Come Pine With Me

I have found my new favourite show, I'm addicted and it seems to be on constantly, it is amazing. I seem to be watching it for hours on end every night. Come Dine With Me. Every night this week they have been showing Come Dine With Me marathons so it has been non-stop televisual feasts for the Jackhammer.

The first thing I love about the show is the food part of the show. Some of the stuff they make looks as tasty as a motherfucker, it is inspiring me to be way more inventive and adventurous in the kitchen. What did I just say? Would you stop talking you idiot. But on the flip side some of the shit they cook looks like complete bilge, basically, showing me how not to do it.

Secondly, I adore some of the head the balls that they get on this show, it's like they have scoward the length and breathe of Britain for the biggest psychos they can find. Over the last week I have seen some of the most racist, overly competitive, rude, intensive mad yokes to ever grace my television. I have, on several occasions, had to run out of the room with sheer embarrassment. I do not know how they seek them out but what ever they are doing, they really know how to attract ejjits to their show. Every show there is the most extreme tension or a massive argument. I don’t know about you but when I am a guest in someone’s house, a complete stranger, I like to think that I am the most charming and polite cunt in the world. I would be so morto to critisis some bloke after he has just slaved over a full spread for me and four others. It’s the last thing I’d be at. Even if he boiled me up a nice shite, I’d be enthusiastically licking my plate. I would be asking for seconds, Jesus, I’m so charming.

Another piece of genius about the show is what the producers do with all these mad things. They have there contestants, they are ready to go, what is the next step? I will tell you what the next step is, they put them in groups of four, the only thing is the four people chosen, their personalities couldn’t be more clashing if they tried. Contestant Number 1 would be this flamboyant gay guy who is load and in your face about how gay he is, consistently turning everything into a cock joke. He is twenty two, single and still lives with his oul’one. Contestant Number 2 is a fifty-five year old oul’fella who is married with 6 kids, he is a high conservative and he spends most of his time on the golf course, he is highly sexist, his daughter is a lesbian and he is not very happy about it. Contestant Number 3 is forty five year old lesbian; she is a vegan and can’t stop talking about the fact that she is a vegan. She likes to entertain guests with her alternative style of singing, and finally Contestant Number 4 is a 38 year old girl who is obsessed with sex, her house is decked out like a dominatrix dungeon and she is a borderline alcoholic. Now, stick all these people in the same room, tell them to cook up a storm and you have one of the best shows on television.

I need to do it; I need to bring this show to Ireland, amazing. The show was made for Irish people. I can see it now; I could take this show to the next level. First, I would stick in one of those upper middle class, suburban oul’ones, a real complainer. Next, throw in one of those aging Dublin gay guys, still lives with their Ma, 55 years old, wearing a bright green suit. Then, of course, every show would not be complete without a total scumbag, tracky bottoms tucked into the socks, baseball cap at a ninety degree angle, the fucking works, the biggest pie ball I can find. And finally, I’d stick in one of those real working girls in, all business, you know those birds you see swaning around Dublin, they never look like they stop working, ever, even when they are out, they are talking business constantly. That should do it. Any TV producers out there like the idea? Let’s do it, trust me, it is a winner. It will be hilarious.

Wait, I know, I want to play. Does anyone fancy actually playing with me? Get in contact with me and we’ll organise it. Me and three others, we’ll all spend one night in each others gafs for dinner and we should all through 20 quid into a pot and the winner takes all. I’m ready and waiting. Bring it on!

Limerick can drink, and we cant, well, we can just not in a pub, Doesn't matter, we're still gonna beat them

I fucking love the shite that goes on in this country; it makes my laugh out load, the whole lot of it. I just saw the report there on the nine o clock news about the Limerick publicans and, because of the special event that is the Munster - Leinster match which is played in Thurmond Park on Good Friday, they are all able to open the doors to their pubs and serve up pints by the dozen.

Is anyone else scratching there heads here? So if I'm a publican in Dublin, can I open my doors at the same time or is it just to people in Limerick and is it Limerick City or County or what . . . . . or did I have to be one of the publicans in court, desperately trying to change the law and if I wasn’t one of those chuns, I suppose I’m not allowed. I think a few more gargles is the last thing the city of Limerick needs. If I own a pub literally on the border of Limerick and Tipp or Limerick and Cork, like if I had a pub in Newport, would I loose my licence if I opened my doors at the same time as someone in Limerick, only 5 miles down the road.

Why is that law even in place now anyway, surely this little special events loop hole that the fine publicans of Limerick have found has put the whole Catholic, No drinking on Good Friday law into disrepute, wouldn’t you say. A priest was in the report saying that people still have the choice not to drink. Okay, shouldn’t that be the way all the time, like, for everyone and what makes this Munster - Leinster game any different to any event happening that day, it's not like the mass majority of the population will be watching it. The majority of the population of Ireland won't have any interest in the match in the slightest. If it was another event, I wonder, would they let people open up, a bigger event.

