ENTER THE GRIFTER

We are, it seems, living in an era of peak grifting. An era in which the Bible is an accoutrement, where sincerity is a badge and integrity is a T-shirt, at best.

Our friends across the Atlantic have mastered the art of the grift, especially in the corridors of power and associated corridors of right-wing thinking. Grieving widowhood has taken on a new sheen of opportunity grasped and a ‘play to the audience’ mentality.

Accusations of sexual misconduct, impropriety, paedophilia and other indefensible crime are defended by Bible clutching rhetoric. Amazing that finding Jesus is so easily adjacent to pending trials. 

Misogyny is an earner. Camps where misguided men spring up weekly, where they are willingly indoctrinated into the cult of toxicity. 

The conduit of the grift is, of course, social media, a route to the viewers’ bank balances and a way in which to spread the word (usually a ‘word’ based on bombast and balderdash)

The leader of the not so free world is the master of the grift and his example seems to validate those other shameless grifters. If POTUS can shill all sorts of dodgy products and protect the interests of the elites then that makes lesser grifts okay for many. The Orange Oaf's ultimate grift was becoming president twice, he achieved this by pitching snake oil like a side show geek. 

Redacted documents, NDAs and payoffs protect the grifters and deaths in suspicious circumstances are warnings to keep your head down.

If you can grift a (supposed) assassination attempt for profit you can grift anything and Donald's acolytes do so with enthusiasm and impunity

Us British have embraced the grift too, from lothario comedians with god complexes to members of the Royal family and would be politicians we are rapidly catching up on the way of the grift.

Everyone seems to be a it, grifting the night away on the back of gullIbility and a lack of critical thinking.

To paraphrase something a famous man once said "You can grift some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can also grift all of the people all of the time" 

HORROR IN THE YEAR 2026

Eventually all sub-genres of horror go mainstream. Zombies are part of modern language and regularly appear on small and large screens. There is even Zombie media aimed at children. Vampires are abundant in teen fiction and many of the actors playing them are heartthrobs. Frankenstein’s Monster’s latest big screen iteration is a rather tall and handsome chap with an eye for the ladies. Cannibals are now suburban couples with domestic problems and killer Aliens have a heart of gold.

Mad science has become a reality and can be seen in up market shopping malls and at the Golden Globes and the Met Gala, not to mention Trump’s cabinet.

Body Horror has gone from being possibly the most controversial horror sub-genre to receiving critical acclaim.

The old style Universal /Gothic Horror characters have also been making a comeback in recent years. We’ve already seen new versions of The Invisible Man, Nosferatu, Dracula, Frankenstein, Renfield, with The Bride and Werwulf to follow. 

The franchise Horror model rumbles on with Halloween, Scream, Predator, Final Destination, Alien and a number of other long running properties.

The horrors of the real world numb us to a great deal of content that we are exposed to. The world of fictional horror is perhaps the most imaginative of the arts and allows for expansive ideas and stories which can take us away from the grind of negative news.

Why is Horror in such a healthy state right now? It could be that in these unstable, dangerous, anxiety provoking and downright strange times, fictional horror is a light relief.

METEORITE HERE RIGHT NOW

 

 

WAITING FOR THE CHICXULUB IMPACTOR MARK II

The meteorite of stupidity is making its way across the solar system, its destination Earth. and we summoned it by our actions as a species. Its arrival has been foretold and there’s no exit strategy, no fleet of spaceships to whisk us off to a habitable planet in the Alpha Centauri system, no time machine to catapult us back in time and fix things.

What has led us to this denouement, apart from the centuries of us messing about with the planet and the denizens of the planet?

It might be that the richest (declared) man in the world is a creature with all the appeal of a shop window dummy, who is as uncomfortable in his own skin as we are looking at him. This is a man that makes the Alpha Zombie from Army Of The Dead look like a cuddly aunt. If Elon Musk was a fragrance, it would be called ‘Loathe’. If Musk was a pair of shoes, they would be caramel-coloured slip-ons. If he was a kitchen item, he would be a mug tree. This self-proclaimed richest man on the planet does nothing that aids humanity with his fortune. There are no Hospitals, Libraries or Charities in his name. He Zieg Heils and has the haircut of a Hitler acolyte all while dressing like an Undertaker who has had to dip in the bargain bin at Primark.

