look then it won't do my hit counter any harm as you'll have to scroll through several pages to get there. We're closing in on 100,000 page views and I'm sure once we pass that there'll be even more perv hits than ever to keep things ticking over. I just wish a few of you filthy-minded bastards would actually read the fucking thing every now and then.

Regarding the Appeal: am I the only person who would pay money to see Kate's legs in all their glory?? Come on Beeb - bugger Children in Need: what about us bloody adults, eh???


********UPDATE*************

Tim's current post quotes closet Swipe fan and Shadow Morton afficianado Stewart Lee as describing blogs as consisting of "pornography and descriptions of going to the shops".

Well Stew, you're probably wondering where the usual description of me going to the shops is, having had your daily dose of porn (see above). Obviously, I have to be a bit careful here as, unlike the hard-working funnyman, I quite literally *do* have more money than sense and I'm a bit wary of scaring off my chavvy readers with bragging accounts of my latest Elton-esque spree. You know, I don't want people to run away with the idea that just because I *can* quite easily afford to buy expensive, non-essential items such as crowns, leisure centres, vintage motorcycles, tickets to The Arsenal, unlimited call girl facilities etc. on a weekly basis, that I actually *do* this. I tend to only go up the Arsenal a couple of times a month. And once you've bought one leisure centre...


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The Letters Game...

What would we do without the Grauniad, eh?

Yesterday's crossword bailed us out when we had absolutely nothing of interest to communicate to the world at large. So today it's the turn of the Letters Game. The rules are quite simple - you just have to make the biggest word you can out of the letters below:

C U D I L P E H L

It doesn't say anything about not using bad words, so presumably if there were an N and a T there, it would be quite admissible to use the word CUNT, although admittedly that's not a particularly long word. You'd probably be better off waiting until the option of combining it with O H O & K presented itself, the word CUNTHOOK doubling as it does the size of the word at a stroke and almost succeeding in using up all the available letters. In fact, if the remaining letter was an S - BINGO! You've managed to use *all nine* of the words to achieve the maximum score - although Christ in a PVC catsuit only knows what a SCUNTHOOK is.

Tomorrow: Part One of our cut out and keep, full-colour, inch by inch mosaic of Bob Swipe's eggshell blue living room. Just collect all 28,967 identical squares to create your own astonishingly life-like replica of Bob's living room wall. Part 2 comes free with the first intallment!

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This Twat...

...was complaining because he's been turned down for inclusion on this list - it's a list of political blogs, yeah, and he's submitted one where the two most recent entries are a Weird Al Yankowich video and a picture of his (I'm assuming) family....I know the personal is political, but....

So, fair enough - it's a free world and all that. But then I look down the side bar....and they're all there: Scary, Ro-Mo, Istvanski, JDA, Dickster.....you know, the usual suspects.

But no me.

So you can imagine my feelings of exclusion - the little boy that nobody loved, the last Christmas tree in the shop. And there's him moaning about not being on some politico's blog-wank listing? Like, *he* should worry! I mean, what have I done to upset him? Or is *he* the husband of the bird I've been banging behind his unsuspecting back for the last 6 months (...although, to be fair, she's not known too much about it herself, what with the drugs and blindfolds and everything...) Or has he picked up on all my bad karma - I'm still paying for the things I wished on van Nistelrooy during The Battle of Old Trafford, and he doesn't even play there anymore... - and thought, steer well clear of this one? Or is it just that this blog's crap?? Well, which is it, Mr. "I'm so upset because Julian wouldn't let me play politics with him, paltry 38,000 hits even though I've linked to everyone else in the world (except for Bob Swipe, obviously...)", huh??

But then I just happened to pop back there (you know, research, like) and what do I find?

I'm there.

Right at the bottom....

Which sort of invalidates all the other stuff really....


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An Even More Boring Post Than Yesterday's...

That's right folks - the only enthusiasm I can work up for this now is to see *just* how mindlessly boring and futile I can make the posts. Well, I've tried the funny* stuff. I've tried the serious stuff, had a go at the intellectual stuff, even tried to tug the old heart strings in a cynical and manipulative attempt to prove that beneath the shallow, mercenary exterior there might beat a warm and sensitive heart**....In fact, I've tried every-fucking-thing to get a short, weekly satirical columnn on the Grauniad so I can give up working and spend hours at a time in the Groucho club getting off my box with fellow "serious journalists and commentators" (and Jane Moore***). But all to no avail. So why not do the obvious and put up stuff that's so dull you can't even bring yourself to look at the headline without feeling the urge to vom? Well, it worked for Lucy Mangan...

