Haiku Review

Holy Smokes! It's the third installment of everybody's favourite Haiku reviewing format on the internet. This week, I went to a fully booked picture house to witness one of the most anticipated films of the year, The Lorax. I kid, I kid, I saw The Dark Knight Rises and it was flipping spectacular.

Nolan's Batman gone
But what a way to do it
A perfect farewell



Joel

An Olympic Breakfast

This morning, over toast, I was maddened. Maddened listening to the radio and hearing further complaints about the Olympics. There seems to be an endless queue of people desperate to air their views on how disastrous the Olympics is definitely, without question, going to be. The most recent of these 'scandals' is, of course, the G4S debacle, I must state now that I do not like the Conservative government one jot, but Jeremy Hunt has clearly stated time and time again since it became apparent that G4S could not deliver the numbers of security staff promised, that there was a contingency plan, a very thorough contingency plan that would insure members of the armed forces or police would plug the gap that the private company was unable to fill.

Cynicism is the biggest threat to the Olympics. Had Al Qaeda or any other two-bit terrorist organisation wanted to truly ruin the games in London, leafleting campaigns, exaggerated figures regarding cost and immigration coupled with dangerously high levels of tutting and sighing would be far more effective than a nail bomb. Sighs do not appear on security scanners. They are an almost silent killer.

The Olympic Games is without doubt, the greatest sporting event on earth, there will be drama, medals, heartache and a country unified in it's support for athletes who have trained their entire lives to reach this level. At the very least, it will replace inane daytime television for a few weeks, I welcome this with open arms. The Olympics can be fantastic, if everyone would just fucking cheer up.


Joel

A Sticky Situation

I’m not ashamed to say it, I’m a football sticker collector. Whenever a World or Euro cup comes around, I can’t wait to get myself a sticker book, and spend far too much money purchasing packs upon packs of stickers. Normally my quest to finish these books ends with uncompleted pages, and copious amounts of swaps’ that I ultimately find I have no use for, in fact, this year was absolutely no different, plenty of money spent, over a hundred stickers remain unfound. A result which no doubt will only encourage me to spend even more money in two years time, and all for what?!

Anyway, when putting my latest unfinished work away with the others, I seemed to remember one that I did complete! I dived into my cupboards and searched vigorously for Japan/Korea 2002... My potential masterpiece. Ten minutes later, I held in my hands that exact sticker book. It was dustier and more worn than I remembered, but it was beautiful. I began turning the pages, happily looking at the faces staring back at me. But it wasn’t long before my happiness had turned to desperation, and the word ‘unfinished’ came straight back to me. Sticker number 203, the Turkish striker and legend Arif Erdem still remained to be found, and subsequently meant like the rest, this sticker book was not completed, and I feel that has to be resolved.

Without his sticker in my possession, I feel like his career now amounts to nothing. Over 400 club appearances with 121 goals, and 11 goals in 60 international matches. It seemed like it never happened, all because he was missing from that sticker book, and I feel that needs to change. So, if any reader of this could help me in any way to source this sticker, or even source the man himself just to get some closure on the whole situation, would be a massive help! Until then, this issue will continue to sit with the rest of the unfinished books.

Thom                                                                                                                                                                         

Haiku Review

I think it's hugely important to keep this blog relevant to keep all of you out there coming back for more of this ace content. So this weeks Haiku Review is of Shallow Grave, a film that's almost 20 years old, that I've only just seen for the first time. It's got Doctor Who and a Jedi in it in their younger and more vulnerable years and I thought it was pretty entertaining:

Ewan Mcgregor
An unexpected plot twist
And long flowing locks



Joel

The list, better than Kiss.

