Sweet Nothings

Wrestling is a funny old thing. I can never satisfactorily explain why I enjoy watching it, beyond a few lame-sounding lines about male soap operas, the primal (male) love of combat, etc. The Wrestler isn't going to change anybody's minds about the sport (or "sports entertainment", or whatever), especially after the genuinely gut-churning hardcore bout involving glass, barbed wire and a staple gun. However, the film is far more concerned with universal themes of fear of getting old, and the struggle to find one's place in the world, and Marisa Tomei's single-mom stripper is just as important to its success. The role of ageing fuck-up Randy "the Ram" really does fit Rourke like a glove and an Oscar win would be well deserved. Ultimately the story is fairly generic, the sub-plot involving Randy's daughter being especially predictable, but as a wrestling fan I can attest that this film has been made with care and attention to detail, and as a viewe

The BBC’s coverage of the Masters snooker this week is happening without one of its most recognisable voices. The decision to dispense of Clive Everton’s services is the latest in a long line of such moves by the Beeb, who have now got rid of nearly all of their long-serving commentators. Bosses insist that age has not been a factor in their decisions, but there is a general televisual drive towards pushing younger, supposedly more dynamic personalities into the foreground and your Bruce Forsythes and Peter Allisses are very much the exceptions that prove the rule. In sporting terms, the modern trend is to appoint famous former stars to replace the veterans who’ve been forced into retirement. There have undeniably been successes on this front, Sam Torrance, Steve Cram and Andy Jamieson to name a few BBC examples. But equally there are those that confirm the belief, which applies to commentators and pundits/trackside interviewers alike, that just because you’re famous for excelling at a

I slagged off the Mail in my last post and with very good reason, but just to show that I'm not a complete limp-wristed wet liberal, I'm going to have a go at Simon Hoggart and his diary piece in today's Grauniad. I quote [comments added in square brackets]: In fact, the market for recycled paper has collapsed, so there's no point in sorting that [okay...], and that glass is mainly used for road beds, since it is hard but permeable. No point in recycling that anyway: there is no world shortage of sand. [Good grief, where do you start with this? No, there is lots of sand. There is also lots of glass that gets buried in landfill when it could quite easily be recycled, thus reducing the need for more landfill space.] Most household rubbish around the country still goes into landfill anyway. [True, but that doesn't mean you have to add to it.] Like so much associated with the green movement, this procedure has a religious quality. It even takes as long as the average ch

Take a look at this: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1107290/Revolt-Robbed-right-buy-traditional-light-bulbs-millions-clearing-shelves-supplies.html "Millions of Britons are finally waking up to the fact that their beloved light bulb will disappear for good after 120 years", indeed. I'm not very good at jokes, but if I were to ask "How many Daily Mail readers does it take to change a lightbulb?" then the punchline might be something like "Change? Never! Them European bureaucrats can take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!" What in the name of sanity is going on? Somebody on the Popbitch messageboard said it best - in 1889 the Mail's headline would have read "Millions of Britons are finally waking up to the fact that their beloved gas lighting will disappear for good after 120 years." It's not just the Mail though, there was an item on BBC Breakfast this morning full of people complaining that the new eco-friend