Back In Black

Back in my teenage years, I was the lead singer of a band.

One of the major drawbacks to me being the lead singer of a band was that I can't really sing.

Inspired by Oasis and their "anyone can be a rock'n'roll star" mentality, I was convinced that superstardom awaited me, if I only I could find someone to write the songs.

And so, I formed a band, appointing myself lead singer. I was also the band's self-appointed publicist, manager, creative director and every other position that didn't involve playing an instrument.

We named ourselves Merge, a typically lame Britpop era band name (inspired by the likes of Blur, Suede, Pulp, Menswear, Sleeper, Oasis and so on).

We weren't as bad as we could have been, primarily because of two talented songwriters / guitar players.

But after three gigs in two years, we called it a day, sparing the discerning listening public in Brechin any more of our acoustic onslaught.

Now, almost a decade later, three of the members, myself included, are attempting to rekindle those dying embers. Two of them, myself not included, are proficient songwriters with ample material to fill four or five albums.

And my role this time around will be to do whatever I'm told.

Like setting up the amplifiers and fetching the beer....

Stop Press: Groanin' Jock praises Celtic

It's very rare that I'll praise the forces of darkness over at Celtic, but their performances over the two legs of their Champions League tie with AC Milan were worthy of recognition.

This was a Scottish club going toe-to-toe with one of the best sides in Europe and matching them over 180 minutes of competitive football.

Scottish football is often criticised, and is often deserving of that criticism, but on this instance, Celtic can hold their heads high.

Nonetheless, they are out of Europe, leaving only the famous Glasgow Rangers to fly the Saltire (and the Union Jack) in continental competition.

Hopefully they will get off to a flying start in tonight's first leg of the clash with Osasuna.

Dazed and Confused, Battered and Bruised

I think my body is in shock from the recent resurrection in my exercise levels.

My hamstrings and knees are both grumbling after I played football twice today, and I think that my problem toenails will probably resurface in the near future. I don't blame them - if I were an inch long and 15-stone men spent an hour kicking me, I'd complain as well.

To compound today's injuries, I blocked a belter of a goal-bound shot, which I estimate must have been travelling at around 50mph, with my face. As a result, my jaw feels like it has moved a couple of inches backwards.

So it's a fine line between enjoying a game of football and spending the best part of an hour wandering around a rectangular patch of astroturf in a semi-concussed daze.

In fact, I think I must be delirious - as I write this, Celtic are holding AC Milan to a goalless draw in the San Siro.....

Tyranny of Normality

I am under no illusions that I am normal, primarily because I don't think any such condition actually exists.

Presumably everyone thinks the things they do on a day to day basis are the right things for them - and thus they are normal, if only to that person.

I own around 2,000 CDs, all of them filed in alphabetical order so that I can find them when I want them. To me, that is normal. To others, it is a sign that I am some semi-autistic geek with an anal obsession for having The Beatles' albums stored in chronological order.

Despite being a professional wordsmith, I have to mentally flip through the alphabet to determine which letters follow each other - even though I learnt it more than 20 years ago.

But to this day, I can recite the full list of World Cup winners in the correct order without so much as missing a beat - and with only a little thought, I can also name the countries which staged the event, again in the right order.

And, as far as I am concerned, there is nothing abnormal about any of this. Which is why I don't think there's really any such thing as normal.

For sure, there are people like Jade Goody, raised by a one-armed lesbian junkie, who definitely do not fall into anyone's category of 'normal'.

But so long as each of us is happy in our own little way, who cares what's normal?

Please excuse me, I now have to go and catalogue the collected DVD works of Al Pacino.

(By the by, www.blogthings.com reckons I am 55% normal.)

You Are 55% Normal

While some of your behavior is quite normal... Other things you do are downright strange You've got a little of your freak going on But you mostly keep your weirdness to yourself

How Normal Are You?

Joining in

Joining organisations seems to be a long and laborious process nowadays.