A work colleague of mine a few nights ago made an awful, awful admission. Whilst sitting down after closing time, the conversation turned to music and said colleague's love of the band KISS. You read that correctly, the band KISS, I was outraged, really I was. Of all the bands to openly declare admiration for he chose four make-up wearing buffoons. A band that always cared far too much about image and marketing and merchandise than improving upon their meaningless, vacuous music. The ensuing diatribe left my colleague stunned. I then assured him that I could easily produce a list of 100 guitar based bands that are better than KISS. Here, reader, is that list:

1. The Beatles                            
2. The Rolling Stones                       
3. The Kinks                            
4. The Byrds                           
5. The Yardbirds
6. Buddy Holly and The Crickets               
7. The Jimi Hendrix Experience               
8. Weezer                           
9. The Cure                           
10. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band           
11. MGMT                           
12. Bloc Party                               
13. Lynyrd Skynyrd                       
14. Jefferson Airplane                       
15. Foreigner                           
16. The Strokes                       
17. The Smiths                   
18. Nirvana                           
19. The Ramones                       
20. U2                               
21. Velvet Underground                   
22. Bob Marley and The Wailers           
23. The Stooges                       
24. Led Zeppelin                   
25. The Clash                           
26. Deep Purple                       
27. The Pixies                           
28. Aerosmith                           
29. Metallica                           
30. Blue Oyster Cult                       
31. The Police                           
32. The Verve                           
33. REM                           
34. Radiohead                           
35. Pink Floyd                       
36. The Doors                           
37. Television                           
38. The Who                           
39. Queen                           
40. The Animals                       
41. The Patti Smith Band                   
42. The Jam                           
43. Blondie                           
44. Ash                           
45. The Zombies                   
46. The White Stripes                       
47. New York Dolls                       
48. Sweet                           
49. Cream                           
50. The Coward Brothers   
51. Squeeze
52. AC/DC
53. Mott The Hoople
54. Black Sabbath
55. Beach Boys
56. New Order
57. Booker T and The MGs
58. Joy Division
59. Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers
60. Creedence Clearwater Revival
61. Van Halen
62. Boston
63. Steppenwolf
64. Fleetwood Mac
65. Supertramp
66. T-Rex
67. Rush
68. The Mamas and The Papas
69. Rage Against The Machine
70. Red Hot Chilli Peppers
71. Iron Maiden
72. Sex Pistols
73. The Eagles
74. The Cribs
75. The Arctic Monkeys
76. Foals
77. Kings of Leon
78. Franz Ferdinand
79. Linkin Park
80. The Libertines
81. The La’s
82. Thin Lizzy
83. Biffy Clyro
84. Arcade Fire
85. Muse
86. The Undertones
87. Mumford and Sons
88. Kasabian
89. Vampire Weekend
90. Supergrass
91. Dire Straits
92. Coldplay
93. Blur
94. Oasis
95. Pulp
96. Modest Mouse
97. Simple Minds
98. Journey
99. Cliff Richard and The Shadows
100. Manic Street Preachers               

This list is not in any order of preference, just the order in which they occurred to me. I am sure there are many glaring omissions, feel free to let me know the error of my ways.

Joel

The town that's almost dead.

On Thursday I managed to catch the second half of the two parter 'The town that never retired'. Firstly, that is a misleading title to say the least. I was excited, I envisioned a screen adaptation of  Jose Saramago's Death with Interruptions. I tuned in, anxiously, I don't get to watch very much television and this looked promising.

Then the camera panned. I was greeted with those two, you know them, they both used to sneer and judge on The Apprentice and now only one of them does, the Nick half. Alas, This was a programme with a simple premise, can those very nearly dead still be effective in the work place, the answer was largely, no. Lack of dexterity and speed meant that, sadly, pensioners aren't cut out for manual labour or factory work. But the elderly have kind faces and we must therefore, be incredibly sympathetic towards them. Their work ethic was unquestionably brilliant, just their ability had dwindled. So we the viewer, were forced to watch a generation in decline. Which is of course bitterly sad and a frightening glimpse of the future.