Maybe it’s the fact that the President of the USA is one of the most grotesque people that have ever held public office. Those that call him an Orangutan based on his Orangeness should be hauled before a judge for slander on the basis that this is a slander on Orangutans. Trump’s utterances are only matched in terms of stupidity by the ramblings of Charles Manson, but without the charm. Trump makes Genghis Khan seem like a diplomat, he is to leadership what Olly Murs is to charisma. His family and entourage are straight out of The Stepford Wives via Invasion Of The Body Snatches with a big dollop of SS experiment Camp. The sort of characters that speak up in his favour and take to stages to laud him definitely fit into a type, and that type is Ivy League Psychopath meets The Hills Have Eyes

Trump’s followers seem to have been hypnotised into a state of not being able to see the obvious. They are incapable of rational or strategic thinking and feel emboldened by Trump’s two terms to come out with the most ludicrous of world views. America has never been so close to its population being chased with giant butterfly nets than at any point in its questionable history.

Iv'e not mentioned the various wars based on ideology where stupid people are killing each other, nor have I mentioned the rise in right wing thinking and misogyny, but you get the idea

As we head towards another extinction level event, we have more insight than the dinosaurs who were the last victims back in the Cretaceous period but that counts for nothing as it would seem that those with the capacity for rationality are very much in the minority. I was thinking we could go underground but that's no good as that would lead to an era of Morlocks, the human race would devolve into, well into MAGAS!

SUNDAY ROAST

Is there a more personal preference meal than Sunday Roast?

One thing most can agree on is roast potatoes, who doesn’t love a crispy roasted spud replete with a fluffy interior? Mashed potato is a strange option if you ask me but, strangely, eats well

Roast beef is the default however for some Lamb or Chicken tickles the tastebuds, and there is also the controversial Pork belly that comes with crackling that can range from the crunchy to the chewy.

Vegetables can be a minefield, cabbage, and if so what type of cabbage. Carrots, how do you like yours? orange wheels or orange strips. Broccoli and cauliflower can split the room, so similar but more cousins than siblings.

Swede mashed, and Parsnips roasted can result in noses being turned up and the question of peas, beans (runner or Green), Sugar snap and sprouts is a controversial one and is hard to call. And what about stuffing? Packet or homemade, sage & onion or sausage meat.

Gravy, ah gravy, this can be a deal breaker. I think we’ve gone beyond Bisto and many a TV chef has published a guide to making your own delicious sauce.

Condiments. Now condiments are possibly the most problematic choice when setting the table. Mustard, French, English or German? Mint sauce, Apple sauce, Bread sauce, Cranberry sauce, the choices are endless but surely Tomato Ketchup is a bridge too far.

Oh, I nearly forgot about Yorkshire Puddings, these are generally Aunt Bessie sized light and fluffy or the size of Devil’s Tower in Wyoming as featured in Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters Of The Third Kind, and crispy with a soft base.

“Would you like Red cabbage or Cauliflower cheese on the side” No, not for me thanks.

Let’s talk about plates or rather let’s talk about plate substitutes. Wooden boards, pieces of slate, terracotta slabs have all joined the party and I say “no, nay, never” Sunday roast should be served on a round plate, end of. 

The context of Sunday roast, for me, is the pub, the pub and a Sunday roast go together like Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrel, they go hand in hand like Morecambe and Wise, like Bill and Ben.

I’ll not go on about dessert as in reality there should be a strict choice of a good crumble, sticky toffee pudding and something with chocolate. Keep it simple

Last weekend I had the delightful experience of a Sunday roast at the Three Horseshoes in Bruton with the family, a country pub that could be the template for the rather posh country pub. Good service, lovely ambience and quaffable ale. This is what got me thinking about this great British tradition.

The pub on a Sunday afternoon, preferably with a roaring fire in the winter and a long walk completed beforehand, rounded off by a hearty Sunday roast is part of what has made this country great. Just add the tipple of your choice and ‘bliss’.

Bottom line is everyone has their own version of Sunday roast and a bespoke service would be the dream, but, in lieu of that a visit to your regular pub of choice or a walk on the wild side to a new recommendation is a great way to spend a Sunday 

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE BLONDE BOMBSHELL?

Blonde:Adjective-(of hair) fair or pale yellow.

Bombshell:Noun-Informal

a very attractive person (typically used of a woman).

The original blonde bombshell was the vivacious and funny Jean Harlow who tragically died at a young age, but she was the template for what was to follow. Marilyn Monroe is the most well-known and is still, to this day one of the most recognisable people of the twentieth century, she like Harlow died at an early age. Marilyn spawned numerous imitators (or tribute acts, depending on your point of view), principal among them were Mamie Van Doren and of course Jayne Mansfield (another to tragically die early).