In the past week, Mrs Wife and I have joined the local cinema and the local gym. On both occasions, we have been asked for more identification than when entering Vietnam on tourist visas four years ago.

What I can't understand is why the cinema really needed to see two separate forms of ID and proof of our bank's address before they would let us join - they made us pay the first month up front by debit card, so even if we had provided them with false details, they could easily have cancelled the memberships without any cost to themselves.

Neither joining the cinema nor the gym was made any easier by the fact that our applications were handled by monsyallabic cretins who seemed to spend as much time remembering how to put their left foot in front of their right as they did sorting out the simple process of handing us pieces of laminated card.

Still, all is now well, and more of our money is now being channelled away each month in the name of leisure pursuits. Returning to the east coast, and to an area where recreactional facilities are available far more readily than in Argyll, has led to a sudden rise in expenditure for both myself and Mrs Wife - in the past week, I have spent more than 12 pounds simply to play football.

But hey, it's all good - the new, lithe Groanin' Jock is on his way!

Hospital-ity

I hate hospitals.

Last night, following an incident involving my Granny, the kerb, a stone wall, a broken kneecap and a severely battered and bruised face, I spent six hours in the accident and emergency ward at Ninewells Hospital in Dundee.

Besides the obvious feelings associated with watching someone close to you endure having their nose stitched shut and their broken knee prodded and manipulated, the hospital is not my favourite place for other reasons.

All of the seats and chairs in hospitals seem to have been designed as a cruel but inventive Medieval torture technique whereby comfort is hinted at but can never be achieved. None of the vending machines work properly, and the television in the waiting room is always too loud or too quiet.

However, the reason that I most dislike hospitals is that nothing ever seems to happen quickly. I half expected to leave the casualty ward to find that Scotland had popped up somewhere near the Bahamas thanks to continental drifting, or that a new mutant race of genetically-superior humans was now running the show.

In the six hours that we spent in the hospital, three things happened: my Granny's cuts were cleaned, her nose was stitched and her knee was x-rayed. Now, does any of those activities sound like it requires two hours to itself?

Please excuse today's groanin' - I've only had three hours of sleep, and I'm struggling to stay awake at work. Roll on 4.30pm and the end of another working week.

Wise monkeys

One of mankind's traits that I had always treated with disdain until comparitively recently was the personification of animals.

Deciding that lions are brave, elephants wise and jackals cunning may be based on observations in the field, but I'd always thought that anything that characterised animals as having personalities and morals was wrong.

Until I saw a TV programme a few years ago that proved that monkeys DO have morals.

I don't remember the scientist involved or the name of the programme, but the basic premise was:

Take two monkeys

Sit them in front of a button

When the first monkey presses the button, give it a grape

When the second monkey presses the button, give it a biscuit

Repeat

Each time the first monkey pressed the button, the scientist handed it a grape, which it initially devoured with pleasure.

But when it saw that the second monkey received a biscuit for carrying out the same task, it reacted in an unexpected manner.

At first, it continued pressing the button and receiving its grapes. But after a few rounds, it became agitated, immediately discarding grapes and re-pressing the button in an effort to extract a biscuit from the scientist.

It watched the second monkey receive its biscuits, and began efforts to steal them. Then, in a final hissy fit, it threw its grapes at the scientist, jumped on him and attempted to get straight to the bag of biscuits.

The point of the experiment was to prove that monkeys, like humans, are capable of rationalising what is fair and unfair. And that monkey didn't think it was fair that his friend was receiving a better reward for carrying out the same task.

I've known lots of dogs over the years that quickly worked out that if they performed a certain trick when requested, they would receive a reward. But I can't imagine any of those dogs realising the fairness of different rewards for performing the same trick.

However, just in case dogs do have a deeper thought process than we give them credit for, when Mrs Wife and I move into Dungroanin' and adopt a couple of dogs, I'll be sure to treat them equally, for fear of being murdered in my bed by the spurned sibling.

Inspiration for this post came from Chimps, Snow Dogs and other assorted trivia over at Another Cup of Coffee and I May get Something Done.