But fear not, those old timers may be over the hill and unable to uncork a bottle of wine, but there is a new generation isn't there? The young ones who are desperate for jobs we all read about all the time. Well Nick and Margaret succeeded in recruiting a great cross-section of the 18-25 year olds that are currently unemployed and not just 5 feckless morons who we would be invited to laugh at in a 'huh, kids these days' kind of way. Wait, no, hang on, that's exactly what the BBC did do, instead of perhaps, using some of the very many graduates currently out of work, eloquent or intelligent young types the likes of which I know exist. I've seen them. Spoken to a few of them, even. So instead, we were forced into comparisons between well spoken, hard working pensioners and idiots (all bar one, the plumber one, he was pretty good). They were utterly, utterly useless and unsympathetic and did not stand one chance of winning any of the viewers over in their hooded coats when compared to those kind wrinkled faces.

The BBC has thereby greatly assisted in confirming far too many Daily Mail assertions about, 'the youth today'.


Joel

The Amazing Spiderman- Amazing...

Yesterday, I did something I have never done before in my life. I went to the cinema to watch a film I’d already seen at the cinema, just a couple of days before. To be honest, it wasn’t my choice. My endless quest to be sociable saw me agree to it while I couldn’t turn down my brothers offer to watch it earlier in the week, but to be honest, I really didn’t mind. The truth is, I would probably go and watch it again out of choice.

From start to finish, I genuinely enjoyed every minute of it, both times through. In fact, the only disappointing thing about the experience was the £12 it cost me second time round to watch it in 3D, which was no real difference to 2D in my opinion. But in regards to the film itself, everything from a strangely wonderful skateboarding montage to a Coldplay song, to one of the cheesiest closing lines in any film I’ve ever seen, had me riveted, in fact, it would be worth going for that latter point alone.

This is a film I would highly recommend to anyone, even if just to watch Emma Stone for 136 minutes (or Andrew Garfield, let’s face it, hes a good looking lad). So if you get the chance, go watch it! If not, you could watch the 5 Year Engagement instead, but let’s face it, who would want to sit through that?!

Thom.

Truly good news.

Philanthropy is a wonderful thing.

Michael Moritz and Harriet Heyman, on Wednesday announced that they were to donate 75m to Oxford University to help ensure that the poorest 10% of students would not suffer from the ridiculous rise in student fees from £3,500 per year to £9,000 which will take effect this September. 

Moritz has stated that he owed his success to the generosity of others, having graduated from Christ Church, Oxford. Inspired by the opportunities that were provided for both he and his father, who was removed from Nazi Germany as a teenager, Moritz was able to acquire and hone a fantastic sense of business acumen thanks to the grants that were available to students, such as himself, that excel in academia regardless of background. 

This donation, the largest ever to an institution of higher education in Europe, is, in my humble opinion a fine example of the altruism we, as a species,  possess. Michael Moritz hopes for a future in which philanthropy can fund underprivileged students, which is timely given the distinct lack of government funding to do so. 

However, there is an argument that questions why it is the Moritz-Heyman donations are solely focused on one academic institution. This is perfectly understandable, many other universities (my own included) I am sure would welcome a donation just 10% of what has been given to Oxford, however Moritz's loyalties lie with his place of study and this is, of course, to be expected. One just hopes that this donation will pioneer the philanthropic movement Moritz hopes for and will prevent the inevitable elitism the enormous increase in tuition fees will create.

Alas, I feel that perhaps grants such as these should not be the responsibility of philanthropic billionaires but the duty of the government to ensure that the decision as to whether or not an individual can attend university is never a financial one. At the very least however, we can be thankful that there are people who believe in allowing the under privileged to be privy to equal opportunity in education.

Michael Moritz, I salute you. 

Joel

The vandals used the handles.

It's very nearly twenty one years since I was brought into this world by a kindly midwife in a hospital in Hammersmith. Since that time I have matured somewhat, led a life that I can't imagine would be described as sheltered and have generally got by reasonably well.

However, last week something happened, something happened that had not happened to me before and the realisation that this something had never happened to me before was almost more of a shock than the fact that that something had happened at all. Last week I was robbed, well, not me personally, but somebody that I do not know, broke into my car and took several of my possessions. My reaction to losing these items, was pretty laissez faire, I felt pretty detached from the event and dismissed it as 'just one of those things'. However, I have reflected upon the incident and thought back to it time and time again in the last week and become more confused and distressed by what transpired.

