What a performance!

You’d think someone looking to get away for a weekend break at the start of October would have the hotels and guest houses throwing their reduce rates and offers at them - or at least that’s what I thought.

As I did the research for a hotel in Brighton as every internet-savvy does, there wasn’t an accommodation deal in sight, surely these places weren’t full, it was off-peak, cold and I thought we were in a recession where businesses were after paying customer they can get.

So this weekend wasn’t going to be as cheap as I’d originally planned, it was too late to back out as I didn’t want to fess up to my girlfriend that I was too poor to afford the weekend after all.

After searching through an abnormally high number of 80s style hotels and others that would require the selling of a kidney to afford them, I settled on The Kings Hotel - it was the least worst of both worlds; not too shitty and just about affordable.

Arriving I was pleasantly surprised, the reception area was lavish and felt like a quality hotel - the little lady was impressed too. My happy disposition soon changed when I found out I would have to pay £15 per day to park my car in the car park. I was pissed off at having to add £45 to my bill as I could have got somewhere far better for this addition fee.

Still the hotel looked nice. That was until the second we left the reception area and out of sight of the main door. The budget obviously hadn’t stretch beyond reception as the quality of décor took a noticeable turn for the worse with stained wallpaper and a general crappy feel.

Unfortunately it didn’t get any better as we arrived at our room small, horribly rickety bed, stained curtains, gaffer taped bathroom floor and a TV the size of a postage stamp.

Down at breakfast the next morning I was trying to give the look of “god my room’s crappy, is yours?” with the subtle raising of an eyebrow to the other guests but everyone else seemed very smiley. Had the hotel spied a young couple on our arrival and dug out the shitty room key knowing we wouldn‘t be the complaining type? I doubt it, maybe they hadn’t paid the small fortune I had or perhaps they just had lower expectations.

I felt so ripped off and cheated and so take my revenge in a typical British way... writing an uncomplimentary blog - that’ll show them!

For as long as I’ve been able to stick out an entire domestic one-day cricket match in the freezing temperatures of the early season, the powers that be have been experimenting with rules to make the game more fun and entertaining for the crowds. Some have been a resounding success, the heavily branded Twenty20 series playing throughout the world are clear evidence of this. Other mad-cap ideas have been rather more laughable, take Angus Fraser’s moronic idea to have substitutions - how that got through the ICC will always be Gus’ little secret.

Twenty20 wasn’t the first of its kind, I remember watching a domestic match from New Zealand called Cricket - shortened version like Twenty20 but where any runs scored in the V were worth double. In my mind CricketMax is far superior than the variety which has taken off; there is the potential to score twelve off a single ball which adds a whole another dimension to the game by virtue means there will be higher scoring matches - the spectator’s dream. If you’re going to change the game enough to create Twenty20 you may as well go the whole hog and make it as innovative as possible. I can only be assume the ICC could bring themselves to upset the chaps in the Lords taverners too much.

Ok, so the avid cricket fan from the 60-over Natwest Cup era may scoff at the crowds drawn in by Twenty20 and I’m willing to accept it doesn’t have everything the longer one-dayers do. For me the golden time in domestic cricket was when the Sunday League was in existence. On almost every Sunday you could head down to the county ground and enjoy an afternoon’s cricket but that’s all changed now. First it went up to 45 overs - a pointless addition in anyone’s book - and now they play on pretty much any day of the week except Sunday.

I have enjoyed the addition of the powerplays however, especially the most recent addition of the batting power play, it screws up all the existing stats (which is sad) but it gives us more attacking play and should have been brought in years ago. What’s also good is that captains are still working out the best tactics for using it. Admittedly that’ll all be over come summer when all the county captains see Ricky Pontin’s approach and quickly follow suit.

(In a 50 over match it should be taken in about the 38th over - they’ll figure it out soon enough!)

It’s not often that you open a Christmas present, not from your carefully selected list made back in November, and are genuinely pleased with the thoughtful accuracy your benefactor has shown.

This was how I felt when I opened Ben Elton’s Chart Throb, on paper the book was perfect for me and as it was on paper I figured it would be perfect for me. Dead Famous is one of my favourite books and I’ve always been a reluctant fan of X Factor for being as sharp minded as I am, I'm always aware of a certain level of editing and unseen antics in the show's production process.

The first few chapters didn’t disappoint, even with my assumptions, reality TV editing it didn’t come close to the level Elton suggests in Chart Throb - and thinking about it, I reckon he’s probably pretty accurate.