So here goes. This is as far as I've got with today's Grauniad crossword (quick; no. 11,378):

1 across: Barnaby Rudge

10 across: Radiant

12 across: On the air

18 across: Alsatian

20 across: Oven

23 across: Raven

24 across: Magnetic pole

3 down: Nark

6 down: Drama

7 down: Entertaining

13 down: Sentence

16 down: Revival

21 down: Grip

Not anywhere as dull as Lucy's usual efforts, but come on - I've only just started. She's been at it for months.

I will, of course, post up any other clues as soon as I get them. So that'll give you all something to look forward to. Or not.

Tomorrow:

The Letters Game: make the longest word you can from the nine letters shown - R,T,Y,D,W,M,N,P,Z...


* for want of a better word...

** There doesn't, btw...

***It should shame me, I know, but....*would*


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Ian Dury Solar-Powered Memorial Bench Update Update - Update...

I received this reply from Mil at Pavillion Design (the designer of the bench) on Friday:


HI John*
Thanks for getting in touch with me. I am disappointed to hear that 'REASONS TO BE CHEERFUL' is in need of repair again, but perhaps not altogether surprised: it was my first prototype of this product - designed as a student at the RCA in 2000, installed in early 2002 - and I think it has lasted quite well in the circumstances! Consider the problems that Apple are continuing to have with the iPod - so many returns within a year's ownership due to 'technical issues' - and a 3.5 year life-span, albeit with occasionally interrupted service, doesn't seem so bad.


There could be several possible causes of the problem:


1. water in the headphone socket - rusty: replace, although the particular component, which had a very handy integrated 'switch', is no longer in production
2. rusty solder connections: strip and redo
3. rechargeable battery out of life: replace (I replaced them both about 18 months ago)
4. MP3 players dead - hmmm: these particular players were ideal for this application but are not made anymore. Each player has its own particular 'hacking' potential/suitabilty - it would be better not to have to replace the whole system


You can see that while the solution may be simple, it may not, and I regret to say that I cannot volunteer myself to undertake it again: I really wish that this memorial could be 'guaranteed', but the truth is that I have repaired it myself 3 times now, and passed on all the technical info to the folk at Richmond Park at that point. I have to say that they took quite some convincing to accept the bench in the first place, and were wary of assuming ownership of a somewhat uncertain entity - vandalism being their most obvious concern, although to the best of my knowledge this has not been a problem. Although obviously I wish there was a kindly 'guardian of the flame' on hand, I do not really expect Richmond Park to endlessly keep it up, so am somewhat at a loss as to how to resolve the issue (although I would love to). Having said that , I have just had an enquiry about supplying some for an application abroad, so am going to think around this particular problem and see if there is a way to deliver the content in a different and more stable way, which perhaps could be retro-fitted to the bench in Richmond Park, but this will likely be some time off, if indeed I can come up with something. The sad truth is that when one is dealing with such small scale batch-production of one-off pieces, it is difficult to engineer a really stable system, as I am doing it all myself with off the shelf, 'hacked' technology - not the best way, but the only way open to me. I hope you understand.


When the issue of continuous performance malfunction was raised during my initial discussions with the Royal Parks Dept, I did point out that if the worst came to the worst, they would still have a very nice, inscribed teak bench, and that I might infill the void left by the solar panels with 2 plaques telling the story of what/why etc... Its not the best solution, but it is a solution.
Another option might be to post a request on your blog for someone with a better technical solution to get in touch?


Warner Chappell never really engaged with the project in the first place, so I am not surprised that they are not expressing interest now. Ian's lawyer leaned on them to get some money to pay me for the bench, but that was about the extent of their involvement and I wouldn't expect any more.


All of this is not really a way forward, but maybe the start of a further dialogue: I understand that the idea of the bench appealed to a lot of people (I think the day we installed it with Ian;s family etc was one of the proudest days of my life), but the sad truth is that these kinds of technology do not last forever, particularly when they are left outside for years - I assume that is understood? In the meantime I hope you will take this as an expression of sincere interest to reach a happy and appropriate solution and am sorry not to be able to offer an immediate fix.


