Indifference

That poor dog is safe for another few weeks, then.

Roy Keane is back in football at another club with lots of money to waste on crap players until something, somewhere, sticks: Tobias Hysen, Roy O'Donovan, Rade Prica, Michael Chopra (who Keane bought from Cardiff for ten times his previous transfer fee) and God knows how many more that I can't remember. Alex Ferguson might call Rafa Benitez a chequebook manager (I'll come back to the hypocrisy of this statement by King Bluster) but his former captain is the new breed of money and how it talks in football. A pity, then, that all Keane can talk is absolute shit. He bottled it at the first sign of someone (the majority shareholder at S*nderland) questioning his bizarro-zarro transfer policy and the players in the mackem wastelands seem far happier without him, so why, oh why are Ipswich Town fooled by this guy? It'll all end in tears, albeit in the Premier League. Maybe.

So, the great sideshow of who will finish top of the Premier League is (more or less) over and we can talk about who is and isn't a cock-end (more entertaining when Mourinho was kicking about, this). Alex Ferguson wins! His sustained attacks on Rafa Benitez, no matter how easy it is to dislike the spaniard, are tiresome and ill-informed. Ferguson crows on that Liverpool produce no young players. Excuse me if I am smelling the wrong pot of pease pudding for a minute but, well, did Manchester United produce Federico Macheda, Anderson, Nani or Cristiano so bronze I am a statue now Ronaldo? No. One generation of (yes, exceptional, we know) British players doesn't redeem you for the lack of any since. Myopia is a wonderful thing but it is quite alarming how many managers seem to suffer from the condition these days. What would Brian Clough have made of it all?

With the mention of Brian Clough, my copy of The Damned United arrived on monday, so I think I will alternate it with reading Phil Scraton's Hillsborough: The Truth, which I mentioned last week. Yet to finish the first chapter and its already evident (as if people didn't know this already) that the events of April 15 1989 should never have happened; it makes it all the more galling that noone has been made accountable. I hope that anyone who looked at this blog last week took some time to at least peruse some of the stuff I hyperlinked and see what a massive injustice it is (if you didn't know, I know some readers are more than aware). At least a step in the right direction was taken last week. Then again, Jacqui Smith has little or no choice if she wants to stay in the job...

Newcastle United newsflash: Obafemi Martins is not the messiah, he's just very fast and a crap finisher. If Alan Shearer saves the day now, he is a genius. Let's explain, he needs to win the last three home games of the season and even then we might not survive. We've won four home matches out of sixteen this season. Easy, then.

Come back today or tomorrow and I'll look at something a little less asinine than the pricks and pantomime villains that inhabit football: ATP stage times!

Throw Away Your Television

How queer that after watching the second part (television) of Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle on iPlayer yesterday I chose to watch the venereal stain that was The Sex Education Show vs Pornography on Channel 4. I ought to explain. Lee dismissed Channel 4 as a deluge of faecal matter that descends upon people, as shown through the sketches that interject between his missives (the majority of which are performed by Kevin Eldon and that fat man from the Little Britain Fat Fighters sketches who wasn't funny then and still, wow, isn't); Anna Richardson seems to be making television programmes to support this view.

Anna decided to ignite a debate by visting a school made up from the mongoloid handfuls of Sheringham, which is in Norfolk (hey... I used to live there!) She spent the next fifty minutes (I turned over before the end, sorry) disecting the seedy world that school children inhabit on the internet. Well, she might have called it seedy, she spent a lot of time repeating herself which was pretty pointless as I think most people spent their time watching it hoping to see some wank material.

The best bit was her reporting a child pornography website after she clicked on a link whilst watching some other porn. She must have mentioned that it shocked her at least five times in twenty to thirty seconds. It grated so much that I answered her aloud, "I get it, you're shocked", then again, I talk to myself a lot, conducting imaginary pre-match interviews for Football Focus on Football Manager, so I suppose an analyst would call talking at an animate object a 'breakthrough'. She also spoke for the crew (of course, if she hadn't, I'd have assumed they were all massive raging paedos spaffing off into the boom, so I applaud her for this) and questioned whether children were being exposed to this.

I question whether Jacqui Smith is being exposed to it, Anna.

The answer is quite obvious, for this is Channel 4. Don't click on it. She's talking to a bunch of porn vets and wonders if they're being exposed. Probably not, Anna, people know not to click on those things because they're not as stupid or weird as you are. Apart from in Sheringham, where The Darkness still seem to be de rigeur in the style stakes. Or was that the Welsh porn star she interviewed? Sorry for not giving a solitary spazzy fuck.

Don't show sixteen year olds naked grown women and be surprised they don't like how they look. You can be surprised at the boys' shit hair styles and the silly things the girls say when looking at tits (even they like the fake ones!) but being flabbergasted that kids don't like saggy boobs of a woman who has had two children is thicky on a bike at the post office. I don't even know what demographic they're going for. The same people that watch all the spew that Channel 4 gag on as they brush their tongues with their toothbrushes, I expect.

Anna visited three computing retailers and was shocked to find that the filters inbuilt in all mobile phones were available on computers but had to be activated by consumers themselves. She was also shocked (there it is again) that each retailer gave her different advice. Welcome to the modern high street, Anna. The obvious answer, from someone who can't even hyperlink or fix their DVD drive, is google. I wonder if she's heard of it? Ah, she fucking has as well! She used it to find porn sites! Hooray. Why not google admin and filters as well then? ARGGGGGGH. Like cutting yourself with a knife to test the sharpness of a blade. I assume she does that too. Just get AVG free, Anna, and sit down.

So, then... Risible, ugly and pedantic television with a bizarre number of ad breaks. It made me sad that my phone was too shit to browse for porn to pass the time while I wait for Stewart Lee to start on BBC2. The entire experience made me feel the need to dig a moat around my house, fill it up with petrol and spend my remaining days tending to a wall of flame to keep these idiots and their mutant spawn from posting me my letters.

Then I watched the aforementioned Comedy Vehicle. Calling it a vehicle seems about right as it seems to exist to propel Stewart Lee in to the same bracket of 'modern life is shit and this is why' as Mitchell and Webb and Frankie Boyle blah blah blah. This would work better if Lee didn't repeat himself so often to make the jokes last longer (and less funny) and if the programme's theme music wasn't that piece of filth that Bolton Wanderers play when (!) they score a goal at home. I watch comedy to be entertained, not to be reminded of the existence of Gavin McCann, Gary Megson and Sam Allardyce. In fact, Sam Allardyce's interviews on why he should be England manager were funnier than the entirety of last night's Comedy Vehicle. Stewart Lee is like Morrissey; only half as good as he thinks he is. He has some wonderful moments which you can forget as soon as he opens his mouth to spout out the next bit of rubbish. For every How Soon Is Now? or diatribe against Dan Brown (from the first programme, on Books) there is some shit about veganism or a shit joke about a maudlin, solitary ballet shoe which culminates in a poor joke about people complaining to the BBC about everything.

He also looks a bit like Morrissey, which is really where the comparison came from in the first place.

However, The Wire started last night and if you missed that you're fucked, well and truly. There's no more to say on that, in all honesty.

Come back later for some appalling creative writing and a one-word review of Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavilion, if you fancy.