And so once the initial shock of the level forward thinking and editing involved in reality shows dies away, the stories start to develop. And there were a lot! This could have been Elton’s attempt at parallelism with the story’s own structure and the nature of the subject matter, but considering Elton’s mockery of TV talent contests, it would be a backward choice to emulate its style even for stylistic purposes. All it really achieved was a lack of interest in any of the plotlines - it seems bizarre that a storyline as far fetched as the Prince of Wales auditioning for TV talent contest seemed to be completely forgotten about for most of the book.

Just as any of the plots began to gain momentum the reader is again subjected to a short story’s worth of ‘look how much editing goes into this’.

And there is nothing more irritating than a plot that's obligated to fulfil a destined requirement; three-quarters of the way through with just the audition stages over the reader is hurriedly and tiresomely talked through the final stages of the competition where not much really happens other than narrative duller than the reality TV contest itself. Definitely a case of “Oh shit, I’ve already written 300 pages and I haven’t got to the main bit yet”.

The ending was OK, but due to the lack of constant attention to any particular storyline I didn’t really care for what was happening and by that stage I was more concerned about putting the book back on the shelf.

I did enjoy the deliberately unsubtle references to X Factor and its judges, that definitely added a certain readability factor but in all once the initial interest of the processes of reality TV had been revealed there was little else to keep the pages turning.

It was with an element of scepticism that I sat down on Christmas day to turn on this year’s Christmas television offerings. It feels as though there has been a real drought of quality programming over the festive period ever since that golden era of Morecambe and Wise and The Two Ronnies. In recent times, the lure to make the Christmas billing has led otherwise successful shows into travesty. My Family’s attempt at a Christmas treat for one and all a few years back ended up as the final nail in the rapidly-depleting-quality-show’s coffin and many other shows have shared a similar fate.

It seems as though there is a overwhelming pressure to tweak a winning formula to give the audience a little extra at Christmas. This is a deluded conclusion for two reasons, one, if the tweaks improve the recipe then they should always be there and not just at Christmas, and two, to make it into the eligible-for-a-Christmas-special category the formula must be of some merit already so why change now? It’s like getting to the Olympics as a sprinter then deciding at the opening ceremony that you’re going to enter as a flyweight boxer instead.

The real television turkey this Christmas would have to be The Royle Family, after such a highly acclaimed episode last Christmas they had to go and balls it up with an joke-grabbing, slapstick-hungry romp for 2008, which is pretty much the opposite of everything The Royle Family has been before.

The Royle Family is famously set in real-time and takes place in the Royle’s worn living room, not a lot usually happens and much of the humour derives of the characters themselves. These quintessential aspects where thrown out the window this year as Craig Cash and Caroline Ahern produced a script more reminiscent of Chucklevision than one of Britain’s most successful sitcoms of all time. The idea of setting the majority of the show outside of the familiar Royle house was a mistake and to move away from real-time, it can only be assumed to be the result mulled wine and festive cheer going to some heads.

Producing a Christmas special, I can imagine, is a daunting task. Eric Morecambe famously described the pressure he felt he was under to make every laugh at Christmas and many believe this pressure was a major contributor to his poor health in his later years. To Eric’s credit though he always produced. It’s a pity that none of the renowned performers involved with The Royle Family were able to say: “Let’s stick to the formula that got us here” and with it saved the sitcom’s legacy.

What a shame we couldn’t have had another Extras Christmas special like last year which was probably one of the best pieces of Christmas television of my lifetime.

It's cool to like James Bond. After all James Bond is the quintessential cool. Unlike most things that are cool (cars, football etc.) I actually like James Bond. The aesthetics of his cars, guns, and woman are the obvious box tickers from the 'Things to Like as a Man' book that every father metaphorically hands his son around the time of his fifth birthday but it is Bond's understated attributes that appeal to the genuine psyche. By this I mean the wry smiles, posture, and unforgettable one liners, all the things that us Bond idolisers can do without the help of MI6. Albeit, being able to do something and being able to something in the way Bond effortlessly does, are completely different things. I've been working on a wry smile for years and I just look like a Scottish Prime Minister whose underwear's a little too tight.

But what exactly is it that makes Bond cool? Daniel Craig gives no help in answering this as that guy is a genuinely cool guy. In his interviews I just see Bond taking some time out from shooting and shagging to have a chat with that fat Brummie from Big Brother 3 and Craig's demeanour doesn't offer anything to suggest otherwise. But not all Bonds have been cool, just look at Pierce Brosnan. Not that I have anything against Brosnan, I think he was a great Bond and, as I grew up with him, he is consistently cast in the role of my sub-conscious Bond. But look at him now 'singing' Abba songs and prancing around to family favourites, hardly a double 0 thing to do, is it? Maybe it is credit to Brosnan's acting skills to be able to pull off Bond's cool or perhaps it is the unexplainable Bond factor.