Yours
Mil

So, there you go. There's no doubting Mil's sincerity and it would be great if he can come up with something that Richmond Parks people might be able to fit. Failing that, it would seem that, as Mil says, there is at least a nice bench there for people to remember Ian by. Just a shame if such an innovative and appropriate memorial as the musical bench can't be fully restored. Let's keep fingers crossed and maybe Baxter will have a bit more clout regarding getting Warners or the Parks people to do something. I suppose we could always try to think of something else, another way of reminding future generations of Ian's work - something like one of those trees in Lost in Translation with the message bearing ribbons attached to it, featuring our favourite Dury lyrics? Just a thought - I'm sure there's a better idea. Any thoughts?


* How many times??? IT'S **BOB**!!!!!!


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Ian Dury Solar-Powered Memorial Bench Update - Update...

Train driver to the stars* and all round sexy-mo-fo-former-postman to the stars**, Howesy has posted up an update on the state of Ian's memorial in Richmond Park.

It seems that, although there's been an improvement, things still aren't quite as we'd want them.

Anyroad, I wrote the following to Pavilion Design, the people who came up with the idea for the bench:

Hi Mil and Bob,

I’m writing on behalf of a few cyber friends (as well as music lovers the world over) to advise you that the bench you created to honour the memory of much loved singer Ian Dury has fallen into some state of disrepair. This is a post a friend put up recently describing the current condition of the memorial:

This is an update as to the condition of the bench in Poet's Corner, Pembroke Lodge, Richmond Park, where Ian Dury liked to go in the last stages of his illness.... The last time I visited, one of the feeds was working, the other headphone socket had been damaged. This time, both headphone sockets were okay, but something else was wrong and the audio wasn't running. I don't know how it works exactly, but I wonder if the solar panels feed batteries which power the audio loops? Could the batteries be knackered? The bench is decorated with little plaques saying the bench is sponsored by Warner/Chappell music, I contacted them to report the damage about 2 years ago and heard nothing. Maybe we should try them again to get this fixed? It's a lovely memorial in a lovely part of the park, and it's such a shame that it hasn't survived very well.


(Please click on the link below to read the full post and see a recent photo of the bench.)

http://bignotesfromasmallmind.blogspot.com/2006/10/ian-durys-memorial-bench-update.html

There was a lot of interest from readers of our blogs concerning the lack of upkeep of the bench. A friend spoke to Richmond parks department a few weeks back and they promised action which may well have been forthcoming as some of the initial problems seem to have been resolved, but there is obviously still a problem with the audio content of the installation.

I realise that the bench is a long way from your base in Glasgow and probably no longer the responsibility of your company, but I would ask you on behalf of the many people who expressed an interest in the memorial to do anything you can to help restore the bench to working order through liaising with Richmond parks department or other relevant agency.

I am enormously grateful for you taking the time to look into this.

Yours sincerely,

Bob

Let's hope that they can come up with something...

* i.e. Vince Hill, Bamber Gascoigne, and other well-known celebrities who might conceivably "let the train take the strain", as we all used to say - you know, he doesn't drive a train that goes to, for instance, the crab nebula or anything. Well, not yet, anyroad.

**Well, Kate O'Mara...

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Rip It Up and Start Again...

...was a crap post so I've deleted it.


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Sgt. Bobster's Lonely Hearts Club Band...

Well, if you'd told me all those many months ago when I first posted up some inconsequential ramblings concerning Patrick Vieira's putative move to Real Madrid* that I would one day be reduced to this - to soliciting in these very pages for a good man, true of heart, stout of liver and supple of limb to soothe the tumultuous, heaving breast [steady! Overwrought Pre-Raphealite prose Ed.] of our beloved goddess of blog, The Divine Spinster....well, frankly, I'd never have believed you.

Sadly, things have, it seems, come to precisely that pass and there seems little option after reading this enormously candid and moving recent entry from the Spinster.

I know the more salacious among you have for some time now harboured fantasies that The Spinster and your humble servant might one day forge a union and unite our two formidable blog houses to form a nuptial alliance that would surely strike terror into the heart of the mainstream media (and Hello! magazine) Sadly, this can never be. Firstly, The Spinster, with a discernment rarely to be found in this era of dumbing down and instant gratification, has outlined a number of criteria - age, looks, lack of physical impairment etc. - many of which, unfortunately preclude me, a 58 year old calliper-bound Nikki Lauda lookalikey, from plighting my troth to Ulster's foremost singleton. As if these deficiencies were not enough, we also live in the shadow of heartless sectarianism - even if we wished to, we could never surmount the wall of bigotry and intolerance that separates me, an orange bastard killjoy proddy from the feckless spud-munching bead juggler of my dreams. And then there's the cockrot.