(And before any of you smartarses point it out, I know that the photograph is of a chimpanzee, not a monkey. But I don't care.)

The Blogging Bogle

After yesterday's rant on our eternal suffering, after a day spent in my new office sitting on my own because everyone else in my team is off ill and after a day where I played football not once but twice, in what is probably my single biggest day of physical activity in nigh on three years, I am spent.

I've got nothing.

Nothing at all.

Sorry folks, but my knees are creaking, my eyes are barely staying open and I just want to stare mindlessly at the TV.

So, as way of an apology, let me point you in the direction of a fellow blogger who's never short of a word or two: Mirk.

Like my (occasionally) good self, he's Scottish, with a slightly withering outlook on his own country.

Oh yes, and he's a Bogle. Drop by and say hello, and tell him I sent you.

Misery

One of the most memorable pieces of dialogue in The Matrix comes from Agent Smith.

Discussing the history of The Matrix with Neo, Agent Smith says: "Did you know that the first Matrix was designed to be a perfect human world? Where none suffered, where everyone would be happy. It was a disaster. No one would accept the program. Entire crops were lost. Some believed we lacked the programming language to describe your perfect world. But I believe that, as a species, human beings define their reality through suffering and misery. The perfect world was a dream that your primitive cerebrum kept trying to wake up from."

I've seen the movie a good few times now, and that speech always gets me thinking. Is mankind's default setting misery?

Like all other creatures on Earth, are we simply designed to ensure that our basic biological needs are catered for, at the expense of fun and enjoyment?

Some evidence certainly backs that theory up: there are countless tales of lottery winners who blew their vast fortunes in the space of a few years, returning to the poverty that they were more acclimatised to, as if their natural inclination was to strive for better, not have it thrust upon them.

Personally, I don't think that humans define themselves through their misery, but that mankind has a strange habit of seeing the silver lining on even the darkest clouds.

In Britain, this was shown in the post-war years, when people spoke fondly of the 'Blitz mentality' and of the fun they had in air raid shelters, ignoring the fact that London was being flattened by the Lufftwaffe. Subsequent television series such as Dad's Army also painted a rosy image of the 'fun Britain had during the war'.

Having said that, one of the key aspects of living in modern society is that we spend most of our waking hours doing things that we don't want to do.

There may be some people who proclaim to love their job so much that every hour at the coalface is an hour in Heaven, but for most, work is what they have to do to pay the bills.

Very few of us would actively choose to work if we could get away with it. And it is the knowledge of a forthcoming day off, holiday or weekend activity that encourages us to continue working, rather than dropping out of society and becoming a castaway on a desert island.

And so, I don't believe that human beings define themselves through misery and suffering, but through the knowledge that better times are ahead.

Time consuming

One of the biggest gripes I have with moving house (and there are many, though the pros far outweigh the cons) is that every free hour between now and April 5, and possibly even well beyond The Day We Get The Keys, will be taken up with moving house and various tangentially-linked activities.

This weekend, whilst most devout football fans tuned into to the Carling Cup Final and the stramash that concluded it, I was driving through the Perthshire wilderness. As Inverness Caledonian Thistle came close to a hat-trick of Scottish Cup wins over the forces of evil, I was unloading a life's worth of clutter from two Renault Clios.

And the more I ponder it, the more companies I remember I have to write to in order to let them know where to track me down.

But I am certainly looking forward to The Day We Get The Keys, and having a garage and three bedrooms to fill with my various forms of clutter.

Mrs Wife isn't keen on my 'pool table and drum kit in the garage' idea, but I'll work on her.

Movin' On

The hunt is over.

Mrs Wife and I have found our new home, and have begun the process of emptying Groanin' Towers.

In a shock twist, I am deserting my Brechin roots and moving to Montrose, to a charming, almost-new three bedroom bungalow with a garden big enough for a battalion of dogs and babies, or even dog-riding babies. The fact that it is a bungalow with thick double-glazed windows in the corner of a cul-de-sac lends itself to the prospect of cranking up the volume on the surround sound system and letting the complete works of Messrs Tarantino, Pacino and De Niro reverberate around the lounge.

