…and gazuky

I love shopping. It gives me a warm feeling inside, which is always nice. So I thought - just for the hell of it - that I’d bring you my list of the top and bottom 5 shops in Birmingham in terms of service quality, value for money, and general pleasantness. Let’s do the shitty ones first.

In reverse order…

5) HMV
I hate HMV, with its ‘at least a pound more than anywhere else’ pricing policy on DVDs and its crap ’sales’ where the same stock that no one wants gets pulled out again. I swear that they’re storing 20 trillion copies of Muriel’s Wedding in the Arizona desert.

4) Subway (Upper Bull Street)
Ask me for a third time if I want ‘cheese and toasted?’ and I’ll rip your ears off.

3) The Post Office
I’m sending a jiffy-bag parcel. I need to have it weighed, stamped and taken off my hands so I don’t look like I’m couriering drugs. So don’t ask me if I’m ‘all OK for insurance?’ when we’ve finished the transaction. Because it cheapens that nice small-talk we had about knife-crime, and I’ll leave thinking you only wanted me for my money. Bastard.

2) Currys
If you ever want a real-life simulation of PacMan, just go to Currys in the Bullring. If you’re just browsing and want to be left alone, ALL the assistants will seek you out like those pesky ghosts. But go in with an actual query, or with the intention of buying something, and it’s like you’ve eaten a blue power-pill, sending assistants scattering across the store to hide in staffrooms, toilets and crouch down behind small desks. Next time I go in, I’m going to walk round the aisles going ‘wacca wacca wacca’ before pulling out the security cord on all the laptops.

1) WHSmith
The only store to send its staff on courses for surliness. Stuck in a long queue? After 20 minutes, someone might press a bell. Or they might not. Either way, that supervisor standing behind the lone cashier STILL won’t get off the phone and start serving. And no, I don’t want half-priced Haribo or a fucking Toblerone with my magazine. I just want you to smile. Is that so hard?

Aaaaah, I feel better for that. So now to the cream of the crop. If crops do actually produce cream. Which I doubt because they’d be a bugger to milk.

5) Gap
What does it mean when staff have their mouths turned up at the corners when they speak to you? Well, whatever it means, it’s quite nice and they do it a lot in Gap.

4) Subway (Smallbrook Queensway)
This branch has introduced the innovative sales technique of listening to customers when they say their orders. And they’re happy and talk to you and everything. Plus they’re generous with their olives. And you can’t argue with that.

3) Marks and Spencer Food (Colmore Row)
I find the customers very stuck-up in Marks and Spencers. God knows why - it’s hardly Harrods is it? But the staff are always very polite, which means I go back again and again to pay £7.80 for a yogurt.

2) Sportsworld
Your clothes probably aren’t ethically sourced (£3 for a tracksuit anyone?), your shop often looks like its been selected by the IRA for the resumption of hostilities, and you never have my size. But quite a few of your staff are drop dead gorgeous, so who gives a crap about quality?

1) Borders
With more magazines to choose from than the waiting room of a dentist with OCD, Borders is bookworm-heaven. None of your Toblerone-pushing tactics here, just good, honest, helpful staff, an in-store Starbucks, Paperchase and some nice comfy seats here and there for the poor people who can’t afford to buy. And kudos to the (female) assistant who was openly perving over the cover of Gay Times last time I was in there. It doesn’t take THAT long to find the barcode…

Who does actually listen to podcasts?

Is there a ‘type’, do you think? I only ask because the criteria for defining a podcast listener seem quite elusive: technical enough to be able to operate an iPod/RSS Feed, inquisitive enough to discover what’s out there beyond the usual music downloads, appreciating audio in a way that goes beyond casual radio listening, and having an appetite for whichever genre of show is being produced by the podcaster. It seems to be quite a complex mix.