But fear not, this story will, I'm sure, end happily. If you happen to be (in no particular order of importance) male, aged between 25 and 40, not hairy, sentient, single, not too tall, not too short, handsome, into indie rock music (whatever that is), Catholic, literate, alcoholic, "liberal with a small l", a sexual gymnast of earth-shudderingly wonderful proportions, living within easy access of Bristol, please contact me here at:

Bob's Lonely Hearts
Swipe Towers
Tw**kenh*m
Middlesex

Please enclose a cheque/postal order for £15.00 and a passport sized photo. (And make sure it's of someone reasonably fit or you'll have no chance...picky? You betcha!)



* he didn't leave Arsenal that summer, as it goes.


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The Biggest Blog in History...

Well, I was going to post up an appeal for a knight in shining armour to come and weep the poor lonely and beloved Spinster off her feet today, but that will have to wait now this has come up. (Sorry Spin - I figured *one* more day wouldn't make *that* much difference...)

Anyroad, the deal is that this lot called History Matters are inviting all of us to record our activities this very day (Tuesday 17th October, 2006) and eventually upload our diary entries to their site, thus helping create a social history of life as 'twas lived today and (hopefully) the world's biggest blog. Much as I'd hate to see my 500th post eclipsed as the most monster post-up of all time, I guess I can only bow to the inevitable. So here goes - there'll be regular updates throughout the day (assuming anything worth recording occurs....), so keep tuning in. I'm sure it will be riveting.

6.10 a.m. Alarm goes off. Stumble downstairs. Have a dump - reasonably smooth delivery - middling clean up operation: 6.5 on the Red Adair scale.

6.15 a.m. Shower.

6.25 a.m. Empty bin, make tea, two slices of toast (Hovis organic wholemeal) make cheese and cucumber sandwich for work.

6.35 a.m. Read last chapter of The Polysyllabic Spree, occasional glances at BBC Breakfast in the hope of catching a glimpse of Kate Silverton/Jules Wilson thigh/ankle/cleavage etc. Unsuccessful. It's that bloody desk.

6.45 a.m. Rouse S. from deep slumber. Hide in wardrobe until her rage passes. Dress. Take off dress and put on trousers and t-shirt.

7.00 a.m. Brush teeth.

7.10 a.m. Leave house. Walk to St. Margarets Station. I-pod highlight - 'England's Glory' by Ian Dury ("Peculiar Clark").

7.35 a.m. Arrive St. Margarets Station. Board minibus. Start reading A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. Magnanimous of me, I'm sure you'll agree.*

9.00 a.m. Arrive at work. Brief chat with Cheryl from O.T., whom I've not seen in ages. She has to drop her nipper off at toddlers' school and so can't get to the minibus pickup in time. Consequently, she has to endre the 2-hour bus trip surrounded by effing and c-ing schooolkids. Not nice.

9.05 a.m. Sign in at work (as having arrived at 9.00 a.m.. Endure hostile comments regarding personal appearance from work colleagues. Pay £2.00 into "Corporate" Tea/Lunch Fund (current balance £164.87)

9.35 a.m. post this.


*The bastard rejected one of my stories.

*************UPDATE*************

10.30 a.m. Coffee at Rococo's (why oh why oh why is it not Rococoa's??)

11.00 a.m. Had another dump. Clean up operation 8.8 on the Red Adair scale. Where does it all come from??

11.26 a.m. finished writing this:

Sgt Bobster's Lonely Hearts Club Band...

Well, if you'd told me all those many months ago when I first posted up some inconsequential ramblings concerning Patrick Vieira's putative move to Real Madrid** that I would one day be reduced to this - to soliciting in these very pages for a good man, true of heart, stout of liver and supple of limb to soothe the tumultuous, heaving breast [steady! Overwrought Pre-Raphealite prose Ed.] of our beloved goddess of blog, The Divine Spinster....well, frankly, I'd never have believed you.

Sadly, things have, it seems, come to precisely that pass and there seems little option after reading this enormously candid and moving recent entry from the Spinster.

