Hit to road Jack.

I'm off. Fox has this blog to himself now.

Find me here http://thomaspflanagan.wordpress.com/

-Az

No Escape

I know about fear. I watch Doctor Who. I know that someone, someday, is going to dress up like a stone angel and pose outside my bedroom door. I've aquaplaned on the road in the general direction of a "big motherfucking tree", I've been mugged, and I still have nightmares about that time one of my friends attempted to lobotomise me with a golf ball.

Attempting to put yourself at ease in the midst of these fears is Sisyphean to the extreme, and yet every single one pales in comparison to the point of this post, and the same could be said of almost any other fear you could name. Or even not name, depending on how many syllables derive from the Icelandic native tongue. Any person with even the merest semblance of social awkwardness will know well of that which I speak: high street charity workers.

We all know how it goes. You come out of HMV bearing proudly, if a little cautiously, this is still Bolton after all, a suitably environmentally unfriendly bag proclaiming your custom. This synthetic container will most likely hold a DVD, game, book or other some such product. And who do you see loitering a short way up the road, exactly where you need to walk? Someone who, whilst not even looking in your direction, is inevitably waiting for you. The red v-neck with 'Shelter' written on the back stands out as plainly as the extra pair of legs under Tiger Wood's duvet, and there is no doubt in your mind that the wearer of the garment will let everyone else go about their day. But you... you are going to have to sign away some of your hard-earned student loan.

The fear has already struck. How will you avoid them? What will you say if they try and stop you? What level of polite Britishness should you be going for? You want to avoid the guilt, but you already feel the guilt. They already have you in their vice-like Death Grip of misery. As soon as you saw that damn t-shirt, you knew you weren't going to sign up for anything. Let's face it, however reasonable they may be, and however generous and charitable you feel, paying someone for making you feel guilty is just going to make them think it's a good idea. And which of these folk are genuinely trying to help someone? Some of them are just trying to swindle you into buying their books on Krshna. God damn persuasive Buddhist guy...

You're damn right I'm still bitter about that!!

~ Fox

Goodbye Mr Brown

There's a convenient lie used by a certain type of parent.

When the beloved family pet is reaching the end of it's life, it gets sent to The Farm. The Farm is a place in the country, where the dog will live and have a big field to run around in, and other dogs to play with.

This farm is the ideal destination for the Labour Party, some place in the sticks where they can play at being leaders all they want, imagining themselves to be the fist of the workers that they were when they began.

In the real world, they've been consigned to the oily clutches of a £30k a year vet armed with a needle and the sure opinion that this is the kindest option.

But all things come in circles, the family will get a new dog, the country will get another government to feed, take for walks, and, most importantly, new shit to scoop up. This happened with the Conservative party in 1997, and now, 13 years later, it's time for a new pet.

In a strange twist to what we'd expect, the Conservative party have nowhere near the lead we'd expect in this situation. In the race for British power, the three major competitors have tripped, fallen, and are nursing grazed shins at the starting line.

And so there is nothing. A rare moment in UK politics, a genuine mystery.

Voting labour on May 6th is like trying to fistfight a bull, you can try but you won't win, they won't come back after the myriad problems during their staggering run at government. The Conservatives, currently the most popular party by a surprisingly small margin, are floating in the stagnant waters of impersonality, David Cameron having all the charisma of a house brick. The Lib-Dems, as much as they mean well, flounder away by being neither good nor bad, and are ignored in the great Derby that is an election.

And now the fear kicks in: Who might we get instead? The BNP are unlikely to get in, but it's a high possibility for them to gain far more seats in the House of Commons, which could lead to them coming to power. And from there, it's the end for the left-wing, prisons will rise up like concrete hardons, and to speak out against the leadership is to accept life in a jail. Nobody will be able to fight democratically against the party, not with any who would vote against them locked away or deported.

In the long run, this is what we should fear. Voting Day approaches, cast your vote with care.

-Az

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves

This year’s Tivoli Pantomime has, for some bizarre and inexplicable reason, sold brilliantly. The production of ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarves’ by Ron Martin Management has been hailed as brilliant by many reviewers.

I have a distinct feeling that these reviewers saw a different show than the one I saw on 21^st December. Either that or they had Ron Martin himself injecting Lysergic Acid Diethylamide and peyote right into their eyeballs.

From the very start, with an announcement from Ron loaded with ‘umms’ and ‘ ahhs’, the show was an abysmal failure. I know that this is a pantomime, and as such the quality is never going to be great, but when every character is totally unlikeable it’s difficult to have fun. Richie Austin, performing as Muddles, the stereotypical annoying character designed to entertain the adults dragged along to the farce, almost manages to make the show acceptable for human viewing, but alas he fails.

One mental scene, which was the final bullet to the face of theatre, involved a UV cannon, a black stage, and Snow White being seriously menaced by...something. All I saw was a dark stage with mental patients in blue lycra dancing with blankets. A quick question to one of the technical staff revealed this to be Snow White alone in the woods, being menaced by bluebirds and covered in leaves.

There are two problems with this. The first, is the nagging feeling that bluebirds are less menacing than a chocolate éclair, and the second, when you have to ask a member of the technical staff what is happening, it’s a sure bet that the kids don’t understand what’s going on, and therefore will return to eating the programme.

Finally, many of the musical choices (for that, read ALL of the music choices) are dubious at best. Particularly painful are the songs ‘Truly Scrumptious’ delivered by an ear shattering bad children’s choir, and a scene where, for no reason whatsoever, bunnies are dancing in the woods. The whole thing makes as much sense as putting earwax on a trifle because you’ve run out of custard.

An absolute travesty from start to finish, and I honestly vow that if I ever see anything this bad ever again I will have no choice but to unload a full AK-47 clip into the audience in order to spare them the pain.

-Az