Also have we all forgotten that it won't be just the places around Thurmond Park that will be interested in watching the match in a pub that day, it isn't Limerick playing in this game, it's Munster, and if my ordinary level geography serves me correctly, which I barely passed by the way, I believe there are 5 other counties in Munster and one of those counties has nearly three times the population of Limerick. They obviously want fuck all to do with the match, do they?

And lest we forget the other team in the game, Leinster, the better team, the team that kicked the shit out of those mullahs last year in the Heineken Cup. The team that are going to spank all their little bottoms blue on Good Friday. What are we supposed to do? Are we supposed to do the same thing as every other person in Ireland does and stock up on as much gargle as we can, like as if the pubs were going to be closed for a year because we will, we have been doing it for years, we are going to drink that day, let me tell you. I just have only one question and it is a very basic question.

Why are some people in Ireland aloud to drink in pubs on Good Friday and others aren't? I’m trying to get my head around that question. I understand that it is an important, special day but not only in Limerick. Ireland have two of the finest rugby teams in Europe and they are to go head to head this Good Friday and the publicans of Limerick are granted the option to open their pubs doors, yet everywhere else in Ireland, can't. I'm sorry but the word hypocrisy is springing to mind.

I have always thought the idea of closing the pubs on Good Friday was the most ridicules joke in the world, not that I'm an alcho or anything. In fact, to tell you the truth, I rarely go to the pub these days, I much prefer drinks in a gaf, it's cheaper, there are good tunes and there are fewer cunts you have to talk to.

The law was put in place in a time when the Catholic Church had influence in this country, when it had sense of dignity, when it had credibility, now, no one gives a fuck, and even if we did give a fuck about it, aren't we living in a more integrated society where not everyone you meet in Ireland is a Catholic and as a society aren't we supposed to take that on board to make the whole integration thing work.

In the end, I just think it is so fucking funny, I don't really give a shit about any of it; I know where I’ll be watching the match. With a load of mates, in a gaf, swilling cans. Pubs open or pubs closed, either way that’s where I’ll be. I just think it is so fucking Irish. More and more, as the days go by, as I live out my years here, this place just makes me stand there and shake my head with an extremely confused look on my face, trying to workout if I'm actually in an episode of Father Ted or not. Seriously, I'm not having a laugh.

Goodbye Belly

Okay, that's it; I am going to go for it. I am going to loose the belly. I have been putting this shit off for a ridicules amount of time. For years, I've been saying to myself that I'd eventually get into it but I have been constantly putting it off. Do you know what my excuse has been, excuse, I love it, . . . . . an excuse, to myself, but my excuse over the last couple of weeks has been the fact that I have runners. You can buy a shitty pair Dunes runners for twelve fucking quid. Guess where I'm headed after this blog, Dunnes is where, with twelve squid in my wallet and I'm getting my act together. Goodbye belly, see you later, you fat cunt! You are history.

Step 1 - I have been telling Wah to fuck off for way to long. The guy is still hounding me with text messages about 5 a side up in Ballinteer. He is one persistent motherfucker, I'm going to take him up on it and not only that but its gonna become a regular fixture. . . . . Jesus, I am going to be shit. The lads that play every week are gonna be running rings around me. I'm gonna have to go in goal for most of it. Fuck it, I've got to start some where, fuck them, I'll have size on my side. If some little shit starts getting all tricksy with the ball, I'll just mill the little cunt into next week.

Step 2 - Myself and Wah went to a Michael Jackson dance class at the last Elecric Picnic and when I say that we were fucked after it, I would very much telling you the truth. This wasn't perspiring, it was something different, I was fucking soaking, it was like I getting out of a swimming pool. Okay, I had been getting drunk and madge for the three days previous but it was still an outrageous amount of sweat. . . . I know what your thinking, 'Jack, where are you going with this?' I'll tell you. The bird that was doing the dance class, her name is Jane Shortall and she does her class every Tuesday night in town. So we are starting those bad boys next week.

I can’t wait; I can’t wait to feel fit again. I was a sporty little shit when I was younger, time to get the shit together. Go on, Jacko!

PS Speaking of the Picnic, Leftfield, I cannot fucking wait. If I was to pick one act to play this picnic, Leftfield would have been top of my list, Roxy Music should be sweet as well . . . . . . . anyways, I'm off to buy those runners.

Ah for fuck sake, I just received a text saying that I was the eleventh person to get back about the 5 a side, shit anyway, a well, maybe next week.

In Spiration

You would think that when I haven't put anything up on the blog in a week that there must be loads going on in my life, that there must be something pre-occupying me so much that the last thing I'm thinking about is writing a blog, like, 'Jesus, Jack must be so up to his tits it's not even funny.' Well, my friends, you would be very very wrong, I have been doing fuck all. It's just I have had absolutely nothing to shit on about. I have been scanning my brain day by day for something that be even slightly humorous but sadly, for the last week, I have come up short. Not only that but I have start to worry about it. I have started to worry about not having enough bullshit to talk about. Then it dawned on me, I do, I can talk about having fuck all to talk about and about the fact that I am stupidly worried about it. Not only that but I reckon I can make it vaguely entertaining.