Admittedly, there are a few hurdles to be, emmm, hurdled between now and then. The big one is packing up the contents of Groanin' Towers and preparing them for the move to Dungroanin'.

I hate moving house, and having done it too often in my first 26 years striding around this planet, I sincerely hope that this will be the last move for many a year.

Tune Box revisited

It's been a while since I delved into the Magic Tune Box, so here's a little insight into the strange sounds lurking within that silver music machine:

1: F.E.A.R. (with Dann) by Ian Brown (B-side): Remixed version of Ian Brown's strongest post-Stone Roses track. Brings in a female vocalist, who gives a more melodic interpretation of the lyrics. Doesn't really compare with the album version.

2: Magic Pie by Oasis (from the album Be Here Now): The first respite from the thunderous guitars that signalled the start of Oasis' third album. Magic Pie was unfairly maligned, as was much of the album, but stands up well when revisited 10 years on. Includes one of Noel Gallagher's best lines: "An extraordinary man can never have an ordinary day". Too long at seven minutes.

3: Wasted Little DJs by The View (from the album Hats Off To The Buskers): Jingly-jangly indie from Dundee's finest. A fine blend of Libertines-esque guitars and Scottish accents.

4: Sweetness Follows by REM (from the album Automatic For The People): Like most of this colossal album, Sweetness Follows is a downbeat, lyrically perceptive track built around Michael Stipe's almost shy drawl. I haven't listened to the album for years, but this track reminds me just how huge it was.

5: Depression by Black Flag (from the album Damaged): Noisy, uninhibited and extraordinarily powerful live, Black Flag were a major influence on Kurt Cobain, as demonstrated by the uncomprising Depression, which even covers a theme later broached by Cobain.

6: Northenden by Doves (from the album Lost Sides): Doves have never really reached the level that their talents suggest they are capable of. I think I've seen them live nine times since they first burst on the scene with debut album Lost Souls in 2000. B-side Northenden is typical downbeat indie fare, with exquisite guitar work throughout.

7: Pro (Your) Life by Arab Strap (from the album Elephant Shoe): Falkirk's Arab Strap are an acquired taste; their tales of misery and woe, backed by plaintive guitar and electronic drums, are never going to appeal to the masses. In this song, Aidan Moffat gives an alternative (male) view of abortion.

8: Submarine by Black Grape (from the album It's Great When You're Straight...Yeah): That Shaun Ryder was able to put the heroin-fuelled disintegration of the Happy Mondays behind him and re-emerge with Black Grape is testament to his never-say-die spirit. Their debut album was packed full of bouncy, feel-good party songs, all set off brilliantly by Ryder's acidic wit.

9: Space Invaders by Arctic Monkeys (Unreleased demo): Hinting at the genius that would become evident on Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not is standard Arctic Monkeys fare; world-weary lyrics delivered in a Sheffield drawl by Alex Turner, whilst the band rattle through at break-neck pace.

10: Biting The Soles Of My Feet by The Electric Soft Parade (from the album Holes In The Wall): The ESP's debut album, recorded when brothers Alex and Tom White were just teenagers, gave us the concept of "prog indie", bringing an archetypal indie sound to songs typically eight minutes long or more. Biting The Soles Of My Feet is typical of the band's sound at the time.

It seems that the Magic Tune Box was in a very indie mood today.

Back in action

Very soon, dear readers, I will be unveiling a new, lean, mean footballing Groanin' Jock to the world.

My fitness levels have steadily crept downwards since I left school eight and a half years ago, and I had feared they would never be recovered.

My time in Argyll did not help, as I was in a tiny town where few people played football, and those who did played on Saturdays, generally when I was working. The constant rain didn't exactly encourage me to head out for a run or a cycle either.

