In a crazed moment, I got a t-shirt with some random words from m'blog on it, as a further advert for myself, referring to myself, to be worn by myself. Oddly, 'I' isn't on there. But 'cello' is, as is 'richard', 'agent', 'bbc' (not preceded by 'bastard', oddly) and 'hurrah'. My life, in t-shirt form. I'd put the link up, but I've lost it. It's one of those word-cloud things, anyway. You could probably google it, if you really wanted.
Now, normally, I like to keep up the pretense that this blog isn't regularly pored over by the great and good of the showbiz world. Secretly, of course, famous types regularly approach on my bi-monthly London jaunts, all backslapping jolliness and cigar-thrusting bonhomie, alternating between pleading that I leave the more degraded of their latest exploits out of the blue cat, and desperately begging some minor triumph of theirs go recorded, blogged up for all their peers to see*.
However, Patroclus needs Calexico tickets for the Kentish Town Forum on 23rd April. So if anyone out there with a) power and b) influence, have any means of getting tickets for said event, please hie yourself over Patrocluswards and hand them over smartish. I shall then consider posting your amusing story about how you once totally pwnded Joe Pasquale at table tennis in the Groucho, and we will speak of the matter no more.
Have also added Jane Espenson to the writing blog links over to the right. She's written for Buffy, The GIlmore Girls and Firefly, and has thus STOLEN MY LIFE. Apart from Firefly, which I'm ashamed to say I could never get into. Wasn't blown away by Serenity either, although I did go and see it at the cinema, to give Joss my support. I hope he's grateful.
*Jeremy Paxman once chased me out of Forbidden Planet (he was buying the boxed set of Ninja Scroll), desperate for me to tell the world how he had recently slapped Martin Kemp 'up da' head' by waiting for him to finish an interminable story about discovering a new species of lion in the Congo, only to leave a great and heavy silence, then break out a raspberry so long and prolonged, Pasquale broke both hands applauding. So I hope you're happy now, Jeremy.
23 comments:
Wow, I'm quite stunned. Thank you James, very much.
And if Paxo is reading (as I'm sure he must be), here are some other things I would like:
- Ford Capri, sky-blue, with red leather seats
- Playstation 3 with new Tomb Raider game
- Some of that fancy John Galliano underwear I saw in an airport once, the one with the newsprint pattern and red bits round the edges
Oh, and, you know, a happier, more equitable world.
I like the T-shirt's juxtaposition of Victorian Viking. Now there's a movie pitch.
Dialogue presumably along the lines of: 'I say! Top hole, what! PRANG!'
That was supposed to be the sound of an axe. Not sure now. I'm off to get chips, I'll look back in a bit, see if it makes sense.
Yes, and many other groovy serendipitous alliterations; practically a 21st century Beowulf.
I like:
lost love
time toy
good green
home hurrah
in particular.
So sorry about barging my way onto your T shirt. I really don't believe I comment *that* much - and certainly no more than pat and pash. But I hope you agree cello is a fine word in its own right, and hence bearable.
cello - I am proud to carry your mighty legend upon my person.
pp - got a mid-march jolly coming up - may use it to visit canters, will keep you informed.
'I say! Top hole, what! PRANG!'
Sound more like PG Wodehouse to me (1920's rather than Victorian).
My image was of of men dressed in black, with top hats, rowing long-boats. Viking funeral carried out by undertakers.
Steam-powered turbo longships (steam powered oars, that is).
Small portly queen wearing black, a little lace headdress and big valkyrie breastplate.
Wouldn't the raping and pillaging present a problem for the Victorian Viking, the Victorians being such bastions of moral rectitude and sexual repression? Or, perhaps it would simply provide them with a means of expressing their inner selves (the sexually repressed are always the most sex obsesssed etc, etc...)
Anyway, we visited York in the half-term holiday and found it to be awash with both Vikings and Moomins (well, maybe not "awash" -but there is a lovely china and glass shop that sells Moomin china). The cream teas weren't bas either (although not a patch on Cornish ones, obviously!)
V. long comment. Sorry.
"bad". Sorry (again)
The Victorian Viking Olaf Bluetooth: "Just close your eyes, lie back and think of Odin."
PS. Moomins should be hibernating, not rambling in York.
Olaf Bluetooth: contactless raping and pillaging!
Able to burn down a barn from anywhere in a 30ft radius...
Or however bluetooth works. I'll get my cloak.
As long as the barn is in Olaf's line of sight, burning it shouldn't be too much of a problem.
Then you can rely on the northern husky maidens.
Olaf Bluetooth: Woman! Burn that barn now!
Sigurd Verticordia: Just a moment Sir, there's raven poo on my parasol.
Would that be a Red Barn?
That's a very weak, very obscure Victorian barn joke, even for me. Sorry.
"Mariah Martin or Murder in the Red Barn". Or something.
I thought we'd run out of Viking stuff ages ago. You have no idea how pleased I am they're still a going concern.
Lots of Viking Lego in the Jorvik gift shop, if you're doing any more research...
You're just saying that because you're not on the t-shirt.
I still love the idea that they named the wireless standard after a C10th King of Denmark. None of this futuristic malarky, or another pseudo latin name, nonono.
(gets distracted by argument on wikipedia over whether Harald Bluetooth actually had a blue tooth or it was a misspelling of something boring like Blood Duke)
hey bearded was on there coooool
You weren't impressed by Firefly/Serenity??? I am SHOCKED.
Jane Espenson rocks my world, always has!
Sadly disappointed your t-shirt contains no "stuffed", "meaty", "shoes" or indeed "Jesus". Some of your finest words, those.
(Although I suppose technically not really *yours*. I think you'd get one or two complaints if you claimed the word "Jesus" as your own, for starters.)
(You'd earn a fortune in copyright fees, though.)
(Too many brackets.)
Anyway, I can't believe you got yourself a new t-shirt and it wasn't one of my pie-man ones...
qvbhqvpy - best when pronounced with a mouthful of pastry.
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