The economic value of the things I lost wasn't particularly extortionate, an iPod (3 years old, with a less than reliable clicking wheel) and a few CDs (Beastie Boys predominately, having had them on repeat for 2 months since the terribly sad news about MCAs death). However, the person that found their way into my car was not to know what was to be found in the glove compartment of my Peugeot. Now I must point out now that I had forgotten to lock the passenger door, foolish I know, I am a student without a great deal of disposable income and opted therefore for an automobile without central locking, something I now regret. But the failure to properly secure my property was not an invitation, my grandparents have lived in a quaint village for many a decade, feeling completely safe leaving front doors unlocked without fear of reprisal.

I have always had a wonderfully optimistic opinion of human nature, as a race I think we are inherently altruistic, kind, caring and cooperative. I don't blame the individual, or group of people that stole from my car personally for what they did. There is a ridiculous amount of importance placed on materialism and the worshiping of material goods in society. Now don't think this is a Marxist call to arms, I think, on the whole, regulated capitalism is the most viable option, allowing for entrepreneurial pursuits and preventing monopolies and exploitation. I myself am certainly a consumer of luxury products. My grievance is not with their existence, but their importance in society; television, music and film is currently awash with materialism and placing undue pressure on less affluent families, peers, etc to be in possession of these products.

To surmise therefore, those of you out there, whoever you are that now have a cracked iPod and some seminal hip hop works in your home are forgiven. My animosity is not directed towards you, however, I will say, the illegal acquisition of these items, desirable as society makes them, whether you sell them on, or choose yourself to enjoy the vast back catalogue of Radio Four podcasts, is just not cricket.


 Joel

The day the music died.

The news today that Bob Diamond will be receiving his full salary, despite accusations of criminal activity, or at least, choosing not to notice criminal activity at Barclay's is almost, almost, but not quite, as saddening as the news that the Jason and Kylie reunion tour has been cancelled. I have scoured the internet's best news outlets in search of an article that may restore my faith in humanity, alas, the continued progress towards a film adaptation of 50 Shades of Grey, John Terry's race trial and Labour's ridiculous plans to set up military schools only further dampen my mood.

However, all of this pales into insignificance, upon reading the truly devastating news that Chumbawamba are to split.

I've been knocked down, unable to get up again.

Joel

The first of many.

Would you believe it, we had actually got this far, we had actually found the motivation to get up and about to do something worthwhile. Normally ideas like this we came up with had fallen by the wayside and were swiftly forgotten about, but here we were, barely 9 o’clock in the morning, walking out onto a rundown set of tennis courts which bared little resemblance to the All England Tennis Club we had really wanted this to occur on. There was no cheering, no crowds and no trophy come the end of it for the winner, but that didn’t matter, there was to be one winner from this, and both of us had the self belief it would be them.

The man who came out on top was to take a 1-0 lead in the competition we had set just days ago, so as you’d expect, there was no love lost between us, and the game was sure to have all the contents of such a bout. With everything that had been discussed and thought about over the past few days, we mentally prepared ourselves for the battle, stepped onto the court, and got ready to begin the biggest tennis game that had occurred between us, and believe me, there had been plenty to compare it to.
In the thought process of deciding our list of sports, tennis had always been right up there and for good reason. For one, there were plenty of courts in the local area to play it, but more importantly, the sport had sparked a vicious rivalry between us a few years prior in a summer which was filled with match upon match upon match. Thom had an unsuccessful time of it, not winning a single match, and had begun biding his time, waiting to get his revenge. Was this now his chance? In a match of the
utmost importance, as we began the warm up, we were about to find out.

A simple three times over system was employed to decide the opening server, and there was already controversy! Thom called out, Joel was unconvinced. The adjudicator sided with the former; Thom had won the first of many small battles and lined up for his opening service game. With the opening 3 games going with serve, neither player had really reached their stride, and when Joel produced a couple of double faults in the fourth game, Thom broke, and took a 3-1 lead. He focused, and began to look like the torrid summer in the past was well out of his head.

