Frankie Crisp

Blur: To The End Obviously, you’ll only like this if you’re a fan of Blur, but my word this is gorgeous. Watching a load of middle-aged men get back together for a new album and long-awaited Wembley gigs could have gone off a cliff, but this is really well produced and dips in and out of their near 40-year relationship. Each band member exposes their own frailties and anxieties making them very endearing, and even the big Tory cheese nonce comes across alright. I worry that he and Albarn aren’t long for this world given their vices and apparent mental health issues, but this is such a good watch to see them get back together, bang out a brilliant album and fulfil a dream of playing the big one. Very emotional in parts and the end of it suggests it is the end. One of the best music documentaries I’ve seen.

John Mayall, aged 90. He’ll be eulogised in plenty of music outlets in the coming days and rightly so. Massively important to the British Blues scene.

Absolutely incredible soul power.

The Last Breath (2024) Shark film! It’s so shit. Really shit. But that’s true of 95% of shark films, so I always adjust my radar when rating them. I enjoyed it. “What was that? A Dolphin?” ”A Barracuda?” Yeah, because they’re the same size, aren’t they? Definitely watch Under Paris if you want to finally watch a recent, brilliant shark film, but if you want mind-numbing nonsense that’s somehow engaging, this is your boy. Plus, it was co-written by Nick Saltrese who chipped in on Brookside and featured Julian Sands, who is great but also dead. 3.5 stars. Twisters (2024) Brilliant! Exactly what I expected and then some. Just predictable, daft fun. It throws in the usual romance subplot but if you want to turn your brain off for a bit then this is for you. The smug bloke from Top Gun 2 is somehow even more smug at the start, but it works well. It was also great to see Maura Tierney at nearly sixty, stealing her scenes and not having her face pumped full of shite. Knock on the Cabin (2023) Weird. It was good and well paced, but big Dave looked like his face had slept in a carrier bag in Alicante and the two protagonists were very unlikable; the young girl was very good. It was like something produced by WWE when they saw Kane as an actor. Decent enough, wouldn’t watch it again. A Quiet Place: Day One (2024) Film of the year so far, for me. Watched it the other week, and we loved it. My heart was banging out of my chest but that may have been to do with the cat. I don’t want to put any spoilers in here, but oh my god the cat. I was cautious going into it as there was no Krasinski or Blunt, but the staging of it and the characters’ interaction as it went on was brilliant. Very, very good. Because of the cat.

To be honest, I meant to post in this thread when it was first created because I’m a walking crap sitcom when it comes to making a fool of myself. Once I get round to sorting that census out, I’ll jot down more of my calamitous experiences so you can all wonder how I make it through a day.

A woman on the first row whose birthday I knew it was. The look she gave me when I started…

I’m on this bastard Benidorm holiday and tonight’s entertainment involved a music quiz, with a bottle of shit fizz as the prize. We won, my mates sent me up to get the knock-off bubbly and as I did so, two other obvious plants ran to the stage to say they’d also won. Cue me getting dragged on stage for a decider. Asked if I wanted to sing or dance to determine the winner, I opted for the former because fuck trying to dance in front of 400 middle-aged white/pink, pissed up fellow idiots. The lad next to me was clearly a seasoned pro or at the least, a perennial karaoke champ. Tore the place down with his Neil Diamond turn. The mic was then passed to me and if I have to describe how bad my singing voice is, I’d liken it to my chat-up lines back in the day. Excruciating. My arse went and I just started singing Happy Birthday. This was about five hours ago and I still can’t shake it off me.

I’m seeing him in a few months! He’s utterly brilliant; one of the few artists that have caught me off guard when I first heard them. Here’s Mint Car, so I add to the thread. I’ve probably shared it before but who’s arsed?

After getting roped into booking Benidorm the other week, my missus mentioned where she got her microfibre towel from so I could buy one for the trip. She also mentioned that you can get them customised. Drunk a few days ago, recalling the conversation and knowing I’m going away with one of the Brookside boys, I fucking ordered this which arrived today. JFC, indeed.

I’m frigged on Sunday. I’ve watched very little of this tournament and hoped to keep it that way. My main focus has been the Copa America, because, you know, standards and quality and big fights and all that. Anyway, my mates called my bluff about a weekend away back in May and I thought the only consequence would be pink arms and consecutive hangovers, but now I’m going to be in Benidorm for the final. I can either side with the Spaniards as I want to - but not be believed by the locals and end up covered in Paella and bruises - or I can cheer on my amigos in an English-sided boozer and get my head kicked in by Lee, Gary and the usual morons. I might just go full-on Jay Slater to avoid the whole debacle.

Sorry, Chest. Post the goals you love the most but with obvious conditions; one each a day and you can’t post your own team otherwise this’ll just be Bacon posting Harry Kane. Any league, any era. I’ll start.

Because the world is a burning pile of pubes - and to save me from dropping Jimmy into every thread - this is one to flag lunacy and frustration as and when it happens. Dickhead behaviour, nonsensical news stories, interactions you can’t handle, ridiculous experiences; they all count. If it makes you JFC, it’s in. My latest one is trying to book a hotel in London for one night. One night. I want a bed and a good bathroom. This time last year, I was paying no more than ninety quid for a night. My first search results today? One night! Jesus fucking Christ. We could probably include the behaviour of a good chunk of the nation since The Queen snuffed it in this, but let’s start with a line in the sand. If it makes you Jimmy, add it.

Something needs to break the Chippy Tea monopoly on here. So share and rate your big, heart-attack inducing fry-ups as and when you have one. I had a delicious one the other day (Café No. 33 in Norwich), but I was uneasy about it not floating in its own fat, so it only gets a 7 from me. Bacon and sausage hidden underneath the toast. Don’t do the Partridge thing. Too easy.