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Gubbins #3

14th January 2015

I watched Birdman. I loved Birdman. It made me laugh a lot. Me and my friends I went to see it with, all of us laughed. And there were a fair few people in the arthouse cinema we chose to go and see it at because we think we’re too good for normal people cinemas. But we were almost certainly the only people laughing most of the time. It’s a…

The relativity of violence.

10th January 2015

The Charlie Hebdo attack was a chilling and horrific tragedy and an extreme act of barbarity and terror. A world in which a cartoonist’s health and safety risks include paper cuts, repetitive strain injury and a shower of bullets is shitty world indeed. I did not quite share the reaction of many. People I follow on social media and way more people I don’t soon began using hashtags and profile…

Gubbins #2

30th December 2014

It’s been Christmas week and I’m a bit ill. It’s awful, because I’m pretty sure it’s just because of indulgence. Overdoing it with alcohol usually gives me a bit of a cold, and adding an onslaught of rich food is an additional physical toll. And a generally sedentary existence, to boot. So I feel like Henry VIII past his peak. There’s a bit of a twinge in my hips. I…

Gubbins #1

22nd December 2014

This is the first of an attempt to blog regularly without having anything in particular to say. I’ll try to make them weekly, using the past week of my life as a starting point. A bit of a recap? A reflection? I sort of want to pre-fix these with a word that indicates their purpose. They might not actually be recaps. I may focus on a very specific thing about…

It doesn’t matter who killed Foley.

26th August 2014

There has, to my mind, been an odd preoccupation with the fact that James Foley’s possible killer had a British accent. I haven’t watched the video myself, but I did read somewhere that it was edited in such a way as to make it hard to know if the Islamic State fighter heard talking was the same one who wielded the blade that decapitated the US photojournalist taken hostage in…

No wonder.

19th September 2013

I was in the post office recently and there was a queue. The central post office had moved not long since, so I don’t know if the backlog of custom was to do with that, but it was probably pretty typical for the time of day. There was a man who didn’t speak much English whom the bloke on the counter was trying to direct to a Council office in…


It’s this time of year I fondly remember my childhood when, aged 13, I told my 8 year old brother that Father Christmas didn’t exist. The next day I was predictably bollocked for ruining Christmas for him, and ordered to un-tell him. ‘You know how I said Father Christmas wasn’t real? Well, I was only messing.’ But he’d had time to think about it. He knew it made no sense. But he participated in the charade one last time, to keep the adults happy. And so with my innate mean-spiritedness fortified by the life lesson that lies are better than the truth, I was forged into the man I am today. Merry Christmas one and all.