I said to myself as I started this thing that I couldn't force it. If I have nothing to write about, I would have nothing to write about. I would rather have nothing up here than absolute crap (like this isn't complete bullshit). So for anyone who is actually reading this and concerned that I might be loosing interest, please, do not fret, I'm sure inspiration will come shortly. It's just taking its fucking time.

Stability

Nice, confirmed my next gig which starts at the end of April, the Gaiety School of Acting gradational Show, sweet, that will take me up to about the 20th of June, then I will hopefully start the drama teaching course at the beginning of August, and that is 52 weeks long . . . . . that means I'm good . . . until August 2011. . . . I know what I'm gonna be doing until August 2011. . . . . Jesus, that is so fucking weird, my life hasn't been so laid out and organised in ages. Not since school anyway. Jesus, August 2011.

I have been fucking around in this free lance shite for so long now, that I have forgotten how it feels to know what I'm doing for more than 2 months at a time. I hate it so much. Not knowing whether I'm gonna be broke or loaded for any given year. You are so up and down it is unreal. You are like a financial yo-yo. You can never make any solid plans in your future because, number 1, you never know if your gonna be working at the time or not, number 2, you never know if your gonna have the money or not. I'm sick of it.

For years, I turned my nose up at full time work, the idea of tying myself to a job, like, forever. I loved the way I was able to make my way in theatre, jumping from stage management job to stage management job to the occasional acting job to the next stage management job. I'm so sick of it, it's not even funny. I need stability for a while. I need to know exactly what I will be doing and when I'm doing it from now on because the other way is driving me insane.

I used to love the theatre business, I grew up in it. My folks being actors, I was dragged in and out of every theatre in Dublin since I was child. I went to see production, sat in on rehearsal and went to parties right through my youth, loving it.

I remember when I hit about 4th year in school, the time when you actually start to think seriously about what the fuck you were gonna do when you left school. All of a sudden there was class on your curriculum called careers and I remember thinking to myself, theatre is the only thing for me, theatre or film. I went to study film in Ballyers, realised that the course was horse-shit and that I now had a diploma in renting DVDs. I didn't go near film, I went straight into theatre.

I got into stage management for some reason unbeknownst to myself, I must of thought that 'being in the business, is better than not being in the business' which is a load of my arse. If I really think about it, not much has changed since that year. I'm still farting around with the same jobs as I was 7 years ago. If I had said to myself that I'd be still doing this same shit when I was 29, I would have stitched myself a loaf.

Conspiracy Theorist at Work

Okay, here is my insane theory of the week, I have been bundling this around in my head since I got up this morning, and I can’t shake it, it’s a farfetched idea so just bear with me. Imagine this -

David Beckham is vaguely worried that his place on the England team is not secure. His competition to keep the place is unreal. He has Lennon, Young, Walcott, Wright-Philips, Milner, Downing & Gosling and he knows how many places are on the squad and He also knows how much the World Cup needs him to be apart of the tournament.

Fifa and all the sponsors associated are in the same boat, Beckham not being a part of the World Cup would be disaster; it would affect the whole tournament as far they are concerned. He is the world’s biggest football icon. They need him there. They need to be a part of it.

Now, Fabio Cappello is very aware that he is in charge of one of the favourites to lift the World Cup, he has the player that is playing the best football in the world, banging in goals for fun. He knows with the likes of Rooney playing the way he is. They are well on their way to winning the fucker; he is fully focused on that and that alone. There is no room for nostalgia, he will pick the best players and when I look at that list of players, David Beckham doesn't have a hope of making the squad, injury or no injury.

Now, here is the idea. Maybe Beckham faked the injury. I know, I know, hear me out. Just humour me for a second, just think about it, go with the idea of 2 minutes. Let’s say Fifa are saying we can’t afford to risk not having him in the tournament, which could very well happen. We can't just let that hang on Fabio's decision, whether he is goes or not. So what can we do? How about we remarket the whole thing, remarket Becks as this fallen hero of England, it might even take some attention away from the John Terry fiasco. He'll fake the injury, a big fucking hoopla will be made from it and Capello will offer to bring him, not as a member of the team but an ambassador to the team. An icon that will help th . . . . . . . . Wait a minute; what the fuck am I talking about, this is just farcical, as I'm going over it in my head, as I try to write this thing down, it gets more and more ridicules. The amount of people that would have to be in on this is insane, a load of people from AC Milan, a load of people from LA Galaxy and a shit load from the World Cup. What was I thinking? Trying to keep that many people quiet would be impossible. I swear I have been thinking about this all day and I thought I was onto something. I've got to calm down, that all it is. Jack, just calm the fuck down. Ye know what I got to do, don't you? I've gotta start focusing my mind on more important things, more important issues, maybe get a little bit more constructive with my time. Like, when was the last time I went for run, fucking ages. When was the last time I got any proper exercise at all? I have got to get my shit together in that department but I have no runners, I can't go for a run in a pair of fucking Converse, can I? I would look like such a spa. Fuck it; I’m sure it will be grand.

