Part 68; In which I attempt to meld Hadley Freeman subject matter, with Charlie Brooker misanthropic ire, but come across as slightly misogynistic.

I never thought an item of footwear would make me angry, but I think I might contort into a retching fit of rage if I see another hot girl wearing Ugg boots!

I thought Oxford has the most Ugg boots per capita, but it seems Newcastle is the real Ugg hell. In Oxford at least they were restricted to the Summertown ra's, but up here they don't seem to discriminate by social or economic class and I estimate that three in five women are wearing them. It must be reaching saturation point, right?

I don't for a minute consider myself to be some kind of fashion meister (or even remotely fashionable), but the fact that even I know that Ugg boots are at least three years out of date should give you a fair idea of how baffling their popularity is.

They stink too. Not just figuratively, but literally. And they look shit, like slippers given out on an Eskimo mental ward. I would rather look down towards a hot girl's feet and discover a pair of hooves than see those rank, tan shit-clumps. At least if she had hooves I might be able to come up with some barely witty chat up line about riding her and me being a stallion. If she was wearing Ugg boots I'd probably end up saying "I hope you're planning on removing those passe bacteria traps and burning them before I hump you. Would you like a drink?". I'm pretty sure that would ruin my chances but it's a risk I'd be willing to take.

Newcastle Facts.

I moved to Newcastle in July. Here is what I have learnt about it so far:

1) Vegetarianism is illegal in Newcastle. It was outlawed in 1992 by Jimmy Nail who was serving as lord mayor at the time. The law is upheld by forcing people to lick a rasher of streaky bacon as they cross one of the forty bridges that link Newcastle to Scotland.

2) Popular entertainers, Ant & Dec, were given the freedom of Newcastle in 1987. They frequently abuse this honour by daubing Newcastle Town Hall with obscene graffiti. Mostly of their own cocks.

3) Newcastle was built atop of a pile of dreams.

4) The colloquialism "Way aye", is the only recognised phrase in Newcastle for responding to a question in the affirmative.

5) The world's first quilt was manufactured in Newcastle in 2002. It was designed to bring warmth and comfort to the Geordie people during football matches. It has since been destroyed and replaced with a giant snood.

6) Former Newcastle Utd football captain Alan Shearer, owns the largest collection of signed Alan Shearer memorabilia anywhere in the North East.

7) Mirrors are illegal in some parts of Newcastle. To get around this problem, residents in these areas will gather round a communal pond and gaze down at their reflections. These ponds are known locally as "Looking Pools" or "Stare Pits".

8) Newcastle is sponsored by Greggs the Bakers.

Oh Mickey You Are So Fine!

PRIME TIME!

Vic Reeves!

I met that Vic Reeves off of the telly today! He did a book signing at HMV in Newcastle. I was a bit apprehensive that he might be a dick, but he was really nice and he even initiated a bit of small talk with me. I was so excited by the time I left the shop that I felt a tiny bit sick.
It certainly went much better than when I met Eddie Izzard a few years back. I was working at HMV in Oxford, and he came to sign something or other. We were allowed to get stuff signed before he went out, I asked him to sign one of his stupid dvds. He asked, "How do you spell "Lex"?". Nobody has ever asked me that before or since, even really stupid people.
I politely replied, "However you like." I think I must have been making an effort not to flummox his precious artistic temperament, and he was all like "WELL DO YOU SPELL IT WITH ONE X OR TWO?!". I don't know why he got so instantly shitty with me but it got my back up, "ONE FUCKING X YOU TWAT! I'M NOT A FUCKING ROBOT OR A COCK SHAPED SPACESHIP!". It certainly soured the experience for me. Luckily I was never that much of a fan in the first place. The fucking tool.

Celebrity Job Exchange

Imagine just how good it would be if all the people on TV had to swap jobs for at least one episode a year. Can't imagine it because modern life has rendered your imagination more barren than a female body builder? Let me help;

Kevin McCloud (Grand Designs) swaps with Paul Merson (Gillette Soccer Saturday)
Wouldn't it be amazing to see Kevin McCloud sat in the Sky Sports studio, confounding Phil Thompson and co. by talking about the Emirates Stadium "really working as a space"? And wouldn't it be equally amazing to see Paul Merson wandering round the sight of a half built eco-house, scratching his head and telling the viewers he "woodunt want a bog made from leafs in my manor!"? Yes it would.

