Bank Crisis

There isn't a lot to add to this clip. It made me chuckle. There isn't much English TV that I watch here, but I watch Stephen Colbert every now and then on the internet and it is always funny.



It's almost as funny as the Happening, which I watched this week and found pretty hilarious. Apparently plants can talk to each other - it's been proven. And they can control their evolution. I won't say too much about it since Johnny said it so much better than I ever could already on here. All I say is to echo Mark Kermode and ask, what is making the wind blow?

Anyway, its Red Nose Day here in Finland so I'll get back to watching the Naked Clown.

Matthew Gibson: Still providing laughter from the other side of Europe

I am always pleased to hear that I am funny. Occasionally it is because of some pithy remark of mine. Unfortunately it seems that there are significantly many other occasions when people decide that I am funny because of my appearance. That's fair enough in a way - laugh at a man because of the clothes he choses to wear.

I think that it's a bit low on the other hand to be wiping tears of joy from your eyes laughing at 20 year old photos and videos. It's even more vicious to show said photos and videos to people being introduced to the family who know that particular person and will find them hilarious and attempt to distribute them among his other friends. And when that man (the one in the photos - keep up) isn't even living in the country and is unable to defend himself, well that's a disgrace.

And while I would do exactly the same thing if I got hold of any photos of Ben as a child, that's not the point - I don't have any so it is not fair to show him pictures of me. It is a completely different situation and if the photos were of anybody else it would be fine. But they're not, they're pictures of me, and as such it's just cruel.

I think that it's time that I redress the balance and so include here a photo of me at a fancy meal in my finery looking great among the type of surroundings to which I belong.



Incedentally, although the cake was excellent (and thanks even 20 years later to Lynn for making it) it did turn my shit green for a week. In my mind, that's what you eat cake for. What good cake doesn't turn your insides green?
And no, I wasn't drinking that Martini you can see on the table - my whisky was out of sight for this photo.

While 1000 birds circle overhead in the brooding red sky...

I'm getting back moving tonight. I will be playing Badminton tonight at Tampere Arena. I think that sounds quite extreme - like I would be playing in front of 15000 people. This actually happened to a guy I used to know, or so he claims. He was struggling to find a badminton court and found out that Manchester Veledrome sets up a few courts while there aren't any cycle races on. He turned up to discover that there were both badminton courts and cycle races. Unperterbed, they started playing. Unfortunately not a lot was happening was in the races and the crowd's attention was drawn to the action on the badminton courts. They chose their favourites and started cheering the results. The players were especially happy to get a round of applause after a particularly long ralley. Of course, he told me all this about ten years ago and I got the feeling then that he was stretching the story a little bit and I think that some of the details have been fixed wrongly in my head. I think that it's a nice story though. All the same, I expect that anybody watching me play my first badminton game in nearly 10 years will be sorely disapointed at the skills on display.

But winter is coming and I need to get moving before the extreme cold comes. Currently it's about +5 but Ulriikka doesn't think that it's winter coat cold. She thinks it's even too early to wear my fancy new wooly winter boots. I mean for me to wear my furry winter boots. Not her.

Incidentally, has anybody heard the results of the US presidential elections? The world media seems strangely quiet on the outcome. I assume that Mike Huckabee won.

Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Blow Me

This week I'd like to salute Lord Bono of U2 for his sterling humanitarian charity work. For years and years, Bono has been banging on about the injustices of the world, and I suppose he's really only won me round this week with his latest bout of conscience-prodding. I'm referring of course to the leaked Facebook photos of him frolicking around with two 19-year old hotties. Talk about being 'Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of'.










Now, knowing Saint Bono, there's got be a good reason for all this. Maybe the bikini's themselves are the source of the issue. Perhaps 1% of their proceeds will go to solving some world crisis and Bono is testing a new advertising campaign for it - "Drop your knickers" rather than "Drop The Debt", or something.

Maybe the 2 girls are orphans, Bono is acting as an über-father figure and they just happen to be 19-year old 'hardbodies' (to quote the oft-unquoted Patrick Bateman). If this is true, and His Royal Bono-ness is merely taking the 2 poor things under his wing (in St. Tropez, as they sit on his knee) then surely he should be honoured for his altruistic behaviour. He even looks like he's praying in this one:










Bono has always been against the onslaught of Aids. The U2 song 'One' is rumoured to be about Aids, and a few years ago he was spokesman for that stupid red mobile where a tiny fraction of the proceeds went to Aids victims. So, maybe these photos are his special way of warning today's teens from the dangers of the HIV - 'do as I say and not as I do' and all that.

Still, he's totally my hero now. I'm just dissapointed that the rest of the band aren't in the photo. We could have had the drummer and the bass player standing in the background looking moody while another bikini-clad girl squats on top of The Edge's big bald head.

Instead, we get professional Bono-hanger-on Simon Carmody mugging the background. His pose seems to have been taken from a Carry On film - as though he is saying "Not arf..." or "Ooo Matron" - which lends the photo a certain comedic quality.

Bono's exploits will probably soon be followed by his underling and general-all-round Bono-wannabe Chris Martin. Perhaps, the Coldplay singer will take Bono's lead and warn against the perils of sex also. He could be a bit more specific and present a series of videos warning against the dangers of Golden Showers and Watersports - all set to one of the band's biggest songs:














"...and they were all yellow...".

