Surf Digby

Are we having a sweepstake on when the first riots are?

Guitarist John Sykes, who was at one time a member of Thin Lizzy, Tygers of Pan Tang, and with Whitesnake for their 1987 album, has died at 65 from cancer. Great player, with great hair, and could really pull off a pair of leather trousers.

It did wrap up a little too cleanly. I actually thought they were going to go for a cliffhanger, because there wasn't enough time left in the episode for a big finish. But yes, I'd like a season 2. One where Neel becomes the charismatic scoundrel that all the ladies find irresistible.

Been out on the piss, with all the general stupidity that we got up to, and piled back to a mate's house to wind down. Turn on The Box just as this bastard came on for the first time, plunging the house into uncomfortable silence.

Boba Fett should never be the main character in anything. He should be the guy that when he does appear, you get all excited because things are about to go wild, and after causing all sorts of cool havoc, he just fucks off again. It's sad that with everything that Disney has available to them, they couldn't match Robot Chicken's mini-episode with Bossk.

While shepherds watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground A motorway was opened near and headlights shone around. One of the shepherd's foolish flock (for sheep are rather thick) Did wanted 'cross the motorway, the sight would make you sick. The moral is if you're a sheep that grazes by the road. You either vanish 'neath a car, or learn your green cross code.

I have vivid memories going back to nursery, which would be 1980-81. The staff, while not shouty, were very into humiliation for anyone that didn't meet their expectations. The main targets were Tracy, a girl who would make herself throw up almost every day, another girl (possibly called Helen) who didn't know the entire alphabet, and anyone that took a poo. If any child (and we're talking 4 year olds here) went into a cubicle to take a shit, the staff would loudly announce to the entire building what a terrible thing this was, and then make a big song and dance about emptying half a can of air freshener across the toilet area. This led to several kids preferring to shit themselves and deal with it at home than risk going into the toilets, however they would inevitably get rumbled, and they'd be stripped and sent home in the nursery's spare clothing, which involved a pair of vivid purple trousers with a curly gold buckle on the front. And lo begins a lifetime of feeling inadequate...... Primary school was, I suppose, kind of modern for the time. I mean, a man brought in a computer to show us once. Later the school got their own computer (just the one!), the infamous BBC Micro, and we would play Granny's Garden on it. Teachers were not soft. They liked to shout, and liked to send kids out to stand in the hallway and think about what they'd done. If you were caught spitting, then the standard punishment was to have them stand in the middle of a playground and spit into a margarine pot until it was full, usually with the kid being reminded that it's only a margarine pot, and if it had been Mrs Ward, then they'd be filling a bucket. Being excused to go to the toilet during classtime was a rarity. They would happily watch you squirm until you eventually wet yourself, and then they'd tell you off for that. One thing I was good at from a young age was spelling, One day, because the line for the teacher was long, a girl asked me how to spell "people". The teacher (the aforementioned Mrs Ward) overheard this and went apeshit. The fact that I'd given her the correct spelling wasn't even acknowledged. The top three years at primary school only had a girls toilet in the building. The boys had to go out to the one in the playground, which was probably built in the 1920s along with the school. A big drafty brick outhouse with a high ceiling and corrugated concrete roof. The cubicles were massive, built of that shiny glazed brick, and had big shed style doors on them. Instead of urinals, you pissed against a concrete wall and down into a trough. There was no heating, so during winter you might as well have been outside. They also had that toilet paper that's pre-cut into squares and is more like greaseproof paper. You quickly learned to be in and out of there as fast as you could, because if one of the boys from the top year came in while you were pissing, they'd either grab your shoulders and shake you from side to side, or they'd just shoulder barge you into the wall of piss. At age 9 (September 1985 onwards, and doing a project about space to tie in with the Challenger launch), I actually had a great teacher. Miss Kirk. Note the Miss. She was considerably younger, a lot less shouty, and tried to make class enjoyable. Okay, in hindsight playing us Jake The Peg was a bit iffy, but it was perfectly acceptable at the time. She would read stories about the adventures of a class of whacky schoolkids, and change all the character names to ours. She also had us do a project (I've no idea what it was now) that involved cutting up old Grattan catalogues, which still had the lingerie pages in. Unfortunately, she had a lengthy absence through sickness, and we had some classes covered by Mrs Spears, the headteacher. On one such occasion, I was caught talking during class and had to sit out in the hallway by myself. Halfway through she called me back in to see how I was getting on, and she had me stand at the front of the class while she used a load of fancy long words that I didn't understand to describe what I'd done, and then demanded that I agree with her. Eventually, she sent me back to the hall, after we had both(!) agreed that I'd employed intentional frugality of gumption with my work. On the way past my desk, the two kids I'd been caught talking to asked if I was okay, and offered the opinion that what she'd just done to me "wasn't fair". "She was just making fun of me", I replied, in a voice that I would very shortly learn was not quiet enough. I got hauled back to the front of the class, where she loudly reminded me that she had every right to say whatever she liked about my work, and ranted at me until I cried. Fuck her.