Babara Windsor (Eastenders) swaps with Sgt. Bash (Robot Wars)
Babara Windsor fighting for survival against a robot armed with a circular saw and an axe? ACTIVATE!
A robot armed with a flame thrower playing the role of matriarchal land lady Peggy Mitchell? GERRR OUTTA MAH PUB!


Jeremy Paxman (Newsnight) swaps with Alan Carr & Justin Lee Collins (The Friday Night Project)
Paxman brings his incessant questioning and candor to the irreverent, lightweight "comedy" show.
Alan Carr and Justin Lee Collins use their funny voices to interview the Prime Minister regarding the release of the Lockerbie bomber.

Derren Brown (Trick of the Mind etc.) swaps with Noel Edmonds (Deal or No Deal, Noel's House Party)
Master of mind-fuckery, Derren Brown, makes two hundred audience members act like Mr.Blobby, then guesses their bank details. He also makes the contestants on Deal or No Deal pick all the boxes with high amounts in and says buoyantly, "Wow! I think this is one of the most exciting games we've ever had!" Everyone is depressed and nobody wins more than 10p.
King of smug, Noel Edmonds, fails to guess which chamber contains the bullet in a live game of Russian roulette.

Two Sugars

Having watched Axl's excellent videos, I have decided to have a go myself:

Sugar Lumps

Simon Says

When are these two going to work things out?

FRIENDS 4EVA!

Ground Force.

Our garden is really just a concrete cell without a roof. Not anymore though! Not since I built this attractive planter:





It's made from an old plank I found when I was tidying up. I also have enough plank left to make another one.

The plant on the left is called Launchpad McFuck, and the one on the right is called Rick Moranis (I can only take credit for Launchpad McFuck, my housemate, Sooz, came up with Rick Moranis).

Other things that I have been doing recently are:

• Going on holiday to the Lake District


• Getting hooked on black coffee


• Getting hooked on Arctic Roll


• Spending too much time watching America's Next Top Model, Maury, and Jerry Springer, and as a result becoming a bit like an antagonistic, bitchy, American woman, eg. saying stuff like this.


• Enrolling at college only to find out that they cancelled two of the three subjects I was meant to be studying (Philosophy and Criminology). I'm now going to study English Literature, English Language and Film Studies.

I'd go as far as saying that I don't think I've ever been this relaxed! My hair even seems to be getting thicker, and I think my chest has a little bit more on it too! By the time I start college next month, I'll be like a fat, wired Sasquatch.

Sequels

I bet the movie moguls behind Harry Potter are shitting themselves that they've almost run out of books to make into films. To this end, I have the following suggestions for sequels for them to use:

• Harry Potter and the Tide of Impotence
• Harry Potter and the Bosoms of Neglect
• Harry Potter and the Fist of Indifference
• Harry Potter and the Box of Mice
• Harry Potter and the Catalogue of Feelings
• Harry Potter and the Mule of Honesty
• Harry Potter and the Big Book of Tits
• Harry Potter: Snooker Loopy!
• Harry Potter and the Phantom Pregnancy
• Harry Potter and the Pile of Cats
• Harry Potter and the Sense of Regret
• Harry Potter and the Finger of Shame

That should keep them going for a bit.

Wedding Vows.

A few people I know have gotten or are getting married. I have offered to write their wedding vows for them but nobody has been particularly forthcoming. I have therefore decided to post them up here for anybody who wants to use them.

Groom's Vows:

"I promise to husband the shit out of you. By this I mean I'll take you to the pub on the weekend, occasionally let you touch my stuff, and keep my genitals in good order. If this isn't good enough for you then I reserve the right to withdraw emotionally from you into a world of questionably violent Internet porn and hard liquor. I may even hire a prostitute now and again, but to be honest I'll mostly just cry into her lap for an hour and offer to "take her away from all this". Alright?"

Bride's Vows:

"Hi! I promise to wife it up nice style. I will try my hardest not to make a cuckold of you, and even if I do, we'll probably be on the outs anyway. I promise to keep you well stocked in fags and supermarket own brand lager. I also promise to degrade myself sexually on your birthday but bear in mind this will drive an emotional wedge between us. I will corroborate any anecdotes you may tell socially, even though I find them crushingly dull and have already started cuckolding you as a result (soz).
With regards to kids, I'm pretty indifferent.
K thx."

Vicar:
(Shouting and slowly bringing hands together)

"FUCK AWAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!"

Moon Unit.

The bi-product of a half moon cake, is another half moon cake.