My download stats for CLP are all over the place at the moment, and I’ve no idea whether it’s because I’ve been flirting with different types of show or whether it’s just a seasonal/random thing. And as for ‘active ‘ listening, it can be quite a mystery - episode 39, which was the comedy quiz, saw quite healthy download figures for the show, but only 19 people have sought out the mp3 containing the answers from the website. Very strange.

As for iTunes, I really wish there was an alternative portal that was as popular. They seem to fawn over the big names while the rest of us disappear from the search listenings and hardly ever (for me, read ‘never’) make it onto the hallowed ‘featured’ page. They could do so much to promote the smaller shows but do nothing. Money talks.

Anyway, if you’re a reader who’s not linked to me on Facebook or any of the other sites, pop along to http://www.cleverlittlepod.com and download the new show 40. That’ll then provide another download spike to mystify and confuse me.

It’s probably been about 20 years since I last had a kickabout with a football, if you don’t count boofing a ridiculously airy beachball along the sand at Weston-Super-Mare, or tapping my little nephew’s half-size rainbow ball around the garden.

So I was particularly proud of myself today when I actually managed to avoid making a complete pratt of myself. Having just stepped off the bus, a mis-hit ball flung itself into my path from the group of youths who were playing with it in the park.

Now, bear in mind that a simple tap back along the ground was out of the question thanks to the rather high fence that lay betwixt. Or, if your not from the fourteenth century, ‘between’.

So a ‘boof’ as I believe they’re called, was required. The potential for disaster and humiliation was high. How high? Well, have a look at this from the Armando Iannucci shows:

Thanks goodness, then, that (1) my foot actually connected with the ball, and (2) I sent it on a trajectory that put it over the fence, and in the general vicinity of play.

I’m so proud of myself - I managed to score one for my people to help dispel the myth that we can’t kick a ball for toffee.

In fact, I refuse to kick a ball for toffee. Or indeed any confectionery. Competent sports semi-professionals such as myself say ‘eat healthy, kids’. And for goodness sake, don’t make a fart of yourself when returning a ball in the park.

If you haven’t discovered it yet, pop over to traidcraft.co.uk for a great selection of fair trade products.

Their ‘Geobars’ can be found in Sainsburys and are absolutely delicious. In fact, they’re so delicious, I seem to have got myself addicted to them. Luckily, they’re not too unhealthy.

Before we get into the self-regarding nonsense that I’ve written below, if you’re a podcaster yourself, please do go and vote in the Podcast Peer Awards for my Liverpudlian friend Graham Holland. He’s been nominated for his excellent show, ‘The It’s a Frog’s Life Acoustic Podcast’ and deserves to win. Off you pop, then to www.podcastpeers.org and I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.

All done? Cheers ears. Be warned - from this point on, it’s all me, me, me, with a big dollop of me on the side. Danny Baker calls it self-regarding nonsense, and it definitely is, but I’m less uncomfortable about that than I would have been a while back. I’m the new tougher me now, you know. I do weight-training and everything.

Here goes, then. Stop reading at any time if you become nauseous.

–

I’ve suspected this for a long time, but now the evidence is clear: I’m at my strongest creatively when I’m under a huge amount of pressure.

Now is not the time for creating comedy podcasts: I have a business that is putting me under huge pressure at the moment, with long days and deadlines looming, and in virtually every other area of my life, things are quite stressful. Even the technology is conspiring against me as my laptop has decided to start cutting out suddenly, and there’s no money in the pot for a replacement, or even a service. But somehow - somehow! - I’m managing to pull together a new podcast that I’m very proud of. I absolutely can’t wait to release it.

Basically, the effort has been put into upping the energy and pace of the show. There are more shorter, punchier segments, and the longer sketches have been rewritten within an inch of their lives until the gag-rate stays consistent. There’s a new intro sequence that’s very different from what’s come before, and the style of the comedy is - I hope - a bit cheekier than before, although I still haven’t gone down the ‘adult content’ route. I think that would be a mistake.

Show 40 is still being recorded and edited to make it a real showcase piece that will bear repeat listens and act as a strong example of what I can do when I really put my mind to it.