"What do you do if you can't find the loo, in an English country garden. Pull down your pants and piddle on the ants, in an English country garden". We also had "He's got the whole world in his pants" until we got a stern talking to about it. I'm trying to remember Milk Bottle Tops and Paper Bags now. I'm thinking "Iron bedsteads and dirty old rags" as the next line. Was this the one that had "Baby in the carry cot, cat by the stove" at the end of each verse, or am I mixing it with another?

This was my primary schools hymnbook of choice. They were years old and tatty, unless you were one of the lucky few that got one of the new batch where the flowers were in a somewhat psychedelic pink and orange. Alongside the usual Morning Has Broken, and Kum Ba Yah, it also appealed to us boys with 5,4,3,2,1 (a song about astronauts), and When A Knight Won His Spurs. Middle school had this pocket sized marvel: This little wonder enabled me to learn how to sing the chorus to All Things Bright And Beautiful backwards, a skill I've retained to this day.

Are you posting from the future?

I need to just do more. This year feels like it has whizzed by, with nothing much to show for it. Definitely need to get back in shape, as I'm too old and too inactive now to coast along on being "just fit enough" for stuff. I made a good start in summer, but then got hit with a bout of tennis elbow which plays havoc with my grip, so my "I'll leave it a few weeks so it can heal" has turned into "Oh, I appear to have stopped going the to gym altogether". My diet is somewhat less than ideal too, mainly from comfort eating and snacking, which I actually spend a frightening amount of money on. Need to take a bit of responsibility for other areas of health. Too much cancer in family for me to just hope for the best, so I'll treat my prostate to a PSA test. My toes have developed an immunity to every over-the-counter treatment for fungal nail infections, so I'll have to see the doctor to get something stronger. Going to try and get back into writing music. I've hardly done any the last few years, as I've been caught up in the bands I'm playing with (there's probably close to a hundred songs between the four sets). One thing I'm very committed to doing is seeing friends more. I recently got back in contact with one of my best friends from when I was around 10-13 through Facebook, we met up and had a fantastic night. I want to break this trend of where the only time a bunch of us from school get together is when there's a funeral.

Actor Ryan Masson, who I recently saw in the mildly enjoyable sci-fi romp Proximity. I don't think I've ever seen another actor display such a wide range of emotions with just their neck.

Worked until 6pm, grabbed a Cornish pasty and jumped in the car, pegging it to Spondon to bring in the new year with some 70s glam rock for the locals. Normally we grab a Chinese from the takeaway across the square before we go on, but there was no time on this occasion, so had to go at half time, with us still made up like Steve Priest. Got home around 2:45am, got molested by an over-affectionate cat, had a drink and went to bed around 3:30am, only to be woken up at 6:45am by a hyperactive child in a top hat, asking if I wanted to see a magic trick.

It's a very good toasting cheese, which was largely my reason for picking it up. It properly toasts, and doesn't just melt and go rubbery. Goes very well with tomato too. A cheese and tomato sandwich is somehow greater that its simplicity should allow.

Bought a massive block of Red Leicester today. I've not had Red Leicester for a good few years, as I've just been cycling the variations of Cheddar and smoked cheeses.