for those in the know; Prime Minister’s Questions for those who aren’t. I sat watching it while waiting for my driving instructor to pick me up. Why is it called PM’sQ anyway?? The PM’s not asking any questions. Au contrare, he’s being asked all sorts of awkward, sticky questions by others. Which reminds why, years ago, I found Our Tony quite charismatic. He can really think on his feet and he’s squirmier than an epileptic eel in a greased parka. Today the scene resembled a school trip of unruly brats, shouting and stomping and jeering and suchlike! Grown men (and the odd woman) behaving like five-year-olds. Shameful!
My driving’s really fun, I’m breezing around the world (parts of Manchester, actually) like a gay egret. Apparantly my only shortcoming is the distinct lack of mirror-watchingness. To which I say- “There ain’t gonna be that many people catching up with me once I’ve got my hunting driving license”
High Five!!
I finally got a great collection of Greek songs from Ioannis’ database yesterday; spent all of yesterday night in a reverie listening to some real classic belters. I’ll put up the list of somgs later so you can all appreciate!!

..is the title of a book by Ma Jian, who is aptly called “The Chinese Kundera” because of his style of writing (the book is banned in China). An absorbing book, with darkly humourous snapshots of life in a Chinese city. The Noodle Maker of the title is God, who pulls and stretches the characters in the book (and what a bunch of characters they are!) like dough into noodles.
The Great Manchester Run came and went without so much as a whisper. Atleast, I didn’t notice much!
A school trip to Alton towers is coming up, on the 3rd of June, with Headmistress Tracy organising everything. It will be just superfantabulous!! Really!! But before that the missus and I will be going to Llangollen to soak up some Welsh mud. we’ll be staying the weekend, and hopefully we’ll spend some time in that superfantabulous pub called The Cornmill that’s set on the river which people go kayaking on.

This is a rainy Sunday. This is me blogging. Reading Bourne Ultimatum again, all 700-odd pages of it. Have 539 emails to check, so I went to my blogpage and un-ticked the column that asked it to send me an emailevery time a comment was held for moderation. Bloody spam’s becoming a real pain. I guess it’s the price I pay for being ultra-popular. One spam mail caught my eye as I was scanning. It advertised 3D rape. I’m not being pervy, I’m wondering about the ’3D’ part of it, and trying to figure out what exactly it is that the website offers.
Ok, off to play badminton now. My week’s been ok. Saw ‘The Michelangelo Code’ yesterday with Sha, Adam, Paulo, and some others. Back on my driving lessons as well, the one joy in my week as I assume control behind the wheel of a mighty engine.

Once more I am suckered by the charming speak of a big company and start day-dreaming about huge pay raises and happy working atmospheres. But have I applied yet? Why no, first I have to check if I can dig up any dirt about them on Google, because I have to be sure they’re good enough for my one and only sweet little me.
Going driving today, the test date looming close (15th June) and it’s gonna feel good to be back behind the wheel chasing pedestrians who dare to step on tarmac (The Naz is a highly territorial animal and will defend its patch with loud squawkings and the occasional charge)
Looking forward to the Spanish and French (ooo err) giants Barcelona and Arsenal clashing today. Great fun. I’m listening to Virgin Radio online and a song (that’s what it claims to be) going “Come on, Come on, ‘urry up England, Come on” which I assume is referring to England’s forthcoming venture at the World Bowling Championships.

Had a great time at the F.A. Cup Final, the beer did a-flow and the game was a real cliffhanger. Now I’m supposed to be looking for jobs, but this huge guy has just sat next to me and he reeks to high heaven of piss!! I can’t breathe, and even though I’ve got an hour’s worth of computer time left, I can’t really go on. Jeeezz!! Have a fucking bath Piggo!!
I’ve got the French movie ‘L’Appartement’ from the library; it’s one of my faves with Vincent Cassell and (I only realised now) Monica Belucci. She was in a movie I watched last night as well, ‘Under suspicion’ with Gene Hackman and Morgan Freeman (both of whom were also the executive producers of that flick).

Later: Ok, now Piggysaurus leaves, with 8 mins to go!!! And some Angel switched on the cooler to blow all his reeking sweat my way!!!

Crap!! Ain’t got no job and it’s bloody annoying. Why do I have to prove to them that I’m worth it?? They should prove to me they’re worth considering!!