Game 5, Thom got himself to a 40-15 lead and looked good to go 4-1 up and be in a prime position to seize the opening set, however Joel produced a fantastic show of resilience to pull it to deuce, take the advantage and pull it to 3-2. And it was to get better for him. Another comeback, from 30-40 down this time and Thom’s earlier break now counted for nothing. The game was now perfectly balanced and with the next three games going with serve, including some incredible drop shots from Joel and some devastating backhands from Thom, the match moved to 5-4 in the latter’s  favour, leaving Joel to serve to save the set. Some frustrating tennis ensued for him in the next game and he squandered the set. Thom had taken a 1-0 lead.

A short break was had to replenish lost fluids and the second set began, Joel desperate to take it to a decider. Contrary to the first, where games went with serve, this one began with both players losing their opening service game. It was 1-1, and Thom began to suffer, and proceeded to lose the next three games on the spin. At 4-1, and Joel looking almost certain to get the decider he desperately desired, but much like the comeback Joel produced but failed to capitalise on in the first set, was replicated by Thom, this time, to devastating effect. Five games won on the trot destroyed any hope Joel had of a third set, and the anguish on his face was clearly visible after this hurtful 6-4 6-4 loss.

So the game was over, and not without pain. Joel was suffering from a slightly pulled groin/hamstring/groin (and obviously a fair amount of heartbreak), while Thom suspected a broken toe after an awkward landing towards the end, already there were clear signs that lack of training for these events could prove to be a hindrance, but Thom thought back to the conversation of not long ago to remind himself what was at stake... ‘150, I could beat you at 150 sports’ were the words he vividly remembered Joel saying. He’d already proved him wrong on one of them, but there was still plenty of sport to be played, and walking off the court, they both relished the chance to move on the their second bout. But right now, all they wanted was a trip to the pub for a little drink, and maybe a chance for Joel to get back, as he realised, the pub housed a fairly useful pool table. Would sport two come along sooner than hoped?

The boy done good.

This time last week, I’m really not ashamed to say, I pitched my tent firmly in the anti- Andy Murray camp. I don’t know what it was, but as a tennis player, I found it highly difficult to warm to him. Whether it was his seemingly emotionless responses to prior wins and losses, or  whether it was the fact I was always comparing him to a sporting gentleman and questionably greatest male tennis player of all time, Roger Federer, and with R Feds being an idol of mine, the young Scot never managed to compare. With that in mind, going into this years Wimbledon, I was one of many who would find the state of British tennis quite humorous, yet continue to mock the only person attempting to change the fact.

To be fair, I wasn’t  a part of the ‘anyone but Murray’ brigade, but in all honesty, I thought if he went out in the first round, I would not shed any tears, and would support the legendary Swiss to the end. However, the manner and class in which Murray defeated Davydenko and then Ivo Karlovic (no mean feat considering both have had stints in the top 20, and the former even reaching No. 3 at one point) really did have me taking notice of the talent Britain has in its hands.

As an epic against Baghdatis ended, it had to be said, I started to look back over the 4 or 5 years in which I had disliked this man, and questioned my own motives behind that, and I began to realise, they were limited. I mean, even still now, I get that he comes across as miserable at times, but I thought, who doesn’t?! And seriously, can you really criticise someone purely on a trait we all have at times. I stopped and realised, I’d been a fool, the man was winning me over, and with victories against Cilic, Ferrer and the lovable Jo-Wilfred Tsonga, it could be said I was genuinely over the moon that Andy Murray made it to the Wimbledon final. What a difference a week makes.

Sadly for Murray, it wasn’t to be. His incredibly brave fight against, in my opinion, the most majestic player to grace the court, just fell short. 3 hours and 24 minutes later, even though Federer had his name on the wall, Murray could hold his head high, and I like to think that it was not only me that changed their opinion on the man. If the quality of his tennis didn’t do it, then the post match interview from this ‘emotionless’ Scot must have done. His pure willingness to want to win for himself and the people of Britain is something that really should be admired. From now on, I’m rooting for Andy Murray to win a grand slam. He deserves it.

