Monthly Archives: November 2008

pretty mouth

The weekend is here again at last.

Had a nice start last night, IC came over for some salmon en croute (prepared by my own sweet hand) which would’ve been a little better if I’d not forgotten about it after it was placed in the oven, it wasn’t bad though. Actually it was quite good, nearly sensational but not quite.

Oddly Deliverance was on, I say ‘oddly’ because I’d been speaking about it just the other day to IC with reference to the bango scene, you know ‘blung dun dun dun dun dun dun dun bluung.’ It has dated extraordinarily well, the rape scene with Ned Beatty is fucking horrid and has lost none of its visceral power. Gave me a fucking woody as usual.

It would seem that the countdown to Christmas (and inevitably my fucking 40th) really has started. As per usual, Christmas has this revolting habit of sneaking up on a person. I was forced to undertake the merest amount of shopping yesterday and most of the stores are already piping that dreadful seasonal musak into the ether amidst a glittering, twinkling, wanking-wonderland of ballsack. I walked about the stores, my face aching from sneering, so I naturally I comforted myself by muttering obscenities at fairy lights and tinsel… but thing weird thing is, I don’t hate the Christmas hoo-har, actually, I quite like it.

What upsets me is the knowledge that in a few weeks all the bling will be withdrawn throwing us into the steel-grey teeth of a miserable January, a month so rank it should be picketed by a baying mob of scousers prior to it being caught down a backalley, severely beaten and then hanged upside down just before they realise it was June they’ve killed and it was only 15 years old.

Right Gerry’s (now quite) controversial chart and tune from it after (really good it is too, may even get the album). Yes, that can only mean it’s Friday and it’s now time to wish you all splendid weekends. Unless you’re an arsehole in which case you can sod off.

30 Metallica The Day That Never Comes 24 13
29 MGMT Kids 26 11
28 Cage The Elephant In One Ear 21 9
27 Snow Patrol Crack The Shutters 27 2
26 Trivium Down From The Sky 19 8
25 Glasvegas Please Come Back Home NE 1
24 Friendly Fires Paris 23 6
23 The Rifles Great Escape NE 1
22 The Wombats Is This Christmas? NE 1
21 AC/DC Rock n’ Roll Train 17 10
20 Bloc Party Talons 15 10
19 Elbow The Bones Of You 14 11
18 Coldplay Lost! 20 3
17 Franz Ferdinand Ulysses 22 2
16 Enter Shikari We Can Breathe In Space….. 12 6
15 Twisted Wheel Lucy The Castle 18 5
14 M.I.A Paper Planes 10 8
13 Red Light Company Scheme Eugene 7 5
12 Guns n’ Roses Chinese Democracy 11 5
11 Innerpartysystem Die Tonight Live Forever 5 9
10 Paramore Decode NE 1
9 The Verve Rather Be 4 4
8 Fightstar The English Way 8 8
7 Santogold Say A-Ha 6 3
6 Kings Of Leon Use Somebody 3 4
5 The Grammatics The Vague Archive 16 2
4 Team Waterpolo So Called Summer 1 5
3 Ladyhawke My Delerium 9 3
2 Baddies Battleships 13 2
1 Oasis I’m Outta Time 2 4


Short ‘un today, I’m already up against it.

Yesterday was dreadful too, it consisted of a dull vacuum bereft of any activity whatsoever before suddenly convulsing into a work nightmare of such epic proportions it should’ve starred Vincent Price and perhaps featured a very young David Oglivy.

On top of all of this the casual mention on yesterdays Pi that I was a month away from being 40 gained its own momentum. When it all kicked off in the office, to use the futballs vernacular, the ‘YOU’RE GOING TO BE 40 WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING’ polemic unfurled itself in my brain like a soiled flag and frantically waved in my minds eye intensifying the ridiculousness of my predicament.

I spurned my evening plans. I needed to be alone to turn all this over. I helped myself to a broccoli and bacon pie after I’d prepared it/cooked it and settled down in front of BBC4 to enjoy ‘The Art of Italy’ with a bottle of wine. This came at a price, the programme was quite excellent but the pleasure was offset by the fact that the programme virtually followed a mini grand tour I’d undertaken in my 20’s with James. In fact, the presenter virtually copied my own journey highlighting little gems that I’d taken as my own. ‘That should be you doing this show’ I concluded despite the fat chance it should be and poured another glass.

