Two Repressed Egotists

Joe Swash narrowly missed being the inaugural post of the ‘Unremitting Bastard’ blog, but the guy is rendered benign by an inordinate lack of intelligence, and can’t be held to account. That said he really is pushing his too thick to be harmful credentials with ‘Joe Swash: I Believe in Ghosts.’ I wouldn’t raise an eyebrow if I was told Joe Swash has commissioned a special net with which to catch Father Christmas, and thusly I do find it hard to understand the rationale behind allowing him to mediate a potentially interesting argument between spiritualism, religion and science. Unless the rationale was cynically; who is thick enough to allow even the kind of person that watches a programme on ghosts on BBC 3 feel superior? (I do realise that I fall squarely into that category.) Perhaps a producer overheard him pronounce poltergeist.

Take a look at this frankly ridiculous promotional webpage for Canon camcorders over at The Guardian .

It's trying awfully hard isn't it? Freecording! Apparently, that's "living and shooting at the same time"! Who'd have thought that was possible?

Following on from last week's post on PR bumf masquerading as credit crunch news, another offender has appeared in today's papers.

Apparently, according to The Guardian, "the old-fashioned high tea is enjoying a credit crunch revival"...

Currently there are three people in my office who seem to be competing to be the first to say 'bless you' whenever someone sneezes. It is unbearably annoying especially as everyone seems to have a cold at the moment, and so you can more or less guarantee that someone is going to sneeze at least once every ten minutes. This is making my office environment even more unpleasant than usual - not only am I made extremely aware that the very air that I'm forced to breathe is a toxic cloud of snot particles destined to make me ill, but I'm also prevented from concentrating on anything for any prolonged period by a barrage of shouted 'bless yous' every five minutes or so...

So, on Wednesday night I went for a drink with a mate of mine, but ended up chatting to a colleague of his who is, putting it plainly, a very wealthy man.

We know all too well how easy it is to make fun of The Daily Mail, but a quick flick through today's issue proves that it's a worthwhile activity nevertheless.

For today, The Mail has landed upon the very root of everything that is wrong with the world. Forget the credit crunch, forget the war on terror, forget knife crime - because the real problem is the proliferance of 'obscene greetings cards'.

I watched "Who Do You Think You Are?" last night, a show which I usually avoid like the plague because the answer to the question is usually fairly obvious (i.e. much more interesting than "You" actually are) and, even worse, the actual answering of the question is a horrendously drawn out and dull affair. In short, the concept - getting so-called celebrities to sift through old birth certificates and village journals to find out that their great-great-grandfather was once been arrested for attempting to have sex with a duck - is a horrible idea for a TV show. Perhaps if it were YOUR own personal history, it wouldn't be so dull - but who gievs a fuck about Patsy Kensit, let alone her grandparents?

The press seem to love the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, so you've probably read about it already. But in case you haven't you're in for a bit of a literary-themed treat.

I know how very wrong it is to find other people's disabilities in any way amusing, but reading this article in yesterday's Guardian, I just couldn't help myself.

Summer can be a shitter. Never mind the almost comically terrible weather we've been having, by far the most annoying part of a summer in Britain, is the fact that I have to work. And to be more specific, the fact that I have to work in an office.