Thom

Haiku Review

Hello all 3 of you that read this blog. From somewhere in the depths of my mind I have managed to scrape together what I hope will be a reasonably frequent and somewhat entertaining feature right here on this blog. Here's the premise, every week I shall read a novel, watch a film, or simply witness a thing. I shall then review said piece in the form of a Haiku, the greatest form of poetry there is. Thus, Haiku Review is born. First up, I read Bram Stoker's Dracula and damn fine it was too:



I won't read 'Twilight'
The Count is the real McCoy
He doesn't sparkle


Joel

So it begins.

As I'm sure you've already spotted, attentive and observant fans, our bio states that we are men with ideas. These ideas tend to vary drastically in terms of ambition and sheer undertaking. As men with little history of perseverance, at the birth of these ideas, our minds have always wandered and our plans invariably, squandered. Alas, one such idea shall be detailed below the paragraph I am writing this very moment.

The sun had just set on another warm, wasted summer’s day. The dulcet tones of (insert Sky Sports Presenter here) filled the room as they had done since this sloth-like pair had awoken at midday. It had been their day off, there had been plans, exciting ones too, but as ever they were left unfulfilled as were these two friends. Alas, the rolling sport coverage carried them into the evening on its mind numbing fifteen minute loops that can only be found on satellite subscription only services. An unoriginal piece then came on screen as the next cool alcoholic beverage exchanged hands, the piece to camera in question was on location at the Olympic village and like a bolt out of the blue, these words were uttered:

‘Thom, I reckon, no I know, I could beat you at any sport’.

Thom had endured and humoured thousands of these ridiculous notions in the past (including the attempts to twin Joel’s former home, the remote village of Cliffe with Milan and two half written shows that Thom had been assured will, ‘take Edinburgh by storm’). Usually a change of subject or easily picking apart these ideas due to their glaring flaws would be enough to sedate the plans. However, this one had touched a nerve, a competitive nerve that both Joel and Thom could set off so easily in one another.

‘You’re on’ came Thom’s adamant reply. Neither were particularly adept at sport, but that had been pushed to the dark corners of their minds along with Joel’s university summer reading list and Thom’s wholly dissatisfying job. This wasn’t about ability, this was about competition, hard, fierce competition, that and distraction from a somewhat humdrum existence that had both settled into since they travelled together (but that’s another story for another book deal). ‘So what do you think’ said Thom, ‘Me and you got toe-to-toe over the next couple of weeks in a few one on ones?’ But, as ever, Joel had grander plans.

‘150 sports, you and me’.

As was hinted to above, we had always been a competitive pair, with one always determined to outdo the other in any minor, meaningless event. There had been countless races to the train station and unfathomably late nights as Joel attempted to reverse his FIFA losing streak. Joel would routinely recall the time he had put Thom to the floor with a single poke of the belly button and Thom would retaliate with a scalding remark as to the number of times it had taken Joel to finally be issued with a pink driving license. This form of, mostly, friendly competition had seen us through our carefree teenage years, including the infamous summer in which Joel beat Thom in every single tennis match they played (we’ll get back to that later, again and again). Sadly however, since hitting the age of twenty these opportunities had become fewer and fewer, Thom had a steady, if heartbreakingly dull, job as a chef and Joel was studying surprisingly hard at university.

So there we were, with a wonderful chance to rekindle that sense of adventure and bon amie we had so readily enjoyed in the past.

Welcome reader. I hope you enjoy your stay. We can't imagine there will be any real unifying theme just a miscellany of musings, ramblings and occasional rants. We are hoping to think up a couple of weekly features and follow through with several projects we have had nestled in the depths of our minds so that the pressure of producing witty, original material doesn't become too much. So, hopefully it'll be entertaining, if not, I've heard Richard Littlejohn writes some pretty good stuff.