In Britain we had Diana Dors (Diana Mary Fluck) who had her own imitator, Sabrina (Norma Ann Sykes) and although Diana had reasonable success across the pond she remained in England and was a stalwart of the 50’s 60’s and 70’s UK showbiz scene along with appearances in Horror and sex comedies. Sabrina’s success was short lived she had a career in British comedy films, often appearing as herself and faded away from the public eye in the 70’s, going on to live to the ripe old age of 80.

But what really happened to the blonde bombshell?

Debbie Harry captured the imagination when she emerged as lead singer of Blondie in the early 70s New York music scene and in the public perception of the blonde bombshell Madonna, Anna Nicole Smith and Pamela Anderson are probably the last examples of the blonde bombshell.

The peak bombshell years were between the thirties and the beginning of the sixties, where they were prevalent as film studios got on the band wagon and bought out the hair dye for a number of starlets. 

There were of course disruptors, dark and sultry Rita Haywoth, Ava Gardner and of course Elizabeth Taylor but blondes, as the film title suggested, had more fun.

Diversity may have had a hand in their demise and of course that’s a welcome sign of changing times, and the emergence of Sophia Loren, Gina Lollobrigida and European cinema in general in the sixties, changed the landscape of what was considered beautiful. The European blondes of the sixties had very different persona’s and seemed to exhibit interesting, deeper personas. Bridgette Bardot, Catherine Deneuve and Juie Christie were the templates for the new Blonde, even the Americans in the form of Jane Fonda and Gena Rowlands embraced the new identity of the movie star blonde.

Today one of the last of the classic blonde bombshells has reinvented herself. Producing an excellent acting performance in The Last Showgirl, a far cry from her most famous film Barb Wire, and going "natural". Her appearance has been the subject of much scrutiny but what has been surprising and very much welcome, is the level of positivity directed towards her for eschewing the makeup and trappings associated with her previous identity. Pamela Anderson is a great example of just being yourself and owning it.She looks great and I look forward to more of her cinematic output.

The blonde bombshell is either a relic of another time when, more than ever, looks could take you a long way with the right set of circumstances or it simply evolved. The majority of those whose career was engineered around their blonde bombshell status were actually talented women and that has been somewhat lost in time. I guess trends in the business of beauty may change but what many of those women have showed is that talent will out.

ON THE DOUBLE

Double Trouble

The Great British double act, good, bad or indifferent is a peculiar entity. It goes back to the early days of music hall acts that transferred to radio and cinema and generally consists of a funny man and a straight man. It is a British invention and yes there have been American duos of note but the greatest double act of all time was 50% British. Here is a list of just some of the British comedy duos that have plied their trade on our screens and radios. 

• Clapham And Dwyer
• Murray And Mooney
• Cisie And Ada
• Flanagan And Allen
• Charters And Caldicott
• Cook And Moore 
• Morecombe And Wise
• Cannon And Ball
• Little And Large
• Hale And Pace
• Hinge And Brackett
• Smith And Jones
• French And Saunders
• Harry And Paul 
• Newman And Baddiel
• Lee And Herring
• Punt And Dennis
• Mel And Sue
• Trevor And Simon
• Reeves And Mortimer 
• Adam And Joe
• Mitchel And Web
• Pegg And Frost
• Horn And Corden

For many they could not survive when choosing to go it alone. For some a shot at the big time on the big screen ended in abject failure (Horne and Corden's excruciating Lesbian Vampire Killers) or tepid reception (Cannon And Ball's The Boys In Blue). The great Morecambe and Wise tried their hand at big screen outings that, while not great by any stretch of the imagination, had a certain charm. The Intelligence Men (1965), That Riviera Touch (1966), and The Magnificent Two (1967) saw the eponymous duo cast as secret agent types out of their depth and getting into scrapes.

An exception to the rule would have to be Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, their excursions into feature films were, by and large, very good. Bedazzled is an excellent comedy that focusses on the risk of temptation, in the form of Peter Cook's Satan, The Hound of The Baskerville saw them on good form and supporting parts in Monte Carlo Or Bust and The wrong Box suited their dark humour.

The great British double act has fallen upon fallow times recently. Whether that is due to public indifference or it being a dying art is unclear. What is clear is that this bastion of UK showbiz, at it's best was warm and welcoming. The duos playing out their own personal dynamic in full view.

Perhaps the last great example is Simon Pegg and Nick Frost. Their 'Cornetto" trilogy is terrific and their relationship is key in each instalment. Much like Mitchell And Webb's Mark and Jeremy in Peep Show, theirs is a love/hate relationship with the emphasis on a fatal attraction.

So here's to the great British Double act and it's re-emergence from it's cocoon via Romesh Ranganathan and Rob Beckett who embody the double act dynamic that we grew accustomed to. Maybe there will be a renaissance.