Could I have been anyone other than me? (Snide comment: Well I’d better bleedin’ try!! )

Don’t you ever wonder,
Maybe if things had been slightly different
You could be somebody else
Don’t you wonder, maybe…
If you took a left turn instead of taking a right, You could be somebody different
Don’t you ever wonder… Could I have been…?
Don’t you ever wonder, anyone, anyone?
Don’t you ever wonder, “Well, God, could I have been…?”
Don’t you ever wonder, anyone, anyone?

Could I have been…
A parking lot attendant?
Could I have been…
A millionaire in Bel Air?
Could I have been…
Lost somewhere at Red Rocks?
Could I have been…
Your little sister?
Could I have been…
Anyone other than me?
Could I have been…
Anyone other than me?
Could I have been…
Anyone other than me?
Could I have been…
Anyone?

He stands touch his hair, his shoes untied
Tongue gaping stare
Could I have been a magnet for money?
Could I have been anyone other than me?

Twenty three and so tired of life
Such a shame to throw it all away
The images grow darker still
Could I have been anyone other than me?
And then I…

Look up at the sky
My mouth is open wide, lick and taste
What’s the use in worrying, what’s the use in hurrying
Turn, turn we almost become dizzy

I am who I am who I am, well, who am I?
Requesting some enlightenment…
Could I have been anyone other than me?

Sing and dance I’ll play for you tonight
The thrill of it all
Dark clouds may hang on me sometimes
But I’ll work it out…
And then I…

Look up at the sky
My mouth is open wide, lick and taste
What’s the use in worrying, what’s the use in hurrying
Turn, turn we almost become dizzy

Falling out of a world of lies
Could I have been a dancing nancy?
…A dancing nancy?
Could I have been anyone other than me?

And then I’ll…

Sing and dance… la la la la hey
Sing and dance, I’ll play for you tonight,
The thrill of it all
Dark clouds may hang over me sometimes,
But I’ll work it out…
And then I’ll…

Look up at the sky
My mouth is open wide, lick and taste
What’s the use in worrying, what’s the use in hurrying
Turn, turn we almost become dizzy

Sorry, I apologise to all the Gillette fans out there who pointed out to me that it was actually the benders from Wilkinson who advertise their smooth gliding-ness.

Middlesborough F.C., eh? What a washout! Sevilla took them to the cleaners and then some! Losing 4-0 in a final can only mean “You’ve fluked it so far, but Lady Luck has just upped and left now mates”. Tell you what, let’s have their manager for England in the World Cup.
Oh, guess what? We already have!

Phew, Turboslut had fallen off the radar for a while back there. But me and me mate Google found her!! Which leads me to wonder why she bothers changing her add if it’s so easy to catch her. And if I keep linking to her.

is a very funny book; it reminds one (or maybe just me) of the good British Cockney crime capers like Lock, Stock, and Snatch. The author clearly knows his onions.
A quote? Ok

Milo (the narrator of the book) and Goody are trying to get across the channel to France with their stolen loot. They meet a French boy who they think might be able to help them:

‘Mate, what’s your name?’
‘Brian’, he told me, which sounded like just about as un-French a name as you could get, but there you go.
‘Brian, how would you like to make yourself a hundred pounds?’
Brian held his enthusiasm in check until I’d reassured him it had nothing to do with my cock, his arse or the Internet and that all we wanted to do was to smuggle ourselves across to France.

Whilst on the ferry, they get rumbled, and are being chased by Gendarmes across the boat. Being English, they don’t particularly respect the French; being crooks they are similarly not particular to cops. Here they’re being cornered:

Waiting for us at the bottom of the second set of steps were our missing gendarmes. They were looking pretty smug about their cunning trap and pointed their guns at us shouting:
‘Il n’y a pas d’issue, vous feriez mieux d’abandonner!’ which I imagine means something along the lines of, ‘We’ve got them, we’re fantastic. Snails for everyone!‘

I have dreamed up a new Superhero!! Forget Batman, Spiderman (and especially forget crappy Hellboy), this marks a new era in Superheroicalitism…onomy…whatever. I call him Womanman, and I presume he was once minding his own nerdy business in a very alter-ego kind of way when he was caught by a radioactive blast of womanly pheromones from someone on a bus (I was similarly attacked recently; it smelt of hairspray). This transferred to him the powers of a woman; namely he can get into a terrible berserker rage thanks to the power of PMT. Of course, he wouldn’t have a superhero car or boat or plane or anything; you know what women are like, it’d take him ages to park in Womanman mode, and the rearview mirrors would all be used to check out his make-up. (I pretty quickly realised this brief piece could play host to all kinds of woman jokes ). Of course he’d need some symbol, some shortcut to memory like Batman’s bat logo, so I suggest
/ WO \
| 2x |
\MAN/
be emblazoned across his ample chest (did I mention it grows and fills up?)

