Right, so I was bored earlier in the week and was just Stumbling around the internet like usual, when I chanced upon an article about some security workers being forced to remove an inch-by-inch Union Jack from their sleeve worn in support of our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan, because their superiors said it could be construed as offensive. Thats right, offensive.

I was flabbergasted. So flabbergasted in fact that I actually used the word flabberghasted, which never happens.

This is by no means an isolated incident. During major football tournaments people bring out the cross of St George, and incidents have arised where 'perpatrators' have been asked to removed them or cover them from view. @!"%!$^!

We must be the only country in the world to find our own flag to be offensive. Though the glory days are long gone, I still feel proud to be British, but this was hard to swallow. I'm trying hard to avoid the the R-word, but I'm fairly sure that the influx of nationalistic and devout muslims immigrating from the east are the root of this travesty and loss of British identity. However, this perhaps is only a contributor and not the main cause, which I would blame on our saturatedly polictially-correct society which says all peoples beliefs should be held equal, which is fair enough, but people are so afraid of causing offense to minorites that they would rather offend the majority. This is something that we have grown immune to and is seen as standard practice; thus British identity is left by the wayside in favour of other groups. Thank God British music is still going strong.

Speaking of British music, one of the posters on the aformentioned article posted a youtube link which neatly summarised my feelings, to the tune of the Kinks' Living on a Thin Line.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IIzNmLDvb8

Several months late, heres blog 5!

Right, so last weeks Electronic Entertainment Expo, otherwise known as E3, gave us an insight into the future of gaming, namely motion control, as pioneered so successfully by the Nintendo Wii. However I say "fuck you!" to Microsoft's Project Natal and the more rubbish PS3 version, some of us like using boring old school controllers! The idea of waving my limbs around in the living room and talking at the TV and no doubt sub-consciously making accompanying sound effects somehow doesnt appeal, especially when other people are there too, silently judging...

"The tyres are toast, go to the pits!", "Alright, I'm going in!"

Admittedly the concept does seem pretty cool and I'm sure it will be put to better and less...sad? lame? gay? use than as seen in this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oACt9R9z37U . Could they have found worse actors if they tried? And noone smiles that much. NO ONE. Frankly the whole family involvement thing they've got going on is going to work in only about 0.02% of families.

The PS3 one can be seen here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiX-26VL4bM . On second thoughts I've decided the Ps3 one is better, not least because its less annoyingly american, and also because it was a live presentation.

Right, so for English I had to find a hole in 1984 and elaborate on it; I chose to centre it on Mr. Charrington, the antique shop owner. To make it more authentic i lifted some conversation and actions and characters straight from the text.

Daniels allowed himself a wry smile at the irony of it all. It was only when he had undergone the transformation into Mr Charrington, aged antique-shop owner and relic of a bygone era that he was free to be himself. His smile faded as he remembered his purpose. 6079 Smith W had broken every code imposed by Big Brother – he had committed thoughtcrime, sexcrime and harboured desires to overthrow the Party – the only reason he hadn’t been taken in already was his value to the Thought Police. Minds as free as Winston’s were rare and offered a way of honing the Thoughthear, the device used by the Thought Police to hear people’s thoughts.
At the back of Mr. Charrington’s dusty old shop was a door, and behind that door was a room quite out of character from its antiquated surroundings. A bank of screens displaying feeds of the various telescreens trained on, among others, Winston Smith was fitted to a wall. Although the screens were numerous, it was in fact just one small section of a much larger organisation which scrutinised the thoughts and actions of those deemed to be threats to the Party. The whole contraption sickened Daniels to the pit of his stomach.