I listen back to previous CLPs and am usually quite critical - my ultimate aim is to produce something that is on a par with anything on Radio 4 (apart from technical quality) because I know I’m capable of doing it. On a lot of shows, though, I’ve placed more importance on getting a show out, and it has often been at the expense of the quality of writing. I’m not doing that any more. Taking the time to write show 40 has reminded me what a huge buzz it is to get the comedy ‘on the nose’.

Every creative bone in my body is being put into taking the show to a new level. I’m fighting astronomical odds to get noticed as a writer/performer in a virtual sea teaming with talent. But I don’t care whether it takes another 3 years or another 30. Success, when it comes, will just be that bit sweeter as a result.

Want spoilers?

Well, there’s a new regular feature called ‘CLP’s History of Britain’ which has been flying around as an idea for over a year. New Topical Pish stuff gets adapted and included as a short insert, and there’s a regular satire on sell-out kids TV that I’m also hoping to use as a viral.

The new show 40 will be out by July 10th at the latest.

I’ve been so tired this week. After quite a few weeks milling about in the office, I’m doing some tutoring full-time for a group of teenagers who are on an alternative curriculum programme with a training provider. They’ve all fallen out of the normal school system for one reason or another and are generally very challenging to teach. It’s rewarding, but knackering, and I’ll be doing it until the end of July as well as keeping the business running with my partner.

I seem to be waking up earlier and earlier - 5.30 on Monday, moving to 4.30 by Friday - which is a bit annoying when I don’t need to get up until 6.30.

I’ve started to crank up the fitness regime a little, as I’m trying to bulk up a bit with weights, which means eating a lot more than usual. Because of this, I’m starting to put on weight again in the wrong places, and so I’ve decided to add a weekly Saturday morning run to the regular gym sessions. Two Saturdays so far - both fine weather - although the real challenge will be when it’s throwing it down like it was on Tuesday.

The comedy is flowing once again, so I think it was a good decision to do a couple of non-comedy shows (although one is a comedy quiz). I’m really looking to releasing show 40 - I’m really pleased with the material I’ve got so far, and the new start-up sequence gives some added energy to the show. There’s also the prospect of a regular format to follow, which is something I’ve failed to be successful with so far. There’s also a Facebook tie-in that will amuse me -if no one else - but might take some time to set up.

Not a very interesting post, this, but I just felt in the mood to write a few words at the end of a knackering week. It’s been quite stressful, but thankfully Bill Oddie has been there to transport me out of Birmingham and into the wilds of Norfolk and Scotland. If you don’t watch it, you’ll have no idea why Springwatch has become compulsive viewing. But it has. And long may it continue.

Telly-wise, I’ve also really enjoyed the two-part Doctor Who that concluded tonight. A first-class story with my favourite dramatic ingredients - mystery, intrigue, and confused time-lines. This series has been excellent, with Catherine Tate being a true surprise in turning out to be so good.

I watch 5 minutes of the Big Brother launch show, then turned it off quickly. It was actually scarier than Doctor Who. So I’m pledging to write some comedy every night when it’s on instead of watching it.

That’s it. I’m still yawning. Sorry this was such a non-blog, but I… you… if…. zzzzzzzzzzz

There are two excellent exhibitions at Birmingham’s Ikon gallery until July 20th:

The first is entitled ‘Impressions from the Interior’ (click for installation video) and features the work of Swiss artists Lutz and Guggisberg who have been in partnership since 1996. It is their first exhibition in the UK.

The exhibits include 200 wooden birds made out of old pallets and scorched with blowtorches (’Population’) which fill the floorspace in one of the galleries. They are absurd depictions of birds, some with nails for beaks and some with oversized feet - and some are hardly recognisable as birds. Walking through, it feels like you’re in the final scene of Hitchcock’s iconic film as you wander amongst them.

‘Wash the World’ is a video installation in which a mad professor uses a machine to turn back time. It’s strangely surreal watching huge waterfalls run in reverse, and I stood there for quite a while, mesmerised by the strangeness of it.