I know the more salacious among you have for some time now harboured fantasies that The Spinster and your humble servant might one day forge a union and unite our two formidable blog houses to form a nuptial alliance that would surely strike terror into the heart of the mainstream media (and Hello! magazine). Sadly, this can never be. Firstly, The Spinster, with a discernment rarely to be found in this era of dumbing down and instant gratification, has outlined a number of criteria - age, looks, lack of physical impairment etc. - many of which, unfortunately preclude me, a 58 year old calliper-bound Nikki Lauda lookalikey, from plighting my troth to Ulster's foremost singleton. As if these deficiencies were not enough, we also live in the shadow of heartless sectarianism - even if we wished to, we could never surmount the wall of bigotry and intolerance that separates me, a genocidal orange bastard killjoy proddy from the feckless spud-munching bead juggler of my dreams. And then there's the cockrot.

But fear not, this story will, I'm sure, end happily. If you happen to be (in no particular order of importance) male, aged between 25 and 40, not hairy, sentient, single, not too tall, not too short, handsome, into "indie-type rock music" (whatever that is), Catholic, literate, alcoholic, "liberal with a small l", a sexual gymnast of earth-shudderingly wonderful proportions, living within easy access of Bristol, please contact me here at:

Bob's Lonely Hearts
Swipe Towers
Tw**kenh*m
Middlesex

Please enclose a cheque/postal order for £15.00 and a passport sized photo. (And make sure it's of someone reasonably fit or you'll have no chance...picky? You don't know the meaning of the word, mate!)



** he didn't leave Arsenal that summer, as it goes.

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Todd Blogney - an Apology...

If things had gone to plan, instead of what you're about to read, there would have been something interesting in this post. The idea was that last night I was supposed to go and see Todd Blogney's band Grand Union (I think that's what they're called) showcasing material from their forthcoming LP "Aloha from Isleworth" at one of West London's finest Real Ale Specialist Emporia. I was looking forward to it too, you know, rubbing shoulders with the great and the good whilst trying in vain to interest a bunch of suited cocaine sniffing wide boys of the merits of reviving some of the great lost works from the Bob Swipe Songbook using the tried and tested vehicle of a bunch of scantily clad strumpets gyrating provocatively as they lip-synch to a varispeeded demo tape sung by me - well, it worked for The Sex Pussy Kittens (I think that's what they're called...) I'd even collated a handful of copies of The Very Best of the Robert Swipe Show to handout to the various worthies and movers and shakers - the idea being that it would make the girl group with the varispeed thing sound like a good idea in comparison - as well as a good luck gift for Mr. Blogney himself in the form of a 1st ed. paperback copy of Time's Arrow. So good intentions were present in abundance. It's just that...

.......well, as the time for me to get freshened up and head off drew nearer, S. started looking at me with those big doe eyes of hers....and, well, to cut a long story short, one thing lead to another and before I could put up any resistance.....I was promptly despatched to the Offy to purloin a crate of 'Buie B's and a packet of Thai Sensations for her to consume in my absence. Now, as you'll no doubt be aware, I'm firmly of the opinion that a drink drunk alone is the height of bad etiquette. Just one to whet the whistle, surely could harm no one and would be the perfect accompaniment to my reading Nick Hornby's The Polysyllabic Spree* before heading out to do the cheerleading thing for me mate's group. Picture the scene, gentle reader - Elvis is playing in the background as S. drunkenly go-go dances in an equestrian manner, arranging various household items to form an extemporised gymkhana whilst I skim nonchalantly through Britain's finest's lit. crit., 'buie breezer cradled delicately in my palm, relaxed and secure before a roaring fireplace....

Well, it couldn't have gone any other way really....one 'buie leading inexorably to another....and before you know it, I'm halfway through the Hornby, only putting it down to watch Curb Your Enthusiasm....

A good job I didn't make it, probably, as you know what I'm like Todd - I'd have only got drunk and hacked off all your friends before barging on stage to pester you to perform an impromptu version of On Remand* But, I did try, honestly Todd. It's just that in the end, the lure of the cosy hearth and writing as funny and pertinent as this, won out I'm afraid..

If you write books — or a certain kind of book, anyway — you can’t resist a scan round the hotel swimming pool when you go on holiday. You just can’t help yourself, despite the odds: You need to know, straight off, whether anyone is reading one of yours. You imagine spending your days under a parasol watching, transfixed and humbled, as a beautiful and intelligent young man or woman, almost certainly a future best friend, maybe even spouse, weeps and guffaws through three hundred pages of your brilliant prose, too absorbed even to go for a swim, or take a sip of Evian. I was cured of this particular fantasy a couple of years ago, when I spent a week watching a woman on the other side of the pool reading my first novel, High Fidelity. Unfortunately, however, I was on holiday with my sister and brother-in-law, and my brother-in-law provided a gleeful and frankly unfraternal running commentary. “Look! Her lips are moving.” “Ha! She’s fallen asleep! Again!” “I talked to her in the bar last night. Not a bright woman, I’m afraid.” At one point, alarmingly, she dropped the book and ran off. “She’s gone to put out her eyes!” my brother-in-law yelled triumphantly. I was glad when she’d finished it and moved on to Harry Potter or Dr Seuss or whatever else it was she’d packed.