Green 19

Myself and Tara were hell bent of heading out for something to eat tonight, we hadn't been in a restaurant in about a month so we said to our selves, We don't give a shit what anyone has to say about it, we are going out for something to eat. People can have their opinions about the whole situation but one thing is for sure, we were going to have someone cook for us and we going have someone serve on us hand and foot

And it is business as usual, if you were to pick 2 of the most indecisive cunts on the planet, its myself and my bird. We are literally traipsing the streets of Dublin looking for the perfect place. The place that we both know is going to satisfy both of us. Not a place we had been before. It was gonna be one of those nights where we get a little bit adventurous, a little bit daring. The place had got to be of equal interest to the two of us but yet carry that element of funkiness that other restaurant didn't.

Eventually the two of us are stopped; standing in the middle of Camden St., knackered because we had been walking for about a fucking hour trying to find a place. At this stage, we were starting to feel a bit faint, hunger is truly kicking in, we had to find a place. We go to flip between Green 19 and Bobos. I know, I know we said we wanted to go somewhere that we had never been but Bobos is so fucking good and the only other place on Camden St. that I’ve even thought about is Green 19 but never went because it looks a bit too salady. We flip, heads for Bobos and harps for Green 19. Harps it is and in we go, delighted with ourselves.

We sit down on these high stool at these high tables where if people are sitting beside you, they are very much sitting beside you, you can hear every word of their conversation. This is made doubly weird by the fact that the cunt sitting beside Tara, opposite me, is Shane Horgan, the Irish rugby player and as he is signing a rugby ball, Tara asks me the best question in the history of questions - 'Does that chun play rugby or something?' - Fucking Legend.

I have to say the place was very nice, bright and warm with some low funky house music being pumped in. I immediately felt relaxed and, to tell you the truth, I was feeling very uncharacteristically adventurous about what I was going to eat. I had been watching 'Come Dine With Me' all week so I was up for it. Ready. I coolly looked at my menu getting ready to glance over the main courses and casually pick the most out there fucking dish. Tara said she was gonna go basic tonight and go for the Green 19 burger, which seemed to be in front of every single person in the place and I could see why. They looked tasty as a motherfucker.

I remembered from one of the shows I had watched during the week that this dude made a venison pie which looked the shit and low and behold on the menu, what do you know, Venison Pie with Horseradish Mash with Gravy. . . . . . . . . I said to myself, fuck it, 'I'll have the venison, please.' Tara looked at me in shock. 'Baby, are you sure.' she says 'I was born sure.' I said, with an annoying little grin on my face. I sat in anticipation for the next hour. Shitting myself.

Drinks, I asked the girl were any of the beers, pint bottles, she said, 'Yes, all of them, Sir.' That is what I am fucking talking about. The one thing I can not stand is when I go to a place and you politely say, 'Yes, I'll have a Budvar, please.' and your man brings you over a small bottle of beer. . . . . . . . one of those long neck things. . . . Why do you stock them when you can just stock the normal pint bottle size, I’d be asking in my head. Are you trying to annoy me? Do you want me to come back here again? I swear to god, I have not gone back to places because of that sort of shit and, you know what, I will go back to a place pacifically because of it too. Like as in, if they stock the large bottles as apposed to the other. Anyways, Green 19 passed the first Jack test with flying colours, Pint Bottles of Beer; listen up, all you other places, when I order a bottle of beer for a fiver I don't want to feel like I’m being ripped off when a mingy little 330ml bottle is put in front of me. Lads in the restaurant business, if ever you are going to take any advice from me, take this, change what your doing with the fuckin bottles and shut up!

The food comes and it looks sweet. The portion is a little bit small but myself and my mate, Greg, who are both of the portly posture, have come to the realisation that this whole stuff ourselves until we cant move buzz, is not only helping us on our way to sphericalness but it is no way to enjoy your food. So we have both made a pact that small portions are the best option. It’s nice to feel nicely full and all that. You shouldn’t have to open your pants after every single meal.

I delve in through the pastry to get at the venison which I have never had before and was very much looking forward to it and fucking hell, it was tasty; the meaty flavour was so strong and went with some mixed vegetables in this kind of pepper gravy. The mash potato was in one of those neat egg shapes at the side of the plate and to say it was a lovely experience putting it into my mouth is a complete understatement. Up there with one of the tastiest mashes I've had, although, and I know I'm sticking with the whole Greg thing and all that, I could of done with a little bit more of it. I had a taste of T-Bags Burger and it was as good as it looked, pity about the chips though, overdone, over crispy little excuse for chips but, 'Hay, that was the only thing I found to be negative.'

The bill came to 30 euro, for 2 meals and 2 beers, that is a pretty fucking savage deal and stick a starter, a desert and a few more drinks there, you could get away handsomely with 50 squids. It has an area upstairs for big parties aswell which I must put forward as an idea to everyone one day.

