Insanity to mundanity – All the fun of the Winter Olympics

After 17 days, one death, multiple ice burns, slips, slides, breaks and fractures; the lunacy of the Winter Olympics has come to an end with a huge sigh from doctors and health and safety executives around the world.

And if you missed any of the excitement of the winter games, the below summary should cover anything you’ve missed;

For us Brits (or the majority of) it all seems a bit foreign, yet at the same time exciting and captivating. We don’t know what we’re watching but OMFG they only gone and crashed. It’s like watching 24 hour coverage of Total Wipeout, in which the most insane are rewarded at the end.

Luge – which sounds like a family board game, rather than a throw-yourself-head-first-down-an-enormous-icey-hill game, simply put is insane yet impossible not to watch. At the opposite end of the scale you have Curling. Or speed sweeping. This compared to the relentless pace of Luge is a bit of a comedown. But still equally as enthralling.  The British team consists of four Scotsmen and I still found myself willing them to win (which ultimately they didn’t, lousy Scots).

After watching hours sweeping, pause, pause, screaming, extra sweeping and stone smashing action, i’m still none the wiser. All I have learned is that Paula Radcliffe’s grasp of Curling was worse than my own. Asking her to guest commentate was a bit like asking Kerry Katona to take a seat in dictionary corner. On reflection Curling is essential to the games. In fact, Curling saved my life. If the BBC were to force feed me events such as Luge, Snowboard Cross, Skeleton, Speed Skating and Bobsleigh in one hellacious string I’d either;

A. Find myself in cardiac arrest or B. End my life on the basis that i’ve peaked in terms of excitement.

As it happens I did neither, I just thanked the lord it never snows long enough for someone in Britain to go; this snowman’s boring and sledging well its ok, but thats nothing compared to what my Austrian mate does, get a load of this. Thus starting Britain’s decline, head-first down an icey track to an early grave. Good ol’ British common sense.

but then this happened….

Amy Williams won Britain’s first individual gold since 1980.  More importantly/worryingly (at least to me) was the sport in which she won it. Skeleton. Head-first down an ice-covered sheer slope. Any who makes it down alive should be given a medal, not just those who get down the quickest. I know I’d be content with that. What a horrendous sport to be second-rate at. Going just a little bit slower and thus prolonging your own potential journey to Valhalla. At what point does anyone in their right mind agree to such a sport. It’s called Skeleton – HELLO, HELLO, SKELETON! not super furry kitten ride to marshmallow town. It’d be like renaming football MEGA DEATHBALL and replacing the ball with a constantly ticking bomb. A real life game of hot potato – only the potato burns hotter than the sun. Anyway Amy done good even if her sanity is questionable. Perhaps it’s time to do the sensible thing and retire?

After all this danger and excitement the closing ceremony was well, a bit tame. I expected to see the Canadian Mayor fight a provoked polar bear to the death, not before setting himself a light to do so. Followed by the Canadians, successful mens curling tem,  wrestle the unsuccessful Russian women’s Ice Hockey team. None of that happened though, it was just a lot of flag waving and OH CANADA-ering but then it was done. And we could all breath again.

With four years to prepare myself for the next winter games, it’ll give me time to forget all the before mentioned sports. And the insanity the surrounds the Winter Olympics.

The PM Factor

The great dark lord Simon Cowell has been called upon by Gordon Brown to release a charity single, with the proceeds going to the people of Haiti. On hearing this two questions instantly sprang to mind..

1. At what point did Gordon Brown sweet talk Cowell’s phone number out of him?     

and

2. Wouldn’t it be easier is Cowell were PM?

After briefly imagining GB making a drunken pass at a sheepish Simon Cowell, I moved on to thinking what if Cowell was PM? It’d be brilliant, he could assemble his cabinet through some form of filmed, tedious audition process, in which reluctant members of parliament showcase their talents.

Peter Mandelson takes center stage with his ventriloquist act, in which he manages to talk fluent bullshit with his lips firmly sealed.  Ant and Dec look on from back stage, with the next auditionee, Boris Johnson. His act consist of a stand up routine in which he announces “I’m Boris Johnson, Mayor of London” which is met by a chorus of laughter.  David Cameron transforms himself into ‘The Great Mystorie’ (see what i did there), with his glamorous assistant William Hauge.

None of these characters stand a chance of winning though, none of them have a particularly heart wrenching back story. This is where the double act of Gordon Brown and David Blunkett  come into their own. David hastily steps forward proclaiming he’s “doing it for all the blind and partially sighted people out there.” Which ironically is what cost him his job.