At present, Winston was in Victory Square, waiting for Julia. Winston had positioned himself sufficiently far from nearby telescreens to avoid being in their audible range, however, to rely on telescreens would be folly; they were an imperfect technology. Daniels had wired-up several informants to merge into the thronging crowd and co-ordinate passes past Winston, allowing the conversation to be heard more-or-less uninterrupted.
The convoy of trucks carrying the Eurasian prisoners began to make their way through the square and the din of the crowd increased. The first informer moved into position. He was an obnoxiously fat man, with an equally obnoxiously fat wife.
“Get closer, Rhys,” Daniels said into his mouth-piece. “We need every word.” Rhys moved towards Julia, forcing Winston to shoulder his way between Rhys and his wife, the hidden mic relaying a sequence of muffled pops as it rubbed against the inside of Rhys’ jacket.
“Can you hear me?” said Julia.
“Yes.” Winston.
“Can you get Sunday off?” Daniels had a day.
“Yes.” A shift in the crowd separated Winston and Julia from Rhys, and the second informant swiftly moved in. He was a tall thin man, and was giving the prisoners hell, loudly and vociferously.
“Contain yourself, we need to hear them!” barked Daniels down the line. A surge in the crowd swept the informant close to Julia. The exchange between the two was brief, and inwardly Daniels was impressed at the lengths they were prepared to go to escape the watchfulness of the Party as Julia outlined the route.
“You turn left, then right, then left again. And the gates got no top bar.” said Julia.
“Yes. What time?” Winston replied.
“About fifteen.” That was all Daniels needed. He logged the audio and began preparations for the next meeting.


Winston’s time was up. He and Julia were in the room above Charrington’s shop. The Thought Police taskforce was ready. It was just a matter of timing.
“And by the way, while we are on the subject, ‘Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head!”’ Daniels said to Winston, via the telescreen. A crash sounded above him – that was the taskforce bursting through the window. Another squad came in through the door, who Daniels – and it was Daniels and not Mr. Charrington – followed up the stairs. It was a sorry scene which he entered into. Julia was writhing on the floor beside the smashed remains of the coral, all the while Winston stood stock-still, unable to react, though his eyes widened when he recognised
Daniels.
Daniels looked Winston full in the face, but was forced to look away. He was sickened at the destruction to he had wrought on Winston’s life, though he let no hint appear on his face. The Party well knew it could not be overthrown, so where lay the harm in letting one man conduct his futile resistance?

10 Reasons Why Xbox Owners Made the Wrong Decision

10 Reasons Why Xbox Owners Made the Wrong Decision:

1)Killzone 2
2)Killzone 2
3)Killzone 2
4)Killzone 2
5)Killzone 2
6)Killzone 2
7)Killzone 2
8)Killzone 2
9)Killzone 2
10)Killzone 2

Silver Spoons and Broken Bones - The Stone Gods

The Darkness were something of a Marmite band: you either love 'em or hate 'em. People that leant more towards the 'hate them' side were usually because they couldn't stand Justin Hawkins' ear-splitting castrato and questionable dress-sense. Thus, I present to you the Stone Gods, made up of the remaining Darkness members following Justin's departure, and they are everything that you would expect 3/4 of the Darkness to sound like.

Bassist Richie Edwards has moved centre stage and taken on as the vocalist, and he is everything that Justin wasn't. His voice is deeper and raspier, think Rod Stewart during his rockier moments. Edwards knows how to summarise his feeling in a few short words, for example in lead single Knight of the Living Dead he succinctly expresses his feeling towards a lady friend: 'Fuck! You! You Liaaar!'

The Stone Gods style is a throwback to late-70s hard rock and though perhaps somewhat out of fashion it is refreshing to hear a band strip back the sound and belt out some land-fill indie obliterating riffage. There ain't no pussy shit here - the Stone Gods know how to rock like only the British know.

SSABB is at its best when the riffs and solos are flying, but the band pulls off the quieter moments with aplomb too. Magdalen Street is a predominantly accoustic strummy song about a prostitute with a heart of gold and is suited far better by Edwards' gravelly rough sounding voice.

Anyone dissapointed by the break up of the Darkness or simply looking for an alternative to the boring indie clogging the airwaves need look no further

4.5/5

The First One and the Dark Knight

Whey, my first blog, and it only took an hour trying to find a URL that wasn't taken.

So, to start, three reasons why the Dark Knight is overrated:

1. The characters suck. Did anyone care when Rachel died? No, she was a whiney bitch.
2. The plot made no sense. So let me get this straight, everything that the joker did up to blowing the guy up with the mobile was orchestrated by him? That guy has some seriously good foreward planning.
3. The bat-bike sucked hugely. Despite Mr. Nolans best effort to disguise it, it was patently obvious that it had a top speed of 30mph and basically couldn't turn.

Disclaimer: I said it was overrated not bad, it still gets a 4.5/5 from me, I just think its not the like, totally the best mover everrr.