The second exhibition is by Cinthia Marcelle, and is a video installation called ‘Confronto’ (click for still). It’s a looped film of a set of traffic lights at a busy city junction (in Belo Horizonte, Brazil apparently.) When the lights first go red, two fire-jugglers march into the centre of the road, juggle until the lights turn green, and then exit. This is repeated twice more, with 4 and then 6 jugglers present. However, on the final occasion, 8 jugglers (well, actually 6 jugglers and 2 people who just wave their arms about) stand in the road, blocking it completely, and stay there - even when the lights go green! Cue lots of car horns - one of the performers even gets driven at by an irate driver, and a motorcyclist blasts through a gap at quite a speed. The screen then goes black and the car horns segue seamlessly into musical notes until they are faded out.

The Ikon gallery always has something to delight. What’s more, it’s free and the cafe does the best-tasting food I’ve had for years. Their stuffed peppers are a must.

Please bear with me if I seem a little… weary. I’ve just sat through the marathon dirge-fest that is the Eurovision Song Contest, live from Belgrade.

“Gary - why do you put yourself through 3 hours of the very worst Euro-caterwauling?” you might ask. Although I couldn’t hear you if you did - my brain has involuntarily blocked any more sound from entering, just in case it’s another Eastern European uber-diva singing ever-so-slightly off-key.

It’s been a tradition in my family for many years that we all congregate around the TV in the lounge with a bottle of wine and some food that would give Gillian McKeith a panic attack, and moan and whinge our way through three hours of the campiest, trashiest, pappiest pop known to infest human lug-holes.

Except that we never used to moan or whinge.

We used to laugh at the outrageous costumes of some of the more obscure European countries who, we suspected, may never have heard of the Beatles. Or indeed ‘melody’.

We used to titter at the ineptitude of the presenters, and snigger at the dodgy phone-line connections between far-off lands that, at some point, must have passed through a system of tin-cans on strings.

And we used to howl at Terry Wogan’s good-natured sarcasm on the cheesiness of the presenting, and the occasional political bias that crept into the voting - especially the annual Greece/Cyprus love-in.

That was the enjoyment of Eurovision. Sneering at our European neighbours in a very British way, while simultaneously - and often secretly - enjoying the whole spectacle for what it was - a fun, shared experience that we also had a chance of winning.

But not any more.

Political voting has taken over the competition to the extent that we now shout out the votes before they’re revealed on screen, like a warped continental, bastardised version of panto.

Terry Wogan’s sarcasm now has a biting edge to it that betrays his dissatisfaction with the bias within the contest. He clearly hates how this once-naff-but-lovable institution has become so poorly produced that ‘Wayne’s World’ had better presentation standards.

And there’s as much chance of the UK submitting a winning entry as there would be of Johnny Vegas becoming the next Miss World.

Now before you dismiss these sentiments as the warblings of someone who’s taking the whole thing much too seriously, think about this: the BBC bank-rolls a huge chunk of the Eurovision’s funding, which means that you and I - the licence-payers - are paying for taking part in a competition we can never win, no matter how hard we try. Paul McCartney himself could enter, and we would still be beaten by a one-eared, one-armed lute-player from Serbia because the other former Yugoslavian countries like his tie.

In other words, it’s a farce.

Terry Wogan virtually announced his retirement from the commentary at the end of this year’s show, and you could hear how pissed off he was with the political bias. Phone voting may be democratic, but it doesn’t reward song quality.

Our entry this year came joint last. It was beaten by at least 5 or 6 songs that could well be used by the American military as a water-boarding substitute in Guantanamo Bay. My ears certainly feel like they’ve been tortured.

Next year? No Eurovision. We’ll up the standard a bit, and hire a karaoke.

There are quite a few things that make my blood boil these days. I think I’ve watched too many episodes of One Foot in the Grave. One of the things I can’t stand is when low-life companies seek to make money out of the desperate and vulnerable.