But now, back in home territory and working in the city, I find myself practically fending off offers to play football and recapture that lost magic.

In the past two days, I have played two hours of football - more than I had played in the previous two months. Next week, I am line to double that amount - so the weight will be dropping off in no time.

Now I just need to remember whether I can play the game as well as I can talk it.....

What time is it?

Two days into my new job, and I have encountered a problem I've never had before - dealing with people in different time zones.

As I'm covering the oil industry in West Africa, I've had to phone people in Angola and Nigeria. But because the big players in the industry are based in the US, I have also been calling Houston.

Nigeria and Angola are six hours ahead of the UK, whilst Houston is six behind. So my working day is going to have to be structured around the times on three continents.

It's all so different from my previous job, which covered a relatively small area of Argyll (although it sometimes felt as if Tarbert and Ardfern were in their own personal time zones).

Mystifying

This week, I am participating in an assignment run by The Blue Sloth, entitled Things That Mystify Me.

I am mystified by how infrastructure around the world is put in place - how drawings and blueprints become roads and railways and power lines a couple of years down the line.

I can see that massive machinery has made the task infinitely easier than in days gone by, but trying to compute how long it would take me to lay down one square metre of serviceable road makes me wonder - how on Earth did the Romans manage to build a Europe-wide network of roads?

For more insights onto things that mystify the weird and wonderful people of the worldwide interweb, follow the links below.

Blue Sloth Assignment III: Things That Mystify Me

Jen Mathis

Alley Katt

Ziji Wangmo

Hooray For Saturday

Tiggermn

Groanin’ Jock

Blue Witch

Tim

ally bean

Rayne of Terror

BD

Dan

Mary

Tish

Phil

Tricia

MsShad

Day of rest

What a weekend!

Friday was my leaving night from my old job. After stuffing our faces with far too much Indian food and consuming a bottle of vodka and bottle of champagne between six of us, we spent the remainder of the evening hastening our move towards drunkenness with vast amounts of beer and vodka, including my first ever taste of ginseng vodka (I don't recommend it).

Friday evening ended at around 5am on Saturday morning with drunken PlayStation tournaments, cack-handed acoustic guitar 'interpretations' of Oasis songs and a heated debate on whether Flea or Mani is a better bass player.

After around five hours' sleep, three litres of fresh orange and a bacon roll, Saturday involved driving for 200 miles to an engagement party in Aberdeen, which gave me a chance to catch up with a lot of people I haven't seen for a long time, a lot more beer and half-baked plans for trips to the casino, football matches at lunchtimes during the working week and further nights out.

So Sunday was spent tiredly walking around Aberdeen's shops before driving 'home' to Brechin.

Today should have been spent lazily recovering from the weekend's excesses, but Mrs Wife and I are going househunting. Oh the joys!

It's over

That's it, my last day at the newspaper is over, and I am a free man once again - until Tuesday at least.

So I am effectively unemployed until Tuesday.

I wonder how much benefits I could claim for being unemployed for a day?

Glory

Watching Oasis pick up the lifetime achievement award at last night's Brit Awards reminded me just how important a part they have played in my life.

No other band of my generation has made anywhere near the same kind of impact on my life and those of thousands or millions of others.

When Oasis first launched themselves on the UK music scene in 1994, British music fans were still in thrall to the wave of grunge bands that had dominated the charts for the best part of four years.

But, as Noel Gallagher pointed out, whilst Kurt Cobain was telling us that he hated himself and wanted to die, Oasis' music has always been about living forever, being rock'n'roll stars and striving to be the biggest band on the planet.

Oasis arrived at the exact point in my teenage years when I started seriously listening to music, and their influence on almost everyone in my year at school was phenomenal.

Almost overnight, people started growing their hair into an 'indie bush', dressing like Liam Gallagher, talking like Liam Gallagher and even walking like Liam Gallagher.

A whole host of bands emerged at my school, all inspired by Noel Gallagher's ethos that anyone could be a rock'n'roll star.

