Discussing the possible move of top cricketers like Kevin Pietersen to the Indian Premier League (where they’d earn a lot more money but possibly forfeit the right to play for their country), a players’ agent observed -

“Pietersen and the others have a real dilemma, but for the moment, they’ve nailed their colours to the England cross“.

Now I sort-of know where he’s coming from - following England in any sport can be a bit like an ongoing crucifixion - but ultimately, I have little sympathy with the cricketers: we all have our mast to bear.

I’ll spare you all my by-now-traditional “what the fuck is Easter about?” rant this year: instead, a short post and a poll asking (more or less) “what the fuck is the timing of Easter about?”

It’s only been a couple of weeks since Christmas, it’s going to be fucking freezing this weekend and what should be a lamb-bleatin’ car-bootin’ t-shirt-wearin’ pimms-tastic start to summer is instead going to be spent largely under duvets working off “nothing better to do yesterday than sink that second bottle of wine”-style hangovers. But why? As Judas said to Pilate, I’ll let you deicide… (geddit?)

A big hullabaloo today in the UK media today as the Daily Express and the Daily Star publish front-page apologies to the McCann family and pay “substantial” damages (rumoured to be in the region of £550,000) toward the “Find Madeleine” Fund. BBC Radio 5 Live are this morning running a phone-in, asking the question “Is this the Kick up the Backside the Papers Need?”. A couple of points:

1) £550,000? Substantial? These scumbags have been leeching off the story for nearly a year now, using every kind of meaningless rumour on their front pages, every day, as if it were fact, in order to sell more of their shit-rag to thick scrubbers and builders. They’ve made “substantially” more than £550,000 from their mountains of horse-shit.

2) What about everyone else the papers have lied about? Will Robert Borat - sorry, Murat - get £550,000 if he’s found to be completely innocent? Will they set up a trust fund for “swarthy men“? And what about the thousands of other people (the ones who can’t afford to threaten the papers with court action) who have been negatively affected by these papers publishing outright untruths in other stories over the years?

Far from the quick out-of-court settlement being any kind of “noble gesture”, I’d say quite the opposite; that it’s an incredibly cynical attempt by the Express / Star group to get away with paying out as little as possible whilst pretending contrition in order to attempt a whitewash of the black souls of their horrible, horrible newspapers. And far from being a kick up the backside, it’s yet another light slap on the wrist for their horrible, horrible owners.

I’m fast starting to get scowls from the residents of Park Road; not because I’m the only single bloke in a street full of families and old people, but because I haven’t yet successfully downsized my aural parameters. I moved here in August last year from a big detached house in which I could shout at the TV to my heart’s content (as I regularly do) and be barely audible in the next room. Park Road, however, is a tiny terraced cottage with fairly thin walls and two young families living on either side, and so obviously… well, let me give you a couple of recent examples of my misdeeds:

Yesterday, in a hair-metal-tastic nostalgic mood, I listened to all of “Appetite for Destruction”, and, as you do, spent the rest of the day wandering around the house singing songs from that mighty work (and any other tracks that came into my head) in a comically exaggerated Axl Rose high-pitched nasal voice. Later on in the shower, I even tried a few G’n'R numbers using the classic comedy Bob Dylan singing intonation (a lower nasal voice, rising and lengthening at the end of the phraaaaase), chuckling to myself as I did so, and thinking myself cocooned in my buffoonery by bricks and mortar.

So this morning, I go out to collect the bins (the contents of which had been handily strewn across the street by Shepway District Council at an approximate weekly cost of £23.07 a pop in Council Tax - but I digress), and I run into the pretty housewife who lives next door. “So, do you prefer the Bob Dylan or Guns ‘n’ Roses version of “Knocking On Heaven’s Door?”, she asks, raising her eyebrows. A quick meaningless bluster and a marked face-reddening later, I had scooted back indoors to take the shame.

This is hot on the heels of Chez (who was down for an excellent weekend of japes) and I enjoying a half-hour post-pub pissing-around-session with the effects box on my electric guitar at 2am on Sunday morning. We turned the amp on again the next day to check the volume and both spontaneoulsy shouted “Sorreeeee!”at the wall…

My sympathies to anyone who listened to or watched the budget speech today; I feel your pain. With my incorproated small business hat on, I listened anxiously awaiting news of any meddling New Labour fiscal reform which might impinge upon my hard-won entrepreneurial liberties (which consist chiefly of not paying much tax) - but by the end I was so bored that I would have gladly volunteered to pay Labour’s 1970s top rate of 98% if it would make Alistair Darling stop.

On the other hand, I’ve recently cut down drastically on drinking and as a result have had quite a bit of trouble getting to sleep - in that sense, the budget speech came just at the right time. Even if Darling does nothing else for me this year, at least he’s saved me a few quid on Natracalm.

A most unedifying aural experience on Friday, when Radio 5 Live had a phone-in about the prospect of a referendum on the new European Treaty. At the start of the programme - and throughout - the presenter kept asking for opinions based specifically on the treaty: what people knew about it, whether anyone had read it, how they thought it compared to the failed constitution, and why it might or might not merit a referendum. The answers from the general public were along the lines of:

- “Eeeeh, I don’t trust that Gordon Brown”
- “Since when did we live in a democracy?”
- “My taxes pay for paedophiles and immigrants”
- “It’s all spin-doctors these days”
- “It’s political correctness gone MAAAAD!”
- “I don’t like darkies”

Whatever is the truth about treaty itself (and I don’t doubt that it’s partly designed to sneak in many functional parts of the old constitution), the government and Westminster as a whole must not give in to ranters like the obviously-highbrow “I Want a Referendum” campaign. If there is a referendum, it’ll be about anything but the treaty; it’ll just be an open invitation for the right-wing press to encourage a “no” vote based on Middle England’s ignorant antipathy to Europe in general, but also to Gordon Brown / the political status quo / spin doctors / taxation policy / political correctness / darkies (etc).

Lukewarm on the heels of the Brits, it’s the music award that’s gripping the imagination of the nation! Laydeez and gentlemen, I give you the First Annual Award for a Country Whose Name (in French if Necessary) Sounds A Bit Like A James Brown Song (Or Vice-Versa).

In reverse order:

6. Living in America (duh.)
5. The Pay-Bas
4. Cold Suède
3. This is Oman’s World
2. Belize Belize Belize

and (da-da-da-da-da-da-DAAAAH!)

1. Papua’s got a brand New Guinea

Any readers etc….

Apologies for being crap over the last week; a combination of floor-sanding sawdust and paint fumes appears to have clogged up and curdled my creative juices. It’s not just flights in the blogoplane which are crash-landing; my reticence extends to a couple of thus-far feeble attempts to write a profile for myself on The Guardian’s “Soulmates” dating site (yes, ladies, I’m finally sort-of-resolved at making an effort at shelf-evacuation - so if any of you long-term crushes want to make your move, now’s the… hang on, tumbleweed isn’t native to Kent, is it?)

All I’ve managed so far is something along the lines of “I’m a really interesting person, honest, but don’t really have time to write a profile at the moment. Please check back later!” - penned about nine months ago. They only want 200 words, not “War and Peace”, but everything else I attempt either makes me sound like a floppy-haired sois-disant-intellectual ponce, or else is INCREDIBLY unimaginitive along the lines of “I love going out to restaurants, but am equally happy in front of a DVD with a bottle of wine”. Any help gratefully received.

(NB - Chez, I’ve already resolved to shamelessly steal your “Could you be the one, or will you end up under the patio with all the others?” line…)