You can expect more pithy observations like this when I start my philosophy course in September. I might try and sell the above pithy observation to a fortune cookie manufacturer or that idiot, fake stand-up that sponsors something on channel 4 (you know the one that says stuff like "How do you know which comparison website is the best?").
I'm also going to be studying English Literature and Criminology, so expect me to start measuring the depth of your brow and then analysing your relationship with other characters.

I am Only 47% Man

That's what McCoy's crisps say anyway. I just took their "Man Quiz" and apparently, choosing to read a book over watching repeats of Only Fools & Horses, not wanting to spend time with John Terry, choosing to cook for myself (instead of getting a woman to do it, obviously), and washing properly, all mean I'm "not strong enough to open a bag of McCoy's".

I feel sorry for the poor fucker in the McCoy's advert. I only hope that the tube sucks him away to a much better pub, perhaps one with a higher tolerance for general knowledge and lower patron collesterol levels.

I would rather be only 47% man than 100% salty and thick.

Bonjour Newcastle!

I am considering reinventing myself when I move to Newcastle next month. I only know a few people up there, so as long as they keep their mouths shut I should be able to get away with presenting myself however I want. So far I have come up with the following options:

• Big headed ladies man


• In demand after dinner speaker


• Britain's most belligerent boss


• Britain's most belligerent psychic


• Spanish guy


• French guy


• Psychic French guy

I'm leaning towards Psychic French guy because the double dose of mystery is a sure winner with chicks 'n' stuff, for example:

"Bonjour Mademoiselle, (all in a French accent whilst holding girls hand and smoking two Gauloises) I sense a lot of sadness in you. You are like a lonely giraffe, drifting on a orchid along a very sensual river towards a sea of sexy tears. Fuck?"

Hopefully I can keep up this charade long enough to banish any trace of my old (sicking up in the bath) personality.

Bad Decision Making

On Saturday I went out for my friend Tom's stag night. Predictably, I drank too much and acted a fool (I don't think I did anything too bad while I was actually out though, that came later). When I finally made it home after catching a night bus from town to a chip shop, and then getting a taxi to my house, I started to feel pretty sick. From what I remember I barfed in the bath and then decided to wash myself down in the bath with the shower attachment. This meant I was essentially in a bath full of barf, bathing in barf. Gross. Actually, to say it was full is a bit much, I had rinsed most of the vomit away by the time I got in, but I think some went on my shins. Debatable water to vomit ratios aside, it still has to rank up there with some of the worst decisions I've ever made whilst drunk. This, coupled with the fact that I'll be twenty seven in a few months, is why I have decided to reintroduce my three drink maximum for the next few weeks at least. This rule saw me through the first six months of the year without any sick stories so it should do the trick again.

50th Post / Big News / Politics

Hi. I have handed in my notice at work after just over four years. It felt pretty good, especially because I'm quitting to move up to Newcastle in about a month. I'm pretty excited about it as you can imagine! I have found a place to live and it's next door to Emma and Mark!

In other news, I have fucked up royally. I thought I was registered to vote at my mum's house but it turns out I'm not. Shit. This means if you weren't planning on voting on Thursday you now have to so my missing vote is replaced. We all know that the BNP are a bunch of total hate mongering CUNTS, but did you know only need as little as 8% of the vote in the European election to get a seat? I'm pretty sure that most of you will agree that these guys getting a ton of our money would be shitter than playing soggy biscuit with your close relatives, so make sure you vote against them. Thanks!

Sorry for getting so right on. You know I wouldn't normally get all political, but they make me so angry! Here is a fun game to redress the balance http://www.mediapill.com/thumbscan/index.html

I CANNOT SLEEP FOR ALL THE SHIT ON TELLY!

Can a person die of jet lag? Maybe what kills you is jet lag related boredom. I rather cockily thought I had thwarted it on my first day back, but here I am, watching the sign language repeat of Country File at 2.30am. I can't even fall back on Channel Five sports (they used to show lots of American sports that helped me sleep) any more because they show late night quiz phone-ins now instead and these make me furious.
Country File isn't even helping. They seem to have replaced lovely, old, calming John Craven, with the chirpy young Geordie from Blue Peter. I do not need chirpy at this time of night.
As I type John has come to my rescue! It seems he has a section called "John Craven's Investigation"! But wait, put my pyjamas away, it's about bluetongue and features "images that some viewers may find disturbing". Dammit Craven! Are you taking the piss?! I needed you to investigate a decline in woolly jumper manufacturing or something similarly sleepy, not sheep with rotten mouths! And I bet you are fully aware of the irony in giving me sheep to count, but making them all zombie looking and nightmarish! Damn you John!
Chirpy Geordie is back now, he's talking to a naked hippy. For fuck's sake.