They also acted as a means of finding out about other music – through listening to The Beatles and other acts from the sixties, or listening to the T-Rex riffs that Noel Gallagher had pilfered for Definitely Maybe, or investigating Paul Weller's music, his time with The Jam or his love of soul records.

Oasis may never have scaled the same heights that they did on their first two albums, but they are still the biggest band in the country. When Oasis release an album, it is still an event, and everyone has an opinion on the band.

Although seemingly obsessed by The Beatles in their early days, Oasis failed to ascend to the same heights as the Fab Four, but no band could. Few bands have a back catalogue as strong as Oasis', and their latest reward is much deserved. Long may they continue.

Sooty Super Stud

This article, sent to me by email by my friend Mike, seemed appropriate on Valentine's Day.

Sooty the guinea pig is clearly a super stud - having his wicked way with 24 women one after the other, producing 43 babies in the process.

My favourite part is the last paragraph: "He was absolutely shattered. We put him back in his cage and he slept for two days."

A man after my own heart!

If I Can Make It There

Whilst supposedly reporting on a local community council meeting last night, my mind began wandering, as it is prone to do at almost any time of the day and during any given task.

Last night's little meander was provoked by the thought of 'where would I rather be right now'?

That wasn't really a fair task for my mind last night, as the simple answer was 'anywhere'. Sat in a cold room on a hard chair in a room where I was the youngest person by at least 30 years and where I couldn't give a rat's ass about any of the issues being discussed - boredom doesn't even come close to describing the feeling I had.

Anyway, this zoning out gave me the opportunity, in my head, to try to work out where my five favourite places on Earth are.

Edinburgh in the spring is easily in the top five. Recalling my lazy student days, relaxing in Princes Street Gardens and looking up at the castle, there was never going to be any doubt of that one.

The Khao San road in Bangkok is also in the running, just for the sheer bedlam happening all around you. Mrs Wife (then known as Miss Girlfriend) and I arrived in Thailand after dark, and were taken in an air-conditioned taxi to the Khao San. Stepping out into the humidity and temperature, with Thais whizzing around us on mopeds and in tuk-tuks, was a once in a lifetime feeling.

Whilst travelling the world, I came to love both Perth and Melbourne, the two cities in which Mrs Wife and I lived whilst in Australia. Perth, despite having around a million citizens, feels more like a large town than a sprawling city, and the summer weather is like paradise to sun-starved Scots. Melbourne is more bohemian, with an exciting arts and music scene and more life.

Other places I considered for my top five list were Barcelona and Paris. But the overall winner, and my favourite place on the planet, is New York.

I'd always imagined that I would love London, but having been there a few times, I realise that I don't. It's too busy, too dirty, too noisy and there are far too many self-centred people for one country to be able to handle, let alone one city.

And yes, New York is all of those things as well. But New York tops my list just by virtue of being New York - spending days exploring Central Park; visiting the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island; reaching the top of the Empire State Building and looking out at the world's most famous skyline.

But New York also wins because of the little details, like walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and seeing the Statue of Liberty from a different angle, or seeing steam rising up from manholes.

And New York wins hands down for food. The best food I have ever tasted came from a takeaway on Court Street in Brooklyn called Buddy's Burrito, and the best pizza I have ever had was made in Manhattan.

I've been all around the world, visited Vietnam, Malaysia and Singapore, but the one place I know I will definitely return to is New York.

And now, the end is near

This is it - my last week in my current job has begun.

I've actually stayed with the company for longer than I intended - I had always planned to limit my time in Argyll to less than two years, but it's been more than that since I first started.

Whilst working weekends and evenings has sucked, I've gained some valuable experience during my time here, from learning the art of taking photographs for publication to single-handedly producing a weekly tabloid newspaper.

But, when it came down to it, the prospect of having every weekend to myself, working regular office hours and living nearer the cities was always going to win me over.

And because work here is always so busy, I don't suppose it will really sink in until my last day that I am actually going for good.