There was a bit of a furore recently over a number of loan companies advertising on Facebook who hadn’t been advertising their rates as they are legally obliged to do. Now they are toeing the line, we can all now see why they were so hesitant in revealing all.

Take ‘Logbook Loans’, for instance. They advertise unsecured personal loans on Facebook for people who have bad credit. So what rate - given that the normal APRs for unsecured loans from reputable banks are around 20-30% at the most - are these charming people charging those who are desperate to be able to afford their own car? 40% APR? No. 50%? Er - no. Surely not over 100%?

No. Try 437%.

Yes, that’s right. 437% APR typical.

The ‘typical’ part means that it is very possible some rates are even higher!! It gets even scarier if you do the maths:

Let’s say you want to borrow £1500. What can you buy for that? A second-hand Corsa? Something along those lines probably. And how much would you eventually expect to pay back over - say a year and a half? It’s not that long, so - £2000? £2500?

£4180.00

That’s after paying £53.60 a week - over £200 a month. Shocking. I wonder what the payback amount is like over longer terms? Of course, those aren’t stated on their website.

Of course this company is operating entirely legally, and is selling the loans as an ‘opportunity’ for people who can’t otherwise get credit. But surely there can be no reason at all, even if work depends on it, for going into that much debt - and paying that much over the odds - for a car.

There should be laws limiting the APR companies can charge. People take their own lives through mis-managed debt, and vulnerable people should be protected against getting themselves into severe amounts of debt to fund what they perceive as essentials.

I’ve seen other APRs quoted much higher in Facebook ads - one was over 1000%. If you see any, let me know.

Woke up at 7am to the voice of God. Yes, it’s Adam Curry on the Daily Source Code thanks to my Pure Chronos iDock DAB/FM Clock Radio with iPod dock and 4 independent alarms. Man, you gotta love that adjustable sleep timer.

After a quick sloosh from the Triton 2000 (powerjet configuration this morning), it was downstairs to flick on the Rowenta cordless and fill one of the 6 inch diameter breakfast bowls with some Cornflakes from Kelloggs. Make a mental note to buy some more bowls - I definitely need more capacity.

Back upstairs to clean my teeth using Wi-fi. Then remembered I couldn’t get any Signal.

Eventually made it out of the Woburn S28 UPVC door from Safestyle, and arrived at the 72 bus-stop with plenty of time to spare. This morning’s vehicle was a Scania 6024 - infinitely superior in comfort and legroom to the usual Mercedes 410DX which suffers from a lack of capacity and inferior upholstery. Plus the bell is a middle C, which just shouts ‘poor design’. I can’t wait for the new Apple iBus - I’m going to pre-book my seat tomorrow for all next month.

Spent all day at work on my Apple iMacpodbook. My god it’s so cool and expensive. I can barely sit at my desk without becoming aroused at the sight of it. Those sleek curves. That simple yet sophisticated user interface. Those plastic keys. Ooooh.

At lunchtime, I devour my Boots Chicken and Bacon sandwich (barcode 1010010001010) and then disappear to the prayer room to bow my head in the direction of Cupertino, California and read from the book of Jobs.

At 2pm it’s back to my desk. Realise how difficult the past hour has been. But, reunited at last with my Apple iMacpodbook, I’m once again content, happy, and hard as a f***ing rock.

By 6pm (although it says 6.02 on the LCD display on my 800W LG microwave oven) I am home.

Great news! My new Apple MacBook Air (1.8GHz with 2GB memory, 64GB solid-state drive, Built-in 802.11n Wi-Fi2 and Bluetooth 2.1 + EDR) has arrived and is standing in the hallway. I toy with the idea of preparing a meal, but can’t wait a moment longer. So I strip off my shirt, trousers, socks and pants, rip my new first-love from its casing and carry it upstairs in my arms, its parts dangling everywhere, to the bedroom.

Which is where I am now. Typing. Blogging. Web 2.0-ing.

Oh yes!