Anyway, I am nicely full, nicely high; Paddy's Day is coming so I'm off to bed to recharge the batteries. It’s gonna be a big one

Seice Hoooooly Shit! That Is Way Too Much For One Day

It's been a surreal two days for me, it all started yesterday. Tara went off to work, leaving me sipping a cup of tea on the couch, I was flicking through the channels, (the basic NTL package) and as I started to go through all the channels for the third time, I realised there was nothing on. It was unreal, I grew up in a gaf with about 13 or 14 channels and there always seemed to be something on, anything to watch when you were in between shows, you could always find something to entertain you for a half hour until your show started, but now I must have 60 channels and I am finding it hard to be even remotely interested in anything. . . . ever

One of the saving graces amongst all the crap are those History, Biography and Discovery channels when they are not showing that show about those guys who fish for those crabs in the Bering Strait, I cannot bear that show and I hate people love it. It seems to be the same show every time I pass it. But there on the History Channel was 'Hitler - A Profile'. Right, the show was just about to get starting and it began at his birth, his oul'pair, his mates and was going to tell the whole story of his life. I said to myself, 'Lets learn about good old Dolfy, try and learn something about the most horrible guy to walk the planet as I sit here in my boxers, scratching my ball bag.

I was hooked after about 5 minutes, it went right through his teenaged years, him trying to get into art college, then his time on the street and it delved into his character as a person. I had never really watched anything in this great depth about him before and for the rest of the day I went on a Nazi, Holocaust, Second World War Bender. Right after 'The Profile' show I was onto a savage documentary about the 'Battle for Berlin', it completely hooked me, I was about 4 hours sitting there in total. I was supposed to be cleaning my gaf after the weekend and supposed to be ringing my landlord about the fact that our electricity bill was over 200 euro for the first month, but fuck that. I went straight over to my computer and looked up as many films on this subject as I could. I sat there and watched Downfall, a German film about the last couple of days of Hitler's life, in that bunker. To say it was fucked up was an understatement. If you haven't seen it get your ass out there and get it. The dude who plays the Hitmiester is unbelievable. Who the fuck directed that and was it mentioned in the foreign language category, criminal if it wasn't?

I then started the clean up in the gaf but after watching that much shit about the fucking Nazis, it was all I could think about. How fucked up it must have been. Like was there no one, in there head, going, 'Eh, what the fuck are we at? I really don't think this is a good buzz.' The level of paranoia and fear must have been fucking insane. A total of 60 million people were killed in the Second World War between 1939 and 1945. How mental is that?

After the clean up, I was told by this film site to take a look at the HBO television movie called 'Conspiracy', starring Kenneth Branagh & Stanley Tucci. I had a bit of trouble finding it but low and behold there it was in 12 bits on You Tube. It was all about the meeting to discuss the last solution. The meeting where 12 mad basterds sit, eating dinner and have the discussion about what is the best and most efficient way to cleanse the Jews. Amazing, shocking and tense movie if ever there was one but a must see.

Anyway, Tara, eventually, got home, I cooked her up some dinner and we watched Arsenal vs Porto. After my food, at about half time, I dozed off on the couch and, let me tell you, I had the most fucked up dreams about the whole fucking thing. I woke up shitting myself. I had a cup of tea and I went to bed. I swear to god, I was having the most outrageous dreams right through the night, I was at the frontline, I was in a concentration camp, I was Hitler. I was even the kid in the photo at the top, it was strange. Lesson of the Day - When you want to stay in all day watching films, remember, mix up the subject matter.

Lughnasa for President

Lughnasa Festival @ The Bernard Shaw is going to get a mention amongst the nominees for ‘Event of the Year’ at this years Irish Dance Music Awards, how priceless can you get, Event of the Year. I saw everyone else kind of canvassing for their bigger and more successful events on Facebook and I thought to myself, fuck it, I might as well do it. Obviously, a lot of people voted in, fucking nice one lads.

The most hilarious thing is we are in there with the likes of Electric Picnic, Oxegen, Life Festival & Yes Festival to name a few so I would say our chances are pretty high of taking the prize home. I would love to see the odds on Lughnasa making a surprise victory, I must ask are they taking bets and just go on this kill crazy rampage, asking cunts to vote for Lughnasa left, right and centre. What an upset that would be. ‘And the winner is Lughnasa @ the Bernard Shaw?’ Everyone just gives each other a subtle look. Up we pop, onto the stage, sadly Conor L cant get up on the stage coz he would sprained his ankle again. ‘John Reynolds, Dennis Desmond, listen up, y’all better watch out coz there is only room for one phat kat up in this motherfucka, ye going down, bitch.’ Fart into the mic, drop the award, cue the music and head straight for the door. Just leave the ceremony shouting at people. . . . . . . . . . . I really wish I was that cool, the reality of the situation is, it would probably go more like this. ‘And the winner is Lughnasa.’ We would get up, except the award and probably thank my oul’pair for their support, thank Bodytonic for believing in us and maybe even thank the fans . . . . . . . . . I really hope we don’t win.