A Fistful of Puppies.

I've had a busy couple of days.
On Wednesday I was walking around Manhattan and I saw a guy standing on a busy street corner with a cat sitting on his head. This is all I can remember of Wednesday.

Yesterday I went to Uptown to see all the bright lights and stuff. We walked past a small crowd of people who were having their picture taken with a guy. He was behind a rope but had no minders or people organising things for him. It took us ages to work out who it was, such was the lack of fanfare surrounding this man. As we were walking away Rhyannon's brain clicked and we realised we had witnessed the further decline of MC Hammer. Poor Hammer, please don't hurt him.

After lunch we schlepped up towards the Metropolitan Museum of Art. On the way we went into a PUPPY SHOP! I'm used to English pet shops only having boring hamsters and rabbits, not excitable puppies! They were so funny! The best one was the bulldog who looked like he didn't give a shit about anything.

Being a tourist is really tiring, so we headed towards a bakery where Rhyannon's friend Sarah works for a coffee and a rest. They had incredible looking cakes on display and we got to try some back at Sarah's house after she made us dinner.

Today I'm going to walk along the Brooklyn Bridge and later buy some jeans. Tonight No Fun Fest starts! I'm really excited!

A Fistful of Beef.

"Hey buddy! Howya doin'?" This is New York speak for "Hello old chap, how have you been?", which is posh English for "Hi you fuck!".

Yesterday was pretty successful all told. Slept in until about 1pm because I'd been awake for about forty hours by Monday night. After that I made my way to Manhattan where I got lost for an hour.
Every time I see a sky scraper I point at it and shout "WOW THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING!". I figure eventually I'll get it right, so I don't mind looking stupid fifty or sixty times prior to that.

My bank card works now, so I've been going nuts in record shops. I've managed to get some pretty cool stuff so far.

For dinner we went to a burger place called Silver Spurs. They didn't make a big deal about the fact that their burgers are ten ounces, so I was totally ill prepared for the gastronomical challenge that was set before me! The meat itself was about two inches thick and three across (insert cock joke of choice here). I had also ordered chips and a chocolate milkshake. I was pretty full.

Tomorrow I am going to see all the famous buildings and that stuff, then on Friday No Fun Fest starts!

OK see you.

A Fistful of Maltesers.

I have been in New York for just over twenty four hours.
The flight here was OK. The guy next to me seemed to be a nervous flyer, so I kept getting into the emergency brace position and screaming whenever he started to relax. I also copied everything he did whenever the stewardess came round. It made the seven hours fly by for both of us.
The in flight entertainment was pretty good. The only film I watched all the way trough was Anvil!: The Story of Anvil. I liked it a lot.
Within five minutes of my first trip out of my friend's house in Brooklyn I saw:
- A real life New York road rage argument. They were shouting stuff like "YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" and "MUDDAFUCKER!".
- A guy getting put into a police car
- A crowd watching a fire engine put out a fire.
It was just like on TV.

Next, we went to a couple of really good record shops in Williamsburg. Williamsburg is hipster central, like the most hipster parts of London multiplied by a hundred. There's a cool looking shop or bar about every ten yards, and all kinds of art all over the place. Also EVERYONE looks like they're in band. I managed to find the number one noise record I was hoping to find on this trip, in the third shop we went in. Nice one hipsters!

One of the things I had been looking forward to the most was New York food. My first experience of this did not disappoint! We went to a place where you buy slow cooked pork and barbecued meat by the half pound! It was sooooooo delicious and even the baked beans had small chunks of meat in. MMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmm!

I'm just about to go out on my own for the afternoon. I'm going for a longer look around Williamsburg because my cash card should be working today (forgot to tell the bank I was going so they blocked it) and I can buy a ton of stuff. I will try and update this again in the next day or so. BYE!

New Yoik

I'm going to New York on Monday morning! I'm really excited!

I think this trip will be the apex of my Seinfeld obsession. I'm going to spend the whole week singing the theme from Seinfeld wherever I go. The New Yorkers will probably find it endearing if anything. If they get tired of it then I'll just start singing another song to do with New York.

If I go in a New York taxi, I'll make small talk with the driver by saying "How 'bout them Knicks?" and he'll fucking LOVE it. I'm pretty good at making small talk with taxi drivers, I once made one laugh in Newcastle. In fact, I'm confident I'll slot right in to the hustle and bustle of New York. Either that or get mugged or conned.