 

CANUS LUPUS UNFAMILIARIS

 

The OG

Dogs are not surrogate babies. Dogs are not toys. Dogs are not fashion accessories. 

All dogs originate from the Grey Wolf, yes, all dogs from Chihuahas to great Danes  and from St Bernards to Shih Tzus, yet more and more we are seeing these animals treated as if they were somehow created to serve human vanity.

Dogs are great, they make superb companions, are loyal to a fault and have a lot of love to give. Dogs like to run and exercise, they like to play, fetch and generally burn off their energy in fun ways that we as humans find very appealing. Most of all they are faithful.

So when I saw an advert at my local Picturehouse cinema advertising 'Doggy Screenings' I have to say I was aghast. The actress portraying a customer exclaimed "When I found out I could take my baby to the cinema..." as she sat clutching her small pet to her bosom. I have seen doggie handbags clutched under the arms of a variety of wannabe 'It' girls with their pooch's head poking out. I have witnessed dogs in pushchairs and dogs in rucksacks. Iv'e been appalled, in Montmarte Paris, to see a dog wearing trainers. Iv'e been had to do a double take on seeing a dog being forced to wear sunglasses.

Dog clothing is big business as is dog Haute Cuisine. Dog perfume, bubble bath and yoga are also de rigueur in some circles.

The thing about all this is that the owners are missing the point. Dogs, as domesticated as they might be, are at heart wild animals. They don't need clothes, they don't need the cinema, yoga or other stimuli if they are happy. They don't need fine dinning, they just need food. They don't need trainers, they have paws and they definitely don't need to be carried around as they have legs.

Who's got the most expensive collar?, who has the best grooming?, who's bag is more niche?, who's kennel is the most lavish? The dog as a status symbol is the new black.

All they need is the love of their owner and when I see the current type of owner with their Plus One accessory I don't think that they understand what that means. I wish they would stop the infantilisation of the humble dog. I wish they would see their companions for what they are.

THE FULL MONTEITH

 

The Kelly Monteith Show (1979-1984)

Before Garry Shandling, before Larry Sanders, before Dream On, before Seinfeld there was the Kelly Monteith Show, a TV series broadcast weekdays on BBC at 9.00 that is largely forgotten but predated the meta comedy of the late 1980s and the 1990’s. It was a mixture of stand up, Sitcom and sketches where Monteith played himself and depicted the day-to-day life of a comedian.

Although the star was American it was a UK production that featured a plethora of British television actors who proliferated on sitcoms of the 70’s and 80’s from Please Sir! To Fawlty Towers, Carry On films and Gerry Anderson's UFO; Gabrielle Drake, Victor Spinetti, Tony Anholt, George Layton, Valerie Leon, Cleo Rocos, Lisa Goddard and Carol Hawkins to name but a few

The show consistently broke the fourth wall by showing Monteith in his dressing room before and after scenes and in this regard was unusual for a mainstream sitcom or any other type of sitcom. 

Monteith won the Silver Rose for the BBC at the Montreux Television Festival in Switzerland which at the time was a major accolade and the show had a cult following which was an achievement as he was virtually unknown at the time.

Taken in context it was actually quite groundbreaking and veered towards the suggestive, surreal and bizarre.

Strange to think that a relatively unknown comedian could secure a TV series on BBC that was both ahead of its time and really rather unique, as a precursor. Kelly died two years ago this month, largely unheralded and  I think a doff of the hat should be offered to Mr Monteith.

THE JOYS OF THE DUMP

 

The Islington Recycling Centre is like the land of Oz; when you get there you see behind the curtain. All human life is here.

The weekend gardener offloads their hedge cuttings and weeds. The DIY enthusiast gets rid of half complete shelving that never really did sit straight on the wall of the spare room. Defunct games consoles, midi-centres and decrepit vacuum cleaners are tossed into the vast bins with gusto.

Mugs, lots of mugs, possibly the most ubiquitous of items in any household. Mugs procreate like Tribbles it seems, in kitchens across the country two mugs become four mugs, four mugs become eight ad infinitum. The belief that you can never have too many mugs is false; you can and frequently do have too many mugs most of which never see the sight of tea or coffee. Off to the dump they go.

Furniture of every description ends up here too, confused fabrics and patterns clash alongside pine, MDF and plastic of every hue. Carpets and rugs that look as if they could actually climb the steps and climb in unaided are removed from boots of cars straining with the weight of years of accumulated rubbish.

Storage is a huge contributor to the volume of items that find their way here. The myth of storage. We don’t need storage, or rather we don’t need storage that is not used effectively. The stuff that ends up in attics can sit there inert for decades before its usefulness is pondered and prevaricated over. 

