Posted on Tuesday, October 10th, 2006 at 1:41 am by admin
I woke up this morning and turned on the TV. As with every other morning before it I started to nod off again, there’s something about early morning TV shows that encourages you to sleep — maybe it’s that Fiona Phillips women. Anyway, just as I’m settling down for a wee morning snoozette I became aware of a great evil. Suddenly I felt a shiver run down my spine. Infront of me I could see a red mist rolling over the Lancastrian horizon and hear the faint footfalls of some heavily laden beasts. Then all became clear. Somehow North Korea had test fired a nuclear weapon — who in the name of Jehova gave these people nukes? A couple of decades ago the most technologically advanced weapon in the whole of Korean involved a great deal of elastic and some bits of bamboo. Finding out that North Korea had let one off was somewhat disturbing, but not as disturbing as the wave of nausea that flowed over me when I realized what had to come next.
Posted on Monday, February 13th, 2006 at 12:29 am by Philip Devitt
This weekend saw the first “Febfest” beer festival in Bury, obviously I had to check it out !
I think everyone has an idea of who goes to beer festivals. We’re talking beardy, hairy-bellied blokes who like nothing more than sitting on wooden benches eating tepid meat pies and getting gently poached drinking potent urine coloured liquids. The more cynical minded would also suggest that said liquids probably tasted like urine, and were most likely sourced at the previous weeks beardy gathering. But that’s by-the-by, and considering I did drink a few half’s I’d like to think that the stuff in the barrels had come from a far better place than the dodgy portaloo’s outside the main tent.
Yes, beardy blokes were there, it was to be expected, nay, required. They added a certain ambience to the place, helped complete the picture as it were. The whole setup of the festival seemed a little odd, you had to pay admission and buy “beer tokens” for a pound a go at the old railway ticket booth then you had to wander over to the tent to pick up your glass. It wasn’t until I actually entered the tent that I discovered why the “beer token” method of payment was chosen instead of the cold hard cash approach. Those serving the beer were quite rightfully also enjoying the odd half, and while none of them were staggering around I got the impression that performing any correct change calculation above and beyond 1 token=1/2 pint could cause a little trouble, especially when the customers were also well on the way to the “hangover hotel”.
Once inside the tent you were greeted by what can only be described as an “Ale’ing wall”, around 100 barrels of various alcoholic mixtures sat in rows three high across the longest side of the tent. Infront of the barrels were the defenders of the kegs, beardy blokes who have sworn to protect their precious from anyone who doesn’t brandish the sacred token of pintage. Most of the beardies gathered in nodding herds, to each herd was appointed a female, who suprisingly didn’t have a beard, well, not a publicly visible one at any rate. It was only after half an hour did I realise our little group was forming its own herds, quite spooky.
After tasting my way through several ales, and a rather weak tasting (yet highly intoxicating) cider I came to the conclusion that my favourite ale was the Black Witch from Moorhouse’s — please follow the link for locations of stockists and pubs where you can find this fine beverage.
For those living in the Bury area I’ll save you a click-though, the nearest pub is the Dusty Miller, Crostons Road.
Posted on Saturday, January 7th, 2006 at 2:59 am by Philip Devitt
While considering a future in digital film and media production I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I don’t really have a chance of ever becoming one of the greats. It’s not because I feel that I lack the talent. Neither is it because I’m deficient in the mental bus fare needed to cope with the battlefield that even a simple production can throw upon you. No. After analysis of recent directors it has become apparent that the only way to get ahead in the business is to grow a beard. Think about it…
That’s not forgetting directors such as Francis Ford Copolla and the much underrated Kevin Smith (of “Mallrats” and “Jay and Silent Bob” fame).
Some would say that the obvious solution given the evidence would be to throw away my razor and let nature take its furry course, and I would be inclined to agree with you. Unfortunately I have been cursed by the ginger-gene, this shame sadly prevents me from growing that which would provide me true greatness.
PS. Pete, If you’re looking for someone to get your coffee’s while on set, just drop me an email.