I've been trying to remember all the most British sounding phrases and swear words I know, in order to impress the New York women folk by sounding classy. I think I'll go for a tougher version of Hugh Grant, charming, but less ponce and more bastard. I'll take them to an English themed pub, and tell them that a fry up and ten pints of Carling is an upper class delicacy in my country. That ought to do the trick.

List of Chat Up Lines.

Here is a list of chat up lines for all the fellas to try out on the lllllaaaadies.

• "What time shall we arrange to ORGASM?!" Make sure you lean in and shout the word ORGASM. This line works because it suggests confidence on the man's part in his ability to produce the goods. It would probably work best on a busy, city type at an Eighties coke party.


• "How about I shag you into next week?" If for some reason this line actually works (like she is horny and thick), don't worry if you have problems with premature ejaculation that might undermine your lewd claim. Simply make sure you express your feelings physically starting at as close to midnight on a Sunday as possible. That way you will start on the old week, and end on the new one, technically fulfilling your promise.


• "I haven't felt this hot since I had a fever from eating spoiled meat!"


• "Would you like to come back to my place for some spoiled meat, ie. my cock?"


• "How about we skip the courtship and move straight on to the perfunctory marital sex? I am solvent and have a company car."

This technically qualifies me as a tabloid "sexspert".

Eye Contact.

I had just gotten into a taxi in the posh bit of town with two friends on Saturday, when an attractive woman walked past. I had accidentally become drunk* in the course of the afternoon so I decided to attempt eye contact. This seemed to go pretty well as we kept the eye contact up for as long as it took her to walk by the car, "I am a TOTAL STUD!" I thought to myself.

Then I asked Rob (who was next to me) if he had seen what had just happened between me and the woman,

"I'm fairly certain she was looking at me" he replied.

"No chance! Not with my drunken sex eye lasers!" I scoffed back.
At this point the taxi driver told us he too thought the street side strumpet was giving him the nice-eye.

At this juncture we collectively realised what had really happened. What really had REALLY happened was a car full of men (two of whom were drunk and far too scruffy to be in the posh part of town), had stared/leered at an attractive woman from within a stationary yet running car and scared the shit out of her. She was most definitely not making eye contact, she was keeping her eye on the us in anticipation of a kidnap attempt.

I hope I don't make any similar mistakes when I go to New York in a week**. I may well get maced or shot!



*It really was an accident. I haven't been drunk since January 1st and was lead a stray.

**This whole post wasn't just so I could shoe horn in a boast about going to New York.

OH LOOK I AM A POP STAR NOW, OK?

I am now a bona fide pop star! Now you can make me feel validated by pretending to like this unfocused noodling that I made in my bedroom instead of going out! I recorded it on a dictaphone. Why not have a dance about to it, or maybe just stroke your chin a bit and look well serious. I reckon I'll be on CD:UK by the end of the month if my 100+ profile views on myspace is anything to go by, yeah 100+ sounds like loads. I also think it's only a matter of time before I'm gracing the front covers of such music press stalwarts as Select, Vox and Smash Hits.

I will try not to let fame and fortune change me, but it won't be easy. I will be getting a ruby inset into my tooth just like Mick Hucknall pretty soon, and JK from Jamiroqui has challenged me to a race in our sports cars.

Ps. Three posts in a week! WTF?

I'm glad I'm not really stoned right now.

I keep thinking about something I wrote in the previous post. I wrote "actually, I'm about as wild, free form and creative as this simile". I don't know if this makes sense. It is either:
A) A brilliantly self referential simile that has blown my own mind, and that's why I can't stop thinking about it.
B) A poorly constructed simile that might not even be a simile, and is therefore rubbish.

I think it's probably the latter, but even if it is, it still might be successful in getting my point across about not being very creative because I am even incapable of writing a fucking simile properly. That means that I might be "wildly creative and free form" after all, OR it could mean that this is a huge load of self indulgent shit.

Old Notebook / Twat Archive

A couple of years ago I briefly carried a notebook around to try and capture some of my wild, free form creativity (actually, I'm about as wild, free form and creative as this simile) for future reference. The contents of this notebook give a valuable snapshot into how much of a twat I was just two short years ago.

It appears that I had a big(ger) anti-Bono thing going on back then. The notebook is littered with reminders to "write about how much I hate Bono". I had also written some shit rumours about him not being able to tell the time properly.

There's also an idea to annoy a colleague by loudly interrupting him whenever he read aloud from his newspaper. What sort of person writes a note on how to annoy someone? Jesus, I was quite a prick back then, I'm still fairly prickish now only in a much more spontaneous way (free jazz style whistling in the office anyone?).

