grumpyf1

(A sequel, for my friend and Niecelet Rebecca) It was a normal day aboard the pirate ship. Assorted ruffians and hornswagglers were wandering around on deck in the sunshine, trying to look tough. It had been several weeks since the lookout pirate in the crow’s nest had shouted “Land-hooooooo!” and got everyone excited, before admitting it was actually a bit of fluff on his telescope lens, and not land at all. After he’d recovered from being thrown overboard, he had spent the last week sulking in the crow’s nest, occasionally throwing weevil-infested ship’s biscuits at the angry pirates below. Red Becca stood at the very bow of the ship, one foot resting on a barrel, staring thoughtfully into the distance. A strange, clomping sound of one boot, and a piece of wood, alternating on the deck behind her, alerted her to the approach of the ship’s rather hopeless captain. “Hello, Bumchin.” Said Red, without looking over her shoulder. “Yargh!” Replied the startled pirate. “How’d ye

If you don’t like Doctor Who, then there’s something seriously wrong with you. Maybe you should see a Doctor. Unless you’ve been caught in some kind of temporal distortion (or the pub – it’s hard to spot the difference sometimes), you can’t have failed to notice the overload of all things TARDIS related invading your TV, like some kind of badly dressed alien invasion. After documentaries about it’s early days, in-depth analysis of the top 10 enemies of the time-travelling do-gooder, and more appearances in the media than the cast of The Only Way Is Essex on overtime, tomorrow night sees the culmination of Who Fever, as the 50th Anniversary episode airs at 7.50pm. And not just on your humble tellybox in the UK either. It’ll be going out simultaneously in 200 countries, to a potential audience of 100 million viewers. Where anyone has been foolish enough to purchase a 3D TV, they’ll be able to enjoy Matt Smith, David Tennant and John Hurt waving themselves (and the special effec

It must be Christmas – the big retailers have started releasing their TV adverts, with the sort of fanfare previously reserved for blockbuster movies. Featuring levels of snowfall that would make the arctic look a bit slushy, cute children, perfectly formed snowpersonages and Christmas trees that were clearly decorated expensively by an interior designer (rather than your Mum after 4 glasses of sherry), the unrealistic on-screen perfection will have us all depressed long before we’ve even started wondering where we put the tinsel last January. And then there’s that John Lewis advert, in which a sad little hare leaves a present for his bear friend, to make sure he joins him on Christmas day. As it’s not yet the season to be jolly, I thought it warranted a spot of closer analysis, because I actually DO have the lightness of spirit and joy of Scrooge with a hangover. Firstly, it’s jaw-droppingly selfish of the hare to wake the bear up from his hibernation. I wouldn’t blame our gri

Formula 1 motor racing is great! What’s harder to explain is why fun in the sport seems harder to spot than a sponsorship-free... well, anything, really. I’m copiously aware that not everyone shares my passion. For many, the foots balls win their hearts, and it is true to say that there aren’t many F1-related chants (unless you count an inappropriate and un- sportsmanlike booing of German multiple-winners). But the passion and fervour is there, from the long-suffering fans of great British teams like Williams (who have been forced to keep a very stiff-upper lip whilst the team underperform like Boris Johnson at a subtlety contest) to the red-hot Italian passion of the Tifosi, for their beloved Ferrari. After a promising start to the season, it rapidly became clear we were once again facing a Sebwash from the brilliant young German, Vettel. Having achieved four World Championship titles in a row, he is clearly up there with the all-time greats of F1. And yet his dominance isn’

It’s been an exciting week, with many visitors to our humble abode. The trouble is, they weren’t invited, and they’re eating everything and leaving a right mess. If I’m honest, it’s partially my fault. When I first picked up the bag of bird seed in the cellar drawer, and spotted some loose bits in the bottom, I should have investigated. It was only when I moved the bag of peanuts days later that I realised there were a lot of holes in bags, and a large amount of empty husks. In the usual, paranoid way, on realising we were under attack, I immediately spun round, expecting to see something (and at this stage, I wasn’t clear what, so looked wildly up as well as down) crawling, scampering, running, hovering, or even doing some kind of interpretive dance. My guess was that we had a mouse loose about the house. Being sensible, I transferred the seeds and nuts into tins. I’d purchased them to keep outdoor feathered animals fed, not uninvited furry indoor ones. I