Quantum of Solace really cements Craig as a great Bond as he continues to make himself the sub-conscious Bond of today's youngest generation. The film felt extremely short and lacked a storyline that had any real movement or progression. This was partly the result of the tightly-packed action scenes that allowed for very few non-gimmick story setting moments. That considered, the film was still completely brilliant and the probable reason for it seeming so short is that it completely captured my attention meaning I never had time to consider my discomfort or lack of popcorn. Some of the action scenes - in particular the opening car chase - were ambiguously cut together so that characters' movement from A to B were irritatingly unexplained.

Quantum of Solace is a great film that acceptably rides the crest of the Bond wave rather than creating one of its own and James Bond himself continues to raise the bar of cool.

Before moving to the city for an intense two month internship the only knowledge I had of London office speak stemmed from prescriptive columnists and Grumpy Old, I never imagine any of the jargon they moaned about was actually used. That was until my first day when the MD (any term that bemuses me) threw “just ringing to touch base” into every phone conversation. I was genuinely surprised as I thought this was the kind of language used by office juniors on trains to impress their fellow passengers.

What’s more worrying than these meaningless phrases coming into everyday use is how infectious they are, when you’re confined to an office for six hours a day it’s difficult to avoid saying “I’ll ping you an email”. I’m not even sure I fully know what pinging is but I’ve done a hell of a lot of it in my two months in the job.

The whole reliance on email itself was another shock to a newcomer in the office place. On my first day I was sat twiddling my thumbs waiting for someone to give me a job, as all good interns do, when I received an email from the senior girl across the desk from me. Excited by the prospect of getting work email I eagerly opened it, as she was sat across desk from me I figured it must be some secret banter about the boss that couldn’t be spoken out loud. It read: “let me know when you are free as I have a job for you”. Firstly, I clearly was not busy as I was Googling my name for a laugh and secondly, what had happened to her vocal chords? I wasn’t sure on the correct etiquette for responding to this, did I email back saying simply “I’m free” or go for the traditional option of engaging my speech organs.

One advantage is you avoid such conversations like when am I getting paid? Or I’m leaving two hours early tomorrow but also means a lot of office-banter goes begging. Anyway, time to click up a new window to keep my computer looking busy. Good to touch base with you all, just ping me an email if you’ve any comments.

Column inches have been filled with prescriptive attitudes to the English Language since there have been column inches to fill. Notions that textspeak is encroaching on our patriotic tongue and the success of Lynne Truss’ Eats, shoots and leaves show that we are a society keen to maintain our language.

As an English Language and Linguistic graduate I have been trained to have descriptive attitudes to our language and to accept change and non-standard varieties as part of the beauty of language. This view is, I believe, an appropriate one. Once you trace the legacy of English you see it’s these non-standard varieties that have made standard English what it is today. However. There is one misuse of language that is creeping into all forms of language which should not be readily accepted as simply non-standard but rather horribly incorrect - the misuse of literally.

The word should be used when a turn of phrase, an idiom, or expression that is most often used in a figurative sense is used in a context where the event has actually happened and the said phrase is not being used in its normal figurative sense.

“I’ll be two seconds” - the person will be a very short period of time.
“I’ll be literally two seconds” - the person will be two seconds, you can count them on your watch.

It is so frequently used as a redundant word in sentences when you wouldn’t expect anything other than it to be literally: “I’m going to literally punch you”. I doubt the listener would have been confused about whether they were about to receive a literal or metaphorical punch had the speaker not stated it explicitly. Other times it’s just used incorrectly: A cricket commentator described a jubilant crowd as: “literally going mental” considering they were literally going mental there were very few men in white coats and straight jackets around, I cant help but think “going mental” would have more than sufficed.

The problem with using literally to incorrectly give emphasis is that the meaning of the word weakens and leaves a gap in the language. Now whenever literally is required, audiences will be unaware of literally being used in the literal sense causing a communication breakdown. It’s getting to the stage where actually and literally have to be used as a compound to express what a single literally would have been capable of conveying in the past.

When Britain first went to war in Iraq, Bush came over here on a visit amid anti-war protests. One protester was interviewed and said: “He’s taken us to war with him and now he’s come here to literally rub our faces in it” - surely that’s not legal.