The only thing from thing from the notes that ever made it on to this blog was my "re-write" of Jurassic Park 2. I found this drawing on the next page from the draft, clearly a career storyboarding beckons:






I'm pretty glad I've stopped carrying a notebook. For one thing, I always felt I looked a bit like an informant in a Eastern Bloc country during the Cold War, taking down names of people to shop to the local officials (especially as there is a page with a tally against some friends names in the book!). Stasi stool pigeon is not an image I really want to cultivate.

I Hope They Die Before They Reform.

Hi! Long time no see, fuckwads. I have been busy watching telly and drinking sugary milk.

I hate how many bands reform these days so I have come up with a proposal to reign it in a bit. I don't know about you but I'm getting pig sick of all these OLD FUCKS cashing in and going on reunion tours. I reckon that people would be better off boycotting them in favour of watching something new and original. That is not my proposal though because I cannot trust that all the simpering morons who make up the general public will follow this through.

I propose the formation of a special committee who would be in charge of issuing permits for bands to reform. I would obviously be head of the committee because it's my idea and I'm the most furious about it. The other members would be picked based on their integrity and hatred of sell outs. I can only think of Steve Albini and Bill Hicks* at the moment but I'm sure I'll find some others.

Bands wanting to reform would have to submit a written request to the committee. In the request they would have to state their case for their reunion. The committee would then consider the request based on a number of criteria. These would be:

1) Are ALL of the original members involved in the reunion? If the answer is no then the request will be denied right away. This would also include bands where any of the band members had died. Nobody wants to see some dead guy's kid filling in and nobody wants to see 3/4 of a band. This definitely applies to missing singers. That's right Queen and Paul Rodgers, you bunch of smug dicks, you wouldn't have even got past round one.

2) If the band manage to meet the first requirement they will be called in for a face to face meeting with the committee. The date and venue of the meeting will not be told to the band until the very last minute. All band members MUST be present at the meeting. Not telling them when the meeting is or where will have a two pronged effect;
a) They will be forced to spend time together while they wait for the meeting to be announced. This will help weed out anybody who would be suspected of quitting the tour midway through because they FUCKING HATE each other and can't even be in the same room, eg. The Spice Girls. I'll admit that some residual animosity can be good for the audience. The hatred between a lead guitarist and a lead singer is often a major factor in a bands original greatness. BUT woe betide anyone who promises the world on a plate only to cry off after two weeks because "Scary poked my tit."
b) The meeting could be anywhere in the world, so it will test the band's commitment to the proposed reunion if they have to travel an unknown distance to a mystery location at the drop of a hat.

3) Will the reunion be detrimental to the bands legacy? Many bands were good because they were young and dangerous when they came to prominance. They made exciting records that only a young band ripped to the tits on speed and acid could have made. What could be worse then, than paying £25+ to see a middle aged man singing about "his generation" and casually sipping expensive mineral water in between songs? Surely he's now talking about your parents generation? He didn't hope he died before he got old, what he really meant was that he hoped he could build up a diverse investment portfolio and knock out a few shitty solo albums. Worse are some of the punks. Many have become the very thing that they were waging war against when they were young. People who claim they're just trying to get some of the money and acclaim they were due the first time round can fuck off too. Some times a band will be under appreciated in thir lifetime, SUCK IT UP! Going on stage 30 years too late and two stone too heavy is only going to make people wish that they could go back in time and kill you so they don't have to see you waddling, sweating and wheezing all over what made you special in the first place. If you were in it for the big bucks then why didn't you write pop songs in the first place? You dickheads.

4) The band has to write and record a new album before they can tour. The album will have to stand up to the scrutiny of the committee AND average 75% positive reviews. The tour set list must contain at least 50% new material. This will prevent bands trading on past glories and force them to compete with new and upcoming bands.

That's pretty much it. I know it sounds slightly extreme, but trust me. You're better off taking a chance on watching a new band than what is essentially one up from a tribute band. That way maybe in twenty or thirty years you'll be able to tell some youngster that you saw your lifetime's equivalent of The Velvet Underground (circa 1966) at some shitty dive when it mattered. They will think it's much cooler than if you saw the 1993 version that supported U2!

*I know that getting Bill Hicks on the committee would mean reanimating him, which obviously would be subject to the rules stipulated above, however, I am fairly confident he would pass.

Ps. I would also have never allowed Jimmy Page to come out the top of that London bus at the Olympics.