But in all seriousness, we hope to make Lughnasa bigger and better this year and any exposure for it is savage. We are gonna have to have a sit down over the next month and go over what little pleasures are in store this year. Hopefully my idea of dancing ladies won’t be rejected again this year. It’s an original idea and it would fucking crack. Imagine, you’re sitting there in the Shaw, your high, your locked and you’ve got a pair of bouncing boobies in your face. Think about it – Amazing! We are guaranteed the award next year.

Jaysis, being nominated for awards, my god, I feel like one of those film stars or something, Arnie or one of them fellas.

Vote here - http://www.wix.com/RaymondcRockwell/Slick%20Dj%20Web

Eurovision Fever

It is a dark day when I am so broke that I am reduced to sitting in on my Friday night and seeking my entertainment in 3 hours of Eurovision memories and nostalgia on tonight’s Eurovision Late Late Show Special. Along with picking the unfortunate act that has to head off and represent us in Norway this April, we are joined by three guest slash judges, 3 Eurovision legends - Dana, Johnny Logan & Marty Whelan. You can imagine how riveting the evening was going to get as they were introduced one by one. I couldn't wait.

What I love about the song for Europe competition is, it's never about who has the best song, or who looks the best or even who dances the best. It's completely different; it's got nothing to even remotely to do with that. It's about which song is the least shite. I don't know who picks the songs at RTE, have they seriously got a panel of deaf people just randomly pulling tunes out of a hat. It is hilarious; they got rid of the Eurostar competition supposedly because you were picking the singer and not the song. . . . . . Okay, I understand why they did that, I agree we should be picking the song, rather than the singer but this is not what is happening here. I ask the people who originally are picking the five tunes that we are choosing from on the night, I simply ask them this. ‘How did you pick these songs?’ Now they will, of course, answer with 'We picked the best 5 songs that were submitted.' and I will answer back, very pissed off, 'So, then, it so happened that the first song featured Eurostar winner Leanne Moore and was written by that journalist with the Tommy Cooper hat, Waters, the second tune was written by some song writer who has had a song in every Eurovision since Johnny Logan won the fucking thing, the 3rd tune so happened to be written & performed by Mikey from Boyzone, the 4th tune was made up of foreign people (nice and pc there, lads) and then, the 5th was sung by ex Eurovision winner, Niamh Kavangh. So, it had nothing to do with the tunes, it had to do with some sort of gimmick attached to the song, didn’t it, you cunts. Do you know how I know that? Do You? Because all the tunes were terrible. Its either this or you are all complete morans. If this isn’t the case, well, then the last thing you should be doing is picking songs for Eurovision because if you put me on there as a sixth contender and my song consisted of me, standing there inserting my fist into my rectum while the mic, by my mouth, picks up my agonising shrieking, that might be considered as the hot favorite. At least people might get a laugh.

First off, the great panel of guests slash judges or, I'm going to go as far as to say, that I reckon they didn't know what they were. Every time Ryan turned to one of them and asked 'So what do you think of that song?' They stared blankly at him and said they didn't want be negative but little did they realise, by saying that they were being very clear about exactly what they thought, they thought they were shite. They kept on going on about how great everyone looked . . . . . . at a song competition, they kept going on about it ‘Well, they look great.’ You were just waiting for them to say ‘Pity about the singing.’

Johnny Logan sat there and spoke about Just Another Year and Hold Me Now over and over and over and over again. He was covered in rhinestones for fuck sake, his shirt was half open, I am not joking, he was quite toe curling. He once boasted that he went platinum in Norway and Iceland. Johnny, when are you leggin it, bro, seriously, you are so treble morto, it is not even funny. I am dying here. What sort of a fucking country am I fucking living in, who are all you cunts that make me embarrassed to be Irish, get your fucking shit together, lads.

And you know what; I'm not taking a shot at the Eurovision. That is so easy, I wouldn't do it. Seriously, I sometimes enjoy it. It is as camp as a row of tents. I love all that shit. I just scratch my head sometimes and I love this little world that all these cunts are living in, they are completely diluted. Dana is insane. She is like something out of Father Ted, well, so is Johnny Logan & Marty Whelan when I think of it but in different episodes. Arther Matthews & Graham Linihan were so on the money with that shit.

Sadly, my colleagues from panto didn't get through but we will be proudly represented by the winner from 1993, Niamh Kavanagh . . . . . . Okay, can I please stop talking about the fucking Eurovision, how the fuck did I get onto this horseshit, Jesus, I am stuck for shit to talk about on this blog.

The Cityspeak Video

A load of us got together, this time last year, with director, Aoise Tutty, to help shoot the latest Hystereo video for their EP, Cityspeak. Personally, I was blown away by what Aoise did with it. Hope you enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dy_igPolTfc

http://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewAlbum?id=353977238&v0=9988&ign-mpt=uo=1

Bet of the Week - Get on this Bad Boi

Okay, Readers, I know you must be thinking 'The last person I'm going to take betting advice off is that fucking ejjit who writes that blog.' but have no fear, I am as confident as a cunt on this one.