No snow

I'm most disappointed. Despite the Met Office promising a UK-wide blanket of snow for most of this week, Argyll has been a region of unsullied blue skies all week.

It has been bitterly cold all week, a biting cold that is at odds with the blue sky and sunshine.

Mrs Wife drove from Angus to Argyll last night, and she told me that the snow cover stops almost exactly at the border between Argyll and Stirling.

I like snow. Even though I'm 26, there is still something exciting about waking up and seeing fresh snow covering everything.

That childlike promise of a day spent sledging and playing snowballs has never left me, and is just one of the many reasons why I am looking forward to moving back to Angus - it snows there much more than it does in Argyll, and when it does, it's proper snow, deep enough to make snowmen and snowballs.

When I Grow Up

Yesterday's post on the possibility of The Smiths or The Stone Roses reforming has been used to spark a debate on I Am Without Shoes, a Stone Roses forum I was unaware of until they linked to this here site.

It's strange that, the day after I wrote that I didn't want either band to risk damaging their legacies by reforming, I interviewed Geoff Ellis, CEO of DF Concerts, the group behind T In The Park and the new Connect Festival taking place this summer in Inveraray.

He told me that the thinking behind Connect was that it should attract a more mature audience than T In The Park. He explained that he viewed T as a 'rite of passage' for Scottish teenagers and students - that you go along for the weekend with your mates, see loads of bands and have a great time.

He then said that he expected Connect to appeal more to people in the 25-35 year-old age group. Although none of the bands performing have yet been announced, he did say that anyone expecting metal acts, emo bands or girl bands would be sorely disappointed, and that the new festival is for the 'discerning' music fan.

So at what stage does an act pass from being suitable fodder for T In The Park to being at home on the Connect bill?

Geoff wouldn't give away much about the Connect lineup, although he did say that at least two of the headline bands were American. So who could that be: Sonic Youth? Soundgarden? Dinosaur Jr? Or are they too noisy for Connect?

Clearly, 'mature' music fans have some clout, as they're soon going to have a festival aimed solely at them. Perhaps some of those acts on the lineup will be bands that peaked when audience members in their 30s were still teenagers, hoping to recapture some of that spark on a reformation tour.

Thankfully, it's unlikely to be The Smiths or The Stone Roses.

It's Better To Burn Out....

I'm listening to The Smiths' debut album as I write this post. The band's stock is currently at its highest since they split almost 20 years ago, yet only a decade ago they had slipped so far from the cultural radar that it seemed as though no-one appreciated their contribution to British musical history.

Even the patronage of Noel Gallagher at Oasis' commercial peak did little to bolster The Smiths' reputation. But now, with Morrissey performing his former band's songs on sold-out tours, it seems as though everyone is a fan.

Inevitably, this has led to calls for the band to reform. Given that Morrissey and Johnny Marr were sued by Mike Joyce and Andy Rourke only a few years ago, a reconciliation seems unlikely.

In truth, I'd rather that The Smiths didn't reform. They were a band of their time, and their musical legacy is strong. To attempt to recapture that feeling would probably have a detrimental effect.

The same rule applies to most bands: never go back. Though both Mani and John Squire have said that they are in favour of reforming The Stone Roses, Ian Brown has wisely rejected the idea at every opportunity.

To me, The Stone Roses were the one of the greatest bands ever, behind only The Beatles. Their self-titled debut, released when I was only nine, is the best album in musical history. By the time of their second, John Squire's cocaine use had changed the Roses' sound from rich psychedelia to thunderous blues rock. It wasn't a change for the better, and essentially tore the band apart.

That Squire and Brown haven't spoken since the former quit the band in 1996 speaks volumes. Don't get me wrong - if they do reform and announce that they're going on tour, I'll be first in the line for tickets.

But I think it's better to leave their legacy intact and unsullied by a cash-fuelled reunion in middle age. The Beatles never reformed, neither did The Clash. Does anyone really think that recent performances by Queen or The Doors are the same as seeing the real thing?