There's Gonna Be Some Rockin'

I went to see Mamma-Mia (somehow I feel like I'm at some sort of alcohlics meeting: "My name is Matthew and I went to see Mamma-Mia"). I would say that it was one of the worst films I've seen in a long time. The story was bad, the acting was bad and the singing was truly awful - although Pierce Brosnan singing SOS has to be seen, or rather heard, to be believed. Somehow though, I actually enjoyed the film.

By way of atoning for watching Mamma-Mia or perhaps just to get the damn songs out of my head, I've been listening to AC/DC a bit more than usual. I find that nothing chases Chiquita out of your mind quite like Big Balls or Whole Lotta Rosie. But AC/DC are about a bit more than usual anyway. I hear that they are number one in the UK which is a surprise. But I guess that they have just been around long enough to get respectable. As John Huston says in Chinatown "Politicians, ugly buildings, and whores all get respectable if they last long enough".

But the combination of Mamma-Mia and AC/DC mixing in my head gives me ideas and I have been thinking of the songs for my Broadway musical "There's Gonna be Some Rockin". We are intorduced to our hero as he sings "Problem Child". He gets mixed up with gangs ("Riff Raff") and we see the gangs getting into fights ("If you Want Blood (you got it)". But he meets a woman ("Girls Got Rhythm") and gives her some sweet talk ("Let me put my love into you") before falling in love with her ("Love at First Feel", "Whole Lotta Rosie"). He decides to turn his back on gangs and join a rock and roll band which gives the opportunity to pick any from about 250 songs about being in a rock and roll band that AC/DC have written. But lets go for "Highway to Hell", "Rock and Roll Ain't Noise Pollution" (after a neighbour complains about the noise) and, when his mum says she doesn't understand rock and roll, "Let There be Rock". He goes off on tour ("Its a Long Way to the Top") and comes back to town, which is called Black so he sings "Back in Black". Then they sing "Sin City" for no understandable reason. They have some relationship problems and split up for a while ("Beating Around the Bush"). Finally, he marries Rosie and they sing "You Shook Me All Night Long" together as the final ballad. It writes itself really, I just need to find a way to shoe-horn "For Those About to Rock" in there somehow.

Corry On Regardless

Speaking of feeling homesick, I must admit that I'm not. I keep catching the odd glimpse of Corry on the TV and for a second, I feel a pang of homesickness. And then, just as I'm replaying my youth in my head, using that Warburtons bread / cobbled road / boy on bicycle advert as the setting, I suddenly remember all the reasons I have enjoyed not living in the UK since February.

I've been very, very far away from the following:

• Inane reality-TV shows (Britain's Got Talent, Big Brother, X-Factor, I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here)
• Bad weather
• Chavs
• Rude people
• Violent crime rates
• Chris Moyles on Radio 1
• Saturday night prime-time television (anything involving Ant & Dec or the eternally pregnant/annoying Davina McCall)
• A radio network where the only choices are the BBC or commercial dance stations (with all stations tied to a playlist of 10 songs which revolve all day as if on a child's jukebox)
• Toffs
• Over-population
• Pidgeons
• Grime

I could probably list more, but I'm depressing myself.

Now this isn't to say that New Zealand is a paradise. It's pretty close, but it has its faults too. There is a general level of unsophistication over here which leads me to believe the country was colonised by philistines. The New Zealand Dollar is weak against what seems like almost every other currency in the world, which takes some getting used to - especially coming from somewhere like the UK where the Pound is so strong. There is no well-established public-transport network, so you have to rely on your car all the time (which is a problem when you fancy a pint after work).

But I suppose, whenever I think of how bad the UK can be, I always end up thinking of what was probably one of the worst weekends of my life. In May a few years ago, we went on a last-minute camping trip in North Wales on a Bank Holiday Weekend. Now I didn't really know what to expect, as I'd never been camping before other than at music festivals. I wish I had kept it that way - as our weekend was completely ruined by white-trash families playing Tony Christie's (Is This The Way To) Amarillo repeatedly, at full volume, from their cars. This was just after Peter Kay had re-released the song for Comic Relief. When the song would stop, somebody would walk over to the car and start it again. And again. And again. And again. This happened from around 2pm until midnight, and then again the following morning. Needless to say, we left around lunchtime the following day.

These days, with summer fast approaching, the opportunity to go down to the beach after work or at the weekend is very real. Golden sand, turquoise water and not a Tony Christie song in earshot.

Just in case I was starting to feel homesick

Manchester seems quite far away. I was dreaming about bacon butties at the weekend. I haven't managed to find proper bacon here, only the thin American style crispy bacon rashers. So I guess that's the first thing to kick in that I'm missing. Because even if I could get the right bacon, I wouldn't get the right bread - medium cut Warbutons (although Rathbone's would do in an emergency).

However, one thing that I'm not missing especially is the weather. As I write this, I can see out of my window and am able to contemplate this view:



They don't call Tampere the Manchester of Finland for nothing I suppose. But it does mean that whatever I might be missing about Manchester, I still get to experience horizontal rain spitting in your face at 100 mph, rivers of rain running along the side of the street, the lunge backwards as you realise the bus is just about to plough through the puddle in front of you. And, just for one moment, I'm back at home. I desparately try to keep the hood of my coat covering my whole head, but the best I can do still leaves my forehead exposed and my face completely wet. Whilst I wrestle with my coat, a man walks by holding the last shreds of his broken umbrella keeping about 2 square inches of himself dry. I give up and let the rain just wet me to the bone. I'm starting to feel at home here.