Q: "What did you do with Sully?"

A: "I let him go." Having managed to never seen the entire movie before, and endured years of Tucola quoting Arnie one-liners from the flick, I stayed up last night to watch "Commando" from start to finish. Fantastic. They don't make 'em quite like that any more. In case the audience had any doubt, the cheesy title sequences make it abundantly clear that Arnie loves his daughter very much (they eat ice cream together, feed tame deer together, and, er, frolic in the pool together), and woe betide any Latin American dictators or psychotic ex-work colleagues that interrupt their blissful countryside existence.

The wisdom of advertising execs, part n

The next instalment in the “it’s not a shit advert, you’re just not the target audience” saga — the Samsung D500.

“You can tell a lot about a man from his style. His wristwatch. Shoes. The company he keeps. How he does business”.

Well, if the geezers in that advert are anything to go by, I could tell that he is a smug, self–satisfied wanker. Guess that’s the target audience for this bit of kit — think I’ll stick with Nokia…

Faire la feta

We seemed to be having difficulty getting into the club last night after the work Christmas party. After protracted discussions, in which I played no part, I couldn’t understand why the bouncer took us around the back, let us in the fire exit and took the entry fee from us in cash. The (awful) Greek music to which everyone seemed to know the words and the preponderance of dark–haired girls and swarthy boys should have given the game away. A bunch of lawyers on their annual office jolly had just bribed the bouncer to crash a private party for the London Greek elite. You could not make this up.

Weak

I’ve cracked. I’ve reinsured my ZX6R.

There’s no point trying to sell a bike at this time of year. Right?

The husband F.K.A Greg Twatt?

Hmmm, men taking their wife’s name on getting married…

Lax to the max

I’ve been crap at updating this site lately. Among the things I have not been writing about, trips to Budapest and to New York. Must do better.

The New York trip was on business, the Budapest trip was a stag weekend. In Budapest there was some drinking and the standard strip bar visit, but the most unusual thing was our inadvertent visit to a gay bath house. We had been advised that taking the waters was the done thing, but unfortunately got our wires crossed as to the appropriate venue and ended up witnessing blow jobs, hand jobs and full guy–on–guy sex before we could make our escape. For a stag party, pretty ironic really. Although no doubt some shrink has said that homoerotic tension has always been a feature of stag parties and strip club visits. Nice city, though, Budapest.

House Prices

OK, STFU about house prices. 20% fall, 2% rise, 1% fall then 2% rise, blah, blah, bloody blah. The people who actually know obviously ain’t tellin’ and will continue to make millions at the expense of the ignorant and aspirational. But I have already had a full bowl of over–rich, contradictory predictions from the newspapers and I am starting to feel bloody sick.