…and for fuck sake someone rescue Woolworths.

Henry had this at his funeral, he’ll always be 27. Not sure how I feel about that.

itz making i’s at me

I’m sorry to hear of the demise of Woolies. As a kid, growing up in a village, the nearest Woolies had a faint whiff of ‘this place has everything!’ wonderment. It seems almost absurd now but Pick n’ Mix was beyond ones comprehension, I mean not just any sweet but EVERY sweet all in one magical place all just sat there, loose.

On Saturday IC and I went in to Woolies to get some Pick n’ mix, it didn’t really sink in that I’d not done such a thing since being very young where the whole picking and mixing was overseen by a mum on a budget on rare occasions. IC only really wanted those liquorice wheels but I insisted on all sorts of tat, mainly those big squishy jelly things which surprised me. I challenge you to go to a Pick n’ Mix before Woolies goes for good and see what you end up with, bet you surprise yourself. Bet you can’t be fucked to bother in the first instance.

I’m not feeling overly cheery today; in exactly one month I’m going to be 40. Forty. Fucking hell. To celebrate this most dreadful of occasions I’m going to round the year off with an essay on this matter. I intend for it to be a really long, dull and humourless rant about why I didn’t get my own way after spending a good 20 years stoned out of my tree and hungover. I deserved everything despite doing nothing and I still can’t work out why I find this desperately unfair. The cunts.

Though it’s not all bad, God has told me that if I kill and dismember my neighbour he’ll make all the bad things go away.

for higher

Since private cabs have to have badges saying ‘I am Private Cab, yeah’ I’ve noticed that nearly every last minute Black Bitch swerve, sharp braking and jolly cries of ‘your mother shits in my garden’ (I don’t have a garden but that’s not the point, honestly, you should see their faces) the protagonist of my evasive action/vitriol bears the ‘I am Private Cab, yeah’ badge.

These badged-bastards now join the ranks of every BMW driver and farty scooter as the new turds of the road. Of course they’ve always been there but because of the propensity of the drivers to operate without a driving licence/insurance and touch-up pissed up teens they now have to make themselves known to the wider public.

As the ‘I am Private Cab, yeah’ badge is now a warning to other motorists and society at large the badge shouldn’t pull any punches and read ‘I like to touch-up pissed teens and I drive like a fucking cunt’ in 3 foot high letters on every available panel.

Piqued for Mayor.

I had a ridiculously stressed day at work yesterday; the recession is causing my bosses face to physically convulse like some contaminated hospital worker in a TV adaptation of a Stephen King horror. My attitude is simple, there isn’t much I can do so treat yourself to another fag and even if you don’t want to plop it may be worth sitting on the bog reading the paper for 10 minutes in case Mr. Brown wants to take a dip.

But yesterday this was impossible, I had to show people stuff and do things work-related. Making matters worse I have to do more today, right now in fact. Perhaps being a private cab driver isn’t that bad after all.

I mentioned today’s vid to Planet Mondo and Urban Woo on Thursday…

tea nee

Short one today, I’m training someone to sit down in front of a computer and watch their life ebb away.

Lovely weekend, IC and I went out to eat twice which was a bit reckless; between us we had Partridge, Monkfish, pizza, sea bass, crab mash, lardons (which gave me hard-ons) and drank wine, tea and rain flying horizontally into our mouths. It was ludicrously cold throughout but I’m still sad to see the back of it.

The cunts (whoever they may be).


I met up with Urban Woo and in doing so met Planet Mondo last night in a cosy wee hostelry in Clerkenwell. I liked the Mondo chap enough to add him to my blogroll where you can now access his website, along with Woo’s of course where excellence is default mode.

We spent most of the night, no, actually, all of the night talking about music. For once I was the youngest member of the party (just) and it was bloody nice to able to remember the 1970’s as a collective and to drink beer. It’s always nice to do that. Planet Mondo ‘got’ Gerry’s chart, actually he was rather fascinated by it, and I just remembered Woo didn’t drink beer. No. She had a hangover and was on the coke. But it mattered not; we could hardly get a word in we three such was our enthusiastic waffling. I’ve also remembered I talked about taking a poo in the back of my toy Land Rover when I was 3. That book, PM, is Fatty Batter by Michael Simpkins, it gets the no-quibble Piqued best buy seal of recommended approval.