After the auditionees have faced the ultimate humiliation of being judged by the likes of Piers Morgan, the survivors progress to the live finals.  Now it’s the publics job to judge the hopefuls when the phone lines open. On being voted off Nick Clegg will complain that the first past the post system is to blame for his failings. He however doesn’t have to suffer the shame of leaving first, that position goes to Nick Griffin, whose impression of a Nazi is frighteningly too accurate.

Finally a select few would win to form Cowell’s government, with any remaining places filled by his celeb chums. Speaking of celeb chums back to the point at hand, the Haiti charity single. The likes of Subo, Cheryl Cole, Leona Lewis and Alexandra Burke have already agreed to feature on the single.  The song will be a regurgitated version of the REM song ‘Everybody Hurts’ and if anyones capable of making that a success story it’s Cowell. After all he’s managed to make Piers Morgan remotely tolerable.

“Feel-good movie of the year.” (though technically last year)

On the 9th January 2009 Slumdog Millionaire was released in UK cinemas. Eight Oscars and an avalanche of cash (with Danny Boyles name on it) later it is screened on proper tele for us commoners to ogle at.

Now that’s all well and good yipeee for them, but thats not where my beef lies. In fact this has very little to do with the film at all, more the way it has been branded. Many proclaimed it to be “The feel-good movie of the year” and for that reason alone, for my own well-being, I can never watch it.

It may as well carry the tag line if this doesn’t warm your heart, you’re a cold heartless drone, whose bleak and unfortunate life isn’t worth living. Though I feel this may have reduced Danny Boyles heap of cash somewhat. I hate being pressurised to be happy i find it socially awkward and horrendously uncomfortable.

Another example comes December 25th of every year with the visit of annual gift man, which to all you non-pc, fascist, bastards out there, is Santa. When giddily ripping into my presents I’m as happy as a smurf on heat which is to be expected. However once I’ve surpassed the trance-like tearing off paper stage my brain slowly begins to grind again. Oh shit, it thinks as the gift givers or parents as I believe they’re widely known, wait on with bated breath. At that moment in time a may well be genuinely happy, but knowing i have to express this happiness is where the awkwardness lies. 

 This is now a somewhat complex dilemma, it’d be easier for all involved if were given a present by all whom may read this. Then sit and stare at me as I open it, it’s the only way this will ever be understood. My happiness barometer goes through the roof, resulting in me acting like a kids T.V presenter on opium.

The media constantly pressures folk to feel handpicked emotions at certain times. I invariably am one of those that feels the opposite or in being pressured towards an emotion adopt the extreme end of it.

As a result I’ll either be looked in a box in a darkened room and be labeled MISRBLE, find myself in a cell with padded walls or get myself a job on Bluepeter.

Then again I’ll be fucked if they make me do that Christmas shoe box appeal.

And then God said: “Let there be Blog.” and he saw that it was good.

This is my 10 commandments of blog. Naturally I seem to have adopted a heavily religious tone, which is fitting as I am deeply unreligious.  My relationship with God goes as far as saying his name when cold water comes out of the hot tap (GOD!), and I’m as close to jesus as Pete Doherty is to his own sanity. Anywho onwards with what can be expected. Ahem.

1.  Thou shalt not covet thy neighbours Ox- Unless of course it’s the dead of night, you’re drunk and the Ox seems willing.

2. Thou shall aim to make ones blog remain topical, sometimes.

3. Thou shall not turn into Adrian Mole and dedicate my blog to my many teenage grumblings about having spots, getting rid of spots and that time in between where you think you might have a spot but you’re not sure until you try burst it.

4. Honour your right to remain opinionated.

5. Thou shall not steal…material (leading to 6).

6. Thou shall remain original, witty, and gay.

7. Thou shall re-read several times to make sure as much offense is avoided/caused.

8. The Biblical tone is one which is hard to maintain, use it but only once.

9. Expect the ultimate pessimism seen of a weak bladdered man in a pub. Glass half empty, Bladder half full.

10. Answers to the tenth commandment on a postcard please. Send it to the usual address. Bluepeter or sumink I suppose, they’re generally a helpful bunch.

A somewhat more substantial and more focused effort will follow eventually and no doubt delight all who gaze upon it, like a chocolate sculpture of Simon Cowell being wedgied.

This is my first time. Be gentle.