soldier talk

Jeremy Vine was talking to a military expert about Afghanistan. He said that the Taliban were 'like fish' and also offered this piece of wisdom: 'If you kill the local people, they'll never support us.'

A great alternative to killing other people is to kill yourself. Or at least punish yourself in the name of fitness. A leaflet came through the door offering various sports and exercise-related activities I was very unlikely to be interested in. A new class called 'Body Attack' was offered. This sounds like a worryingly proactive self-defence class, but is, I think, just another form of aerobics. It seems a curious message to use in promoting health though: you must attack your own body. Like a starved Alsatian. 'Rip it apart!', yells the instructor, fresh from a starring role in Danny Dyer's Deadliest Men.

Regular readers may be disappointed that there was no mention of DD in last week's episode. I mean, this is pretty much a Danny Dyer fan site now. Or the nearest thing he has to one. (Only joking, Danny, if you're reading this!) The other week he met Mo Teague, an ex-soldier who left the forces with only 'a capacity for extreme brutality' on his CV. Well, that and a level one qualification in PowerPoint. Despite being a monkey-wrench wielding bouncer and, er, royal photographer, Mo is also a 'doting grandfather'. 'But we're not doing a documentary about doting grandfathers', says Danny. No, but you will, Danny. You will.

Ironically for a man with an avowed propensity for shitting himself, Danny's worst nightmare in this one comes from not being able to shit himself. Out on manoeuvres in the countryside with Mo, he is called upon to defecate into some clingfilm (which is how real soldiers while away the small hours apparently) can't follow through, and is driven away in a big black car. He won't win hearts and minds like this.

uninspired

Carol at work reported a conversation she overheard between two employees of Tesco while shopping there:

1ST. WOMAN: Did your kids see that video about the earthquake in Fahiti?

2ND. WOMAN: Don't you mean Haiti?

1ST WOMAN: Whatever.

But never fear, lest the disaster slip from the public's mind a group of celebrities have come to the rescue with their new version of REM's Everybody Hurts. Earthquake survivors, should they be in a position to listen to this, will be pleased to be told that they're not so special - because everybody hurts. Even Leona Lewis. So just, you know, get over it, why don't you?

On Thursday I went to the Swan with Richard and Paul, with the idea of exchanging ideas in some sort of creative forum. It suffered slightly from the fact that none of us had any ideas - or no viable ones at any rate. My 'Prawn Ring' idea sounds a bit lame when you say it out loud - almost as though it actually is quite lame. As for Richard, all he could come up with was something about Michael Bolton being kidnapped and having his hair cut off, which for mysterious reasons imperils the entire world.

Only Paul provided anything that seemed even faintly plausible, a TV series in which an angel and a demon compete to influence the life of a different character each week. Only not quite as obvious as that might sound: Paul didn't even like the idea of a 'will they won't they' romance between angel and demon, which struck me as a clear selling point. Although he did quite like it if both the angel and the demon were female. Then it wouldn't be 'will they won't they' so much as 'they will'. Every week. Possibly to the exclusion of all else.

This is the life

In Sainsbury's on Saturday night Dave and I purchased three bottles of wine and a block of Lurpak (slightly salted). There were very good reasons for this, but I did wonder what the checkout girl thought we had planned for the evening. The answer: we were going to Matandamanda's for lasagne - Mat had requested the butter because they had run out.

Afterwards we saw a DVD, Todd Solonz's 1998 film Happiness, which Mat's brother Mark had given him along with the recommendation: 'This is the worst film I have ever seen.'

Of course he is wrong. It's the best film he's ever seen - he just doesn't realise it.

It's hard to imagine what anyone could find to object to in this comedy about masturbation, serial-killing, and child-rape. Surely it is perfect Sunday afternoon entertainment, with plenty for the whole family to talk about afterwards, as in: 'Daddy, what's a serial pervert rapist?'

Meanwhile, this is how it is at work: the bubbly temp comes out with odd little questions, like 'Would I look better if I was taller?' or: 'Do you like cotton wool?' (She doesn't). Lorraine frowns at squirrels capering outside: shouldn't they be hibernating? We look it up on the internet and no, they shouldn't. They would need to be fatter. The names of two members of staff appear on the 'absences' board with 'Bang!' written next to them. It turns out that they are in a meeting with a design company of that name. I thought for a moment that they'd been taken outside and shot. 'Restructuring' can work that way.