Hopefully The Smiths and The Stone Roses will have the good grace to see out their retirement without feeling the need to patch up their differences for unnecessary reunions.

Georgia on my mind

All Scots should take a special interest in Georgia's football match with Turkey tonight.

Not only should it act as a preview of the side we'll face in Alex McLeish's first match in charge of the national side next month, but it is also Georgia's first chance to defend their title as Unofficial Football World Champions.

Should the Georgians skelp the Turks, their next defence will be against the mighty Jocks in March.

Which will give us a chance to reclaim the title that is ours by birthright.

Hoarding

I am, by nature, a hoarder. I'm one of those people who can't bear to throw things away 'just in case'.

Thankfully, the limited space available in Groanin' Towers, and Mrs Wife's more ruthless streak, mean that I amn't now surrounded by great piles of what I would call valuable possessions, but that others would term 'useless crap'.

Inspired by this post at Erica's site, I recalled a hoarder of even greater ability than even myself.

Edmund Trebus, the most famous star of the TV show A Life of Grime, was one of those rare people who was happy to live his life in the way in which he chose, regardless of how it was perceived by others around him.

Upon his death, a lengthy obituary in The Guardian said:

'At first, his obsession took the form of mild eccentricity. He filled the upstairs rooms of his four-storey Victorian house with the spoils of hunts through local builders' skips and junk shops. One room was packed with vacuum cleaners, another with cameras. Trebus bought every recording he could find by Elvis Presley.

'As time passed and his children moved out, the collections piled one on top of the other, like sedimentary layers, until each room was full to the ceiling. Trebus would push a small cart around the streets of Crouch End, gathering discarded building materials, which he carefully arranged in the garden, doors in one corner, windows in another. There were washing machines, wood, motorcycles and bicycles. There was even one of musician Dave Stewart's old synthesisers, retrieved from the back of his recording studio. Like all the objects, it came to be forgotten about and covered up over time.'

I can imagine that, left to my own devices in my dotage, I could become a 21st century Edmund Trebus. Whilst I may not have a penchent for discarded doors and windows, I could seriously see myself surrounded by vast mountains of magazines and newspapers, CDs and DVDs.

I can imagine this all too well, as Mrs Wife and I have begun the process of emptying Groanin' Towers ahead of our move eastwards. And in every nook and cranny, under every bed and in every wardrobe, piles of magazines wait for the day when they will once again be read.

Perhaps the most worrying aspect is that, in our quest to find New Groanin' Towers (or Dungroanin'), Mrs Wife and I are looking at properties with twice as many rooms as our current abode - which is room for a LOT more magazines.

Spring

Spring is in the air in Argyll today - the sky is a brilliant blue and the sun, although washed out, is at least gamely trying to warm us up.

Mornings like this always remind me of my days as a paperboy in the village of Edzell, seen here in the photo.

During the summer holidays back in 1996, which I seem to remember as a never-ending summer of sun, I actually looked forward to getting up and heading out to deliver the news to the sleeping folk of Edzell.

At 6.30am, there was still a chill in the air and dew on the grass, but not a single cloud in the sky. And as I wandered or cycled around the village, reading the sports pages of every paper I delivered, it was plain to see that the day was going to be a scorcher. By the time my round was completed at 8am, the village had awoken and my parents were off to work. The great unfillable vastness of a seven-week holiday stretched before me.

Practically that whole summer was spent playing football and swimming in the river by day. In the evenings, the attentions of my group of friends would turn to music, primarily The Beatles and Oasis, who played at Knebworth that August, a concert broadcast live on Radio One.

It was also the summer of Euro 96, watching Scotland draw with Holland, lose to England and beat Switzerland, only to miss out on the next round by a single goal.

No summer since has been the same - since then, I've spent every summer working. Full days can no longer be spent lying in the sun or recreating the mercurial talents of Brian Laudrup on the local football pitch.

Perhaps it is true that schooldays are the best of your life - not necessarily on a day-to-