So, by way of an aplogy to you, me old mucker, here's a shameless plug for your new recorded work:

"Aloha from Isleworth" by Grand Union (I think that's what they're called...) is now available in the shops.

Please buy this record.

There, can I get up off my knees now?

* Back issues of the Believer containing extracts of Hornby's Stuff I'm Reading articles are avaliable here...

** Lyrics:

I'm on Remand
I'm on Remand
Her name was Jill
Thank goodness she
Was on the Dole.

© Blogney/Swipe, 1978

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Joyce of Colour (Slight Return)

As it's Mollster's birthday, I had no option but to dredge this hoary old chestnut out of the vaults. Apologies to those of you who've already seen it - I'm sure it'll be every bit as unfunny as it was the first time around....

Woah Swipesters,

Anyone who's ever had the great privilege to have passed through the corridors at Swipe Towers will have noticed two things. Firstly, the heads down, no-nonsense, nose to the grindstone work ethic of our fabulous staff. Secondly, the faint aroma of baby lotion and Drambuie emanating from the head honcho's lair. (There may well be the odd bout of animal-like grunting and an unnerving wrenching noise too, but I can't say too much about that in case Rowan is actually reading this....) But there's a third factor that's intrinsic to the bustling and hustling environs we've created over the years and one that I think has a lot to do with the high morale we always seem to exhibit, no matter how many rejection slips we get from the Grauniad Ulnitimed and a variety of other smutty jizz mags to which we are constantly sending submissions only to have the MSs come back soiled, dog-eared and carrying a feint aroma of...(well, you can probably guess the rest...) I'm referring of course to the jukebox here at S.T. When we're not grooving down to some vintage Cilla Black or spinning the latest offering from that well tuned cello of a vocalist Roger Whittaker, we're never happier than putting on one of my very own soul compos in order to try to forget the latest rejection (and the rather unpleasant pong...)



It was just such a tape that was drifting around the office the other day, giving out the sweet and tender love vibes of one of our favourite all-time artists, Mr. Curtis Mayfield. As I emerged from the inner sanctum, licking the last droplet of resinated Dram. from a crafty fingertip, I heard the following words breathed out exhorting us all in that mellow whisper of his to remember that, beneath it all, we are all pretty much the same:

If you could have your choice of colours
Which one would you choose my brothers?
If there was no day or night,
Which would you prefer to be right?

And then it clicked! Why not update Curtis' vision for the noughties? Sure enough, we all know it doesn't matter anymore if you're black or white. The Racial Descrimination Act, Ainsley Harriott and New Labour between them have banished racial prejudice from the face of the nation to the extent that many are probably asking what relevence the songs of Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions could possibly have for a contemporary audience. But, alas, the same is not true for all areas of our society. There are still those who are despised and degraded for no other reason than that they are experimental Irish writers who published enormously lengthy tomes consisting of what many regard to be, at best, pretentious tossdrips and at worst meaningless gibberish barely deserving of the term 'literature'. But not for long if we here at Swipe Towers have anything to do with it. In collaboration with our friends at The BBC, each week, we will be asking an attractive high profile news journalist to make an appeal to all our readers to forget their prejudices and see that behind the ceaseless references to the Ancient Classics, made-up words and inscrutable wordplay there is a human being, not too unlike any other.

So, this week we are proud to introduce BBC Breakfast News Presenter Mishal Husain with this appeal:




Hello,

I'm Mishal Husain. At the BBC, we like to think that all people, no matter how pretentious or Irish they are, have something to contribute. Why else would we have employed Donal McIntyre or Germaine Greer otherwise? And as for Bill Turnbull... So, when I was asked to contribute to this appeal I had no hesitation but to say my Joyce of colour is...



...sort of electric blue, wouldn't you say?


Thank you,


Mishal Husain



So, Sisters, brothers, let's see behind the dense prose and the elitism and try to love one another, OK??


Love on y'ALL!


Bob

Happy Birthday Mollster!! Yay!!

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Girl With An 8-Track Cartridge...

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