Right, Gerry’s chart after I’ve ensured that you all have splendid weekends, then a choon from within it black walls.

Wrap up warm; it’s going to get fucking cold. But don’t bother if you’re a cunt, I hope you freeze to death. Bye.

30 The Datsuns Human Error 25 7
29 Jack White and Alicia Keys Another Way To Die 28 7
28 Funeral For A Friend Kicking And Screaming 23 7
27 Snow Patrol Crack The Shutters NE 1
26 MGMT Kids 21 10
25 The Stereophonics You’re My Star 19 6
24 Metallica The Day That Never Comes 18 12
23 Friendly Fires Paris 25 6
22 Franz Ferdinand Ulysses NE 1
21 Cage The Elephant In One Ear 14 8
20 Coldplay Lost! 24 2
19 Trivium Down From The Sky 11 7
18 Twisted Wheel Lucy The Castle 22 4
17 AC/DC Rock n Roll Train 10 9
16 Grammatics Vague Archive NE 1
15 Bloc Party Talons 7 9
14 Elbow The Bones Of You 8 10
13 Baddies Battleships NE 1
12 Enter Shikari We Can Breathe In Space….. 15 5
11 Guns n Roses Chinese Democracy 13 4
10 M.I.A. Paper Planes 6 7
9 Ladyhawke My Delerium 17 2
8 Fightstar The English Way 12 7
7 Red Light Company Scheme Eugene 9 4
6 Santogold Say A-Ha 16 2
5 Innerpartysystem Die Tonight Live Forever 2 8
4 The Verve Rather Be 5 3
3 Kings Of Leon Use Somebody 4 3
2 Oasis I’m Outta Time 3 3
1 Team Waterpolo So Called Summer 1 4


One news story caught ol’ Piqued’s eye yesterday, well the headline was ‘Man cuts his head off with Chinsaw’ so I was immediately intrigued. The Telegraph went into particular detail, here’s what they had to say…

“An inquest at Winchester Coroner’s Court heard that Mr Phyall (50) tied the Black & Decker tool to a leg of a snooker table in his lounge, taped up the on button and plugged it into a timer. Mr Phyall, who had consumed a small quantity of alcohol but no drugs, then lay down under the snooker table face up and placed the chainsaw against his neck. A piece of the tool’s cardboard box initially cushioning the blades from his neck. The hearing heard that the timer, which is usually used to turn lights on and off, was fixed to start up the chainsaw for 15 minutes. When it activated, it sliced three-quarters through his neck and across into his right shoulder only stopping from a complete severing when his t-shirt was dragged into the blades. His elderly parents John and Jean Phyall raised the alarm when they could not contact their son on July 5 this year. Police were called and, when they arrived, found Mr Phyall in the lounge with blood spattering the walls, floor and a cabinet.”

‘Gracious!’ I said, after putting away my flaccid tool and mopping up all the spaff what I’d fired about my trousers, ‘why would a fellow do such a thing?’ Terminal disease? Bereavement? Broken heart? Debt? No. He’d been offered accommodation.

Apparently, Mr Phyall was ‘irrationally opposed to moving’ his current digs were due to be demolished and despite great efforts from his housing association, and after refusing 11 offers for alternative dwellings, he decided to cut his own fucking head off.

According to the coroner “He thought through how he was going to commit suicide very carefully. He went to a great deal of trouble. “I think he did it to draw attention to the injustice of his situation.” What a petulant, selfish arsehole. Did he think about his poor elderly parents at any point? They’ve got to spend the rest of their brief lives secure in the knowledge their son acted like an utter berk.

Before I go just a quick mention of the couple that ‘met’ in Second Life (an online game essentially) fell in love with each other avatars and got married both virtually and in reality. Weird but whatever. But there is so much more. The male protagonists wife caught him, online, with a second life hooker and they split up in second life and real life. She then employed a virtual private detective to test his fidelity with a honey-trap, which failed, but his avatar spent the evening talking to the private detective about the second life hooker who he is now seeing in real life following his real/second life wife filing for divorce who, incidentally, is now seeing some bloke she met online in World of Warcraft… for fucks sake

Oh, the male protagonists is 40, 25 stone, unemployed and on incapacity benefits, his Second Life avatar is a tall muscular nightclub owner who flies to work in a helicopter gunship.

sorry about the vid, music is great…