'What is it?' you are probably asking. 'What genre of betting are you talking about?' 'Is it football?' 'Is it horse racing?' 'Is it virtual dogs?' No, it is none of these. It is this weekends Oscar’s ceremony.

It is two bets.

The First - A guaranteed win

The Second - A little bit more risqué

Bet Number 1 is just over 3/1 with Paddy Power, it is a 5 way accumulator -

Best Picture - Avatar
Best Director - Katharine Bigalow (Hurt Locker)
Best Actor - Jeff Bridges (Crazy Heart)
Best Supporting Actor - Christoph Waltz (Inglorious Bastards)
Best Supporting Actress - Monique (Precious)

Now that is a safe ass bet and let me tell you why.

First off, Avatar, yes, I know it’s not the favourite at the moment but this is just because Hurt Locker won Best Picture at the Baftas, before that it was the favourite. Also, we have to remember that Avatar is the highest grossing film of all time, beating Titanic by well over a billion dollars, it grossed 2.65 Billion worldwide. 2.65 Billion, that is a ridicules number and the American Film Academy (Oscar) will award it. They are famous for it. Who is the second highest grossing movie - Titanic, they weren't awarding it for its gripping storyline I can tell you, although I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say I really enjoyed Titanic. What is the third highest grossing movie? Lord of the Rings: Return of the King, the most successful trilogy of all time, beating Star Wars. All of these films were given the Best Picture Award. In other eras, Gone With The Wind (1939), Ben Her (1959), Lawrence of Arabia (1962), The Godfather (1972), Rocky (1976), Rain Man (1988). All of these movies were the top grossing movies of their eras and all won the Best Picture Award. So this is gonna take it hands down.

Best Director - Katharine Bigalow, James Cameron's ex-wife, I think is going to take it. The academy has never awarded the Best Director prize to a woman and they have always tried to keep that politically correct angle on everything so this is the year. I think they have been gagging to do this for years but they haven't had the opportunity since Sofia Coppala for Lost in Translation (2003) who was beaten by Peter Jackson for Lord of the Rings and before that it was back in 1993 with Jane Campion for The Piano who was beaten by Speilberg for Schindlers List. They will give it to Katharine Bigalow, she is the perfect female for them, her back log of films says it all - Near Dark, Point Break, Strange Days & K-19. And you know what, after all that, she directed an intelligent film which voices an opinion about today’s sociality and I think they also want to award it, but, of course, cant in the Best Picture.

Best Actor is a dead cert. Jeff Bridges, one of the most loved and respected actors in the world. It is his time. Who is in the category - Jeremy Renner (Hurt Locker), too young, the complete outsider. Morgan Freeman (Invictus), getting this nomination out of respect, the film was okay, easy to watch and to be honest his accent was as shaky as fuck, he won't win. George Clooney (Up In The Air), Won the Supporting Actor prize recently and this film is will be just like Juno, maybe one prize for Screenplay or something but nothing else. And then there is the biggest rival - Colin Firth (A Single Man), won the Bafta last week but he is English and I don't think he has the level of impact that Jeff Bridges has. Jeff Bridges, has been nominated on 4 other occasions and never won. He has a back log of work that spans back to the early 70s, He will take this award.

Supporting Actor - Christoph Waltz, the only thing that is in that piece of shit of a film, he seems to be walking away with everything, in all countries. There is no real competition, maybe Christopher Plummer because of his backlog of work but not good enough in this situation. 100% win for Christoph!

Best Supporting Actress will go to stand up comedian, Monique, where she is doing anything but making you laugh in Precious. I saw it yesterday and it was quality, she is horrifying. She is a monster in it. She fuckin nailed it, the last scene was so good it’s not even funny, it won it for her. She has been, like Christoph Waltz, sweeping the Best Supporting Actress categories worldwide. There is also no competition, the 2 birds from Up In The Air were just not big enough performances, Penelope Cruz only recently won this award for Vicki Christina and the film she is nominated for wasn't received that well and then there is Maggie Gyllenhaal, well, to tell you the truth, she can just fuck off with herself!

Now that is the dead cert of a bet

Bet Number 2 is just a more risky version of the last. It consists of adding the dreaded Best Actress category to the Accumulator which in my opinion could go any way. Fist off, you have the option of Sandra Bullock, the favourite . . . yes, you heard me correctly, the favourite, for the Blind Side. She won the Golden Globe for this but that has been about it. The film is not out here yet but is supposed to be amazing but I can see her winning. She is at 8/13. The second favourite is the academy's golden girl, Meryl Streep at 7/4 for Julia & Julia, she portrays culinary expert, Julia Child. Supposedly the performance is hilarious and, you know what, you can never write off Meryl, she has been nominated 16 times and only won 2 of them, the last one being back in 1982 for Sophie’s Choice so she is due one. Third is 24 year old, Carey Mulligan for An Education who took the Bafta last week but, again like Colin Firth, she is English and An Education wasn't well nominated but at 8/1, I think is a good bet and would bump that accumulator up nicely. But my pick of this bunch is, from Precious, Gabourey Sidibe who is 12/1. She blew my mind in that film, the scene when she is crying to the teacher about her kids and the fact that no one loves her. It fucking killed me. Amazing! Maybe that is me betting with my heart and not my head but I'll be rooting for Gaby all the way. Then there is the complete outsider, Helen Mirren who I reckon hasn't got a hope at 33/1.