“It might be useful” no it won’t!

“xxxxx might want it” no they won’t!

“We could put it in the spare room” why?

Face it, most of the things stored are stored because people can’t bear to part with things. Forget sentimental value, I am talking about products purchased, used once (if at all) and bunged out of sight and therefore out of mind.

it is cathartic ging to the dump, it's cleansing and leaves one feeling lighter on departure.

Unfortunately the only down side is having to navigate the vagaries of  the jobsworth staff in attendance. As far as tedious work is concerned, working at the dump must be right up there but that does not excuse the busy body approach that is employed. Pedantry and lack of charm must be on the CV and a penchant for shouting at members of the public is a required criteria. As for the area reserved for household items that can be recycled, woe betide any member of the public that dallies there is swiftly shooed off. Making a selection from here is clearly one of the perks of the job and the staff are as protective of it as a mother hen. 

But, staff aside, a trip to the dump is an experience I would recommend to anyone looking to create space, make the decision to clear the decks or simply to enjoy the feeling of feeling de cluttered; it's tangible you know.

THE BALLAD OF BRIXTON TUBE

The environs of Brixton tube chaotic like a Bruegel painting, urban and edgy? More like Sketchy and frustrating and it takes a strong constitution, to manage the pollution both aural and sensory, constricted with the density of the denizens of the place that fancies itself as "the hub of the city, mean streets dirty and gritty"

The suffocating smog of incense burning while the dealers are earning and the clients, as such they are, retrieve their fix and swiftly exit to set themselves right with a hit or six

The God Squad loudly preach while the pickpockets reach and the unflinching lookout stands guard to signal the approach of an undercover Copper as there are none around in uniform proper.

The slow and the rapid are united by their lack of dental care, one a hurdle one a sprinter, one a Tortoise one a Hare neither of them have a care or realisation, other than the before and after of the injection or inhalation.

While a faceless salesman tries to catch the eye with the intention of nudging your charity conscience, a man befuddled by his addiction passes by speaking stuff and nonsense

Steel drums reverberate and drown out the hands-free swearing, accompanied by the chant of “got any spare change”, a symphony both upbeat yet despairing 

The obstacle course is worse in the winter, as the throng shelter and gather in groups unwilling to splinter as you seek your way down toward the escalator, not wanting to stay there a moment later

The escalator's Yellow Brick Road leads to the platform, the point of departure to the destination of home, an escape from the maelstrom, the sights and the sounds, the roar of the crowd, the oppressive cloud that lingers over the environs of Brixton tube.

FROM THE SUBLIME TO THE UBIQUITOUS

 

Oscar Wilde, Sheridan Morley, Tim Heald, Peter Ustinov, Stephen Fry and the like are all part of the tradition of the great British Raconteur. Wordsmiths and linguists create pictures with words in and sharpen our appetite for knowledge. 

However, what I have noticed recently is the devolution of the English language to almost a form of communication that consists of grunts and groans, much like our Neanderthal fore bearers

There’s the ubiquitous “like” that we have all grown familiar with over the last few years. “Like” has pretty much become the modern equivalent of “um” used add infinitum in each and every loud conversation that assaults one’s ears.

If ever there was a phrase born out of stupidity its “I’m not gonna lie”. If someone was going to lie, they would not say “I’m going to lie” so what on earth is the point of declaiming that you aren’t about to lie?

Ending sentences with “To be fair” is also a pointless exercise as it actually means that one has considered all facts and is a move toward impartiality. No one who uses this sentence ender has considered any facts!

Then we have, possibly the most redundant word currently being bandied about “Literally” I mean, what is the point of saying it? It’s generally said when the thing that is being referred to is not “literally’ true or has happened. Or its used to emphasise something that doesn’t need emphasising.

What we are also facing are a plethora of annoying slang terms that seem to have been created in a laboratory; “Holibobs”, “Amazeballs”, “Totes”, “My bad”. Slightly grating? You bet, Pointless? Certainly. I’m pretty sure that there will be more additions to the dictionary this year. Perhaps I’ll invent one and copyright it

I need not say why I find “110%” both infuriating and clearly an impossible statement, but my current least wanted expression has to be “You got this”.

“You got this” What? What is it that you've “got”? every word of encouragement has to have a “You got this” attached. This is peak Americanisation and frankly I find it almost intolerable. I would prefer a strong “Come on, you can do this” followed by a firm handshake on task completion. 

I’ll finish this with a message for the “You got this” users.

You don’t attend a US High School, you don’t coach a University Basketball team, and you don’t work as a motivational speaker so just stop saying it!