With ten minutes to spare I had finally found the right road, all I had to do now was find number 58 which wouldn’t be hard considering I could see one end of the road from the other. I walked down the road only to find the numbers only went up to 32 - shit! I was going to be late, I haven’t been to that many interviews but I‘m pretty sure turning up late is frowned upon. Desperately I paced the road a few more times but still the highest number I could find was 32. I now had zero minutes to reach the correct office.

Five minutes later I found it and without really thinking I walked into the offices looking hot and dishevelled and with beads of sweat on my temples. To my surprise there was no reception or any indication of where I should go or who I should talk to; I was just loitering in a random office and no one seemed to be taking any notice. After an awkward few minutes of looking like a sweaty lemon a woman only a few years older than me - and in my opinion too attractive to be human - came over and shook my hand. Now, I don’t do well talking to stunningly beautiful women at the best of times and given my flustered state and clammy hands all I could manage was a nervous laugh and a “hello” in a voice I had never heard my vocal cords produce before. Of all the times to try out new voices this was not it. I felt like I was living the opening chapter to the dummies guide to failing an interview.

I left the interview feeling pretty annoyed at myself. I had failed to produce the perfect interview. I had spent three years at uni pefecting exam techniques, essays, and presentations but all this would be rendered useless by my unconditioned interview skills. My lack of interview prowess in no way affects my ability to do the job and the rest of my credentials should be irresistible, does this mean I have to get interview experience before I get work experience? The problem with this is that as soon as I become a master of interviews I will be employed and thus this new qualification becomes a moot one - you wouldn't even be able to put it on your CV.

In case you couldn't guess - I didn’t get the job.

The ability to participant successfully in an argument is a rare skill. I’m not sure if it’s a dying art or just something that’s always eluded English speakers but its absence is never more evident than in every series of Big Brother. There is a strange logic that arguments are won by the speaker who speaks more, speaks the loudest, or speaks last and if you can achieve all three you should be awarded the gold medal of the argument. I say strange because by speaking louder and more you miss the very arguments you’re supposedly countering meaning you cant possibly win as you lack the necessary knowledge of the opposing argument. So how can the intellectually lacking in the Big Brother house claim repetition of “you get me” and “deal with it” is a successful means of winning an argument? Therefore as they seemingly have no argument you theoretically win the argument but this seems to go unnoticed as they strut off crying “whatever!”

It’s not just Big Brother’s society dregs who seem incapable of communicating their views, the Apprentice contestants take a different tact which focuses on commenting on each other’s turn taking skills. So mid conversation speakers will launch into rants about being interrupted and how they hadn’t interrupted anyone which ends up consuming more of the conversation time than the actual points of the argument.

An underlying rule of arguments should be that if any repeated points which have already been counter argued are raised then the argument should be awarded to the other participant and conversation should move on. I would hazard a guess that 80% of argument conversation is irrelevant and been said before, the sooner an argument can become concise the sooner I can win and move on.

How important is your name? I personally find that a name slipping from memory is one of society’s moments of comic genius. Last summer I partook in some local am-dram and was befriend by my onstage companion Russell. He took a shine to my dry wit in the kind of way a Labrador takes a shine to its owners bed. All through show week he assured me he could provide a location for the after-show party, probably the most important part of am-dram. He had a friend, Tom, who was having a party anyway and was the kind of chilled out guy who would welcome all comers. They must be good friends I thought to allow him to bring up to thirty strangers into his house.

Anyway, as the week went on I found out a lot about Tom, by the end of the week I felt as though I knew a lot more about him than I did about Russell. Russell was clearly even more infatuated with this chilled-out welcoming Tom guy than he was with me. So the big night came - party time! We arrived at Tom’s house at gone 12 and considering Tom was the social power Russell had made him out to be the house was eerily quiet. Russell and I knocked the door to be opened by Tom smiling and with an outstretched hand to Russell as he said “SIMON! Great to see you”. Russell’s face dropped and replied “its Russell” as he walked into the quiet house head down and tail between his legs.

Unfortunately that was the highlight of the night, it turned out Tom hadn’t been a social power at all but more a recluse who needed all the friends he could get.

A similar name forgetting incident happened to myself not long ago. After a year of being poker buddies a friend (or at least someone I thought of as a friend) drew a blank when asked what my name was. Its not a great feeling for the forgetter or the forgotten but as a bystander it’s brilliant.

I’m terrible at remember names to the extent that I don’t listen to people’s replies when we exchanges introductions. Once I’ve realised I didn’t listen though it’s too late to ask what it is again and so an awkward night of name avoidance ensues.