Anyway guys go forth and stick a couple of squid on those 2 bad boys and let’s hope it will be a happy Christmas for all of us.

And just one more thing, why the fuck isn't the live show not on television anymore. RTE, you bunch of retards, get your shit together. You know you don't have to compete with Sky Movies with that shit. We are in Ireland, Just get your fucking shit together and maybe we can all watch the Oscars live in peace.

10 Year Reunion - Holy Fuck!

Okay, I just got asked to be a friend of the 1994-2000 High School 10 Year Reunion Page on Facebook and I feel slightly weirded out by the whole thing. Holy shit, 10 fucking years. It doesn't feel like 10 fucking years, Jesus . . . 10 years. . . . . . . . Well, if I think about it, it kind of does. . . . . . I am a completely different person to the little shit I was when I did my Leaving. I don't even see anyone from school anymore. Bar a couple of lads I see at the weekend, Russell Simmons, Rory Gleason occasionally and recently Oscar Long, other than that I don't see anyone. I wonder if they see each other. Ye know, when you aren't seeing everyone, you start to think that everyone and everything is still the same but just without you. I bet everyone is in the same boat as me, bet you no one sees anyone.

When I think back to my time in school, I have to say, I had a fucking laugh. . . . in a very conservative way of speaking. Conservative is the word that definitely springs to mind. You know when some people say, 'Your school years are the best years of your life.' well I very much dispute that. My life improved considerably sense leaving school, I had a laugh in school but not compared to the splitting your sides laugh, I’m having now. I thought High School was brilliant. I am going to go as far as to say, if I have kids, I am definitely sending them to High School. It was quality. It was more like a summer camp than anything. I learned fuck all academically, no, not that I learned fuck all, that is the wrong way of saying it. I just came to the realisation that half this shit was complete bollix, like the chances of me using calculus in my future life was very slim.

When I left St. Mary’s in Rathfarnham, my primary school, I was sent, originally, to De La Salle, Churchtown, it was one of the schools where most of my class mates were going. Well, it was ether that or Colaiste Eanna, and fuck that for a game of snowballs, I will get into GAA in another write up on another occasion; I don't quite have the time now. Besides I wanted to play rugby which De La Salle was offering so this was my chosen place of education and let me tell you, I fucking hated it. It was shit. It was so completely shit that Columbine situation was on the cards. A complete nightmare for a normal, poshy, middle class boy like myself. Your time was spent either dodging horrible cunts in the corridor, going for a smoke or sitting in a class, listening to some ejjit teacher who was obviously either a 3 steps away from being a convicted paedophile or 12 steps away from being a full blown alcoholic and the only thing you can think about is Wesley, this coming Friday, which was the only place in your life at that time, where you could even remotely try and feel up a bird. Then you had some rugby coach giving you shit for missing training. Training for what, I ask you? De La Salle were one of those teams that trained their balls off all year, full of passion and pride, awaiting the Junior & Senior Cup and some how were lucky enough to be drawn Rock in the first round every year, 40 - 0, see youse later, lads, youse are shit.

Fuck that, I said to myself. I got my Junior Cert, packed my bags and got ass to The High School in Rathgar.

And let me tell you, it was like a breath of fresh air. No one else in the place realised it but me. They didn't know how easy they had had it. Instead of dodgy cunts in the corridors waiting to give you slaps, it was replaced by a load of sound cunts who wanted to have a chat while you went for a smoke in a clean jacks. Instead of Nazi teachers who still used corporal punishment, it was replaced with bang-on, intelligent educators that actually gave a fuck about you, well, in some cases that is and instead of dreaming about Wesley at the back of some class, well, that was replaced with a load of tasty, protestant birds sitting beside you, waiting to rip your cloths off . . . . . . . well, maybe not rip my cloths off but you get the idea. It would be an understatement if I said life was getting better.

It is going to be very interesting to see how everyone looks, everyone that little bit fatter and balder. Everyone with their brilliant jobs and their slick cars. People talking about their kids and their wife’s. Jesus, I am gonna be talking some serious bullshit that night I can tell you.

I just got an old year book out, fucking hell; there are a lot of cunts I haven't seen in years. I bet you it will be the most toe-curlingly boring affair on the planet. I will go in there looking to see what all these lads are at but I'll just bee-line it for the lads I know, with one eye on the door.

I wonder what it is, aswell, what will happen at this thing. I have an image of this horribly, over organised wine reception in the school then a meal in the old canteen or the assembly hall, then down to the 108 to have a few scoops for old time’s sake, Oh Jesus that would be hellish!