Does anyone have any more suggestions for this character? Like superpowers and whatnot?

This is a Slanderous Mambo song to “honour” Mr. Burns by Tito Puente

Singer: Wounds won’t last long, but an insulting song
Burns will always carry with him,
So I’ll settle my score on the salsa floor,
With this vengeful Latin rhythm.

Chorus: Bu-urns!
Singer: Con un corrazon de perro. (With the heart of a dog)
Chorus: Senor Bu-urns!
Singer: El diablo con dinero. (The devil with money)

It may not surprise you,
But all of us despise you,
Please die,
And fry,
In Hell,
You rotten,
Rich old wretch,
Adios viejo!

There’s this disturbing advertisement on telly nowadays. It has, amongst other things, a scene with a couple of men, one standing suspiciously behind the other while the one in front is holding a newspaper that completely covers their nether areas. The one behind asks “Did you feel anything?”. And then the voiceover says “It glides so smoothly you won’t feel a thing”. Ahh, it’s those homo-erotic advertising people at Gillette!!

I’ve finished ‘Beasts of no nation’, definitely recommend it. From that, I’m going on to Hemmingway, and A Farewell To Arms’. I’ve also picked up a cool-sounding book about a robber who’s obtained $100,000 but can’t spend it ‘coz he’s constantly on the run from the cops. At first I thought this book might be the inspiration for the telly show “My Name Is Earl”, but it’s different. It’s called ‘Milo’s Run’, by Danny King. I’ll let you know what it’s like, of course.

This is what I see in my e-mail inbox. The Greenpeace newsletter telling me “Don’t nuke Iran”. Uhh, ok.

The Iweala book ‘Beasts of no nation’ is a fascinating read, a fantastic debut. It talks about child soldiers in a senseless war between unnamed “enemies” in what is recognisably Africa. So that you can get a feel of the narrative style, I managed to find an essay called Listening to Agu where the author describes how the book came about (Agu is the main protagonist, a child-soldier). It is written in the same style used throughout the book; a kind of pidgin-broken English.
Btw, I used to be called Agu by my lil’ sis back when I was young and cherub-faced.

And here’s a little head-scratcher. The Lotto is now offering a new product called Monday Lotto or something (if I wanted to accurately search out all the facts for you, then I’d have studied journalism, you daft bints). What I’ve understood from the telly ads without actually bothering to do any further research is that this time you don’t even have to get the numbers right; the closest guess counts. Now call me cynical, but I think that this makes no difference at all to the chances of winning the lottery. This is not based on any sound statistical theory, but entirely on my cynicism and suspicion of anything advertised on the telly. But am I right?

This was the name of the movie on E4 that kept me up last night, apart from the Snooker final (well done Dott!!). Nicole Kidman as a Russian mail-order bride who comes, unknowingly to her British, bank clerk husband-to-be, with some baggage in tow. Two Russki ruffians, to be precise. Vincent Cassell was one of the baddies (was it this movie that prompted him to be casted in “Derailed” in a similar but more brutal role?? Hmmm…) and the movie is quite fun, as the British clerk (Ben Chaplin) falls in love and then is defrauded by this trio. There’s a scene where he’s berating Nicole for her role in the fraud, calling her a prostitute.

NK- “You can’t hurt me more than I already am”
BC- “Well Nadia, if it’s all the same to you, I’d really like to give it a bash”

There’s a lot of pretend Russian being spoken, at which Nicole is surprisingly good. But there’s also a lot of proper Russian dialogue from the actors which is inexplicably translated wrongly in the subtitles! It’s not as if the actors are really Russian. So how come they are speaking rehearsed lines properly, and the subtitles so off kilter?

Anyhoo. I’m continuing my tour of the planets with Ben Bova’s Sci-fi books. This time it’s Saturn. The format of all books is such:- It’s the future. Man is moving to the planets. Colonization of the planets brings about various unforeseen problems. There are certain characters who emerge heroes.
However, you do learn a lot about the planets and the direction of current exploratory thought, from the examples he uses.

Another book I’m looking forward to reading is called ‘Beasts of no nation’ by Uzodinma Iweala. I appear to have, yet again, uncovered something special. (Naz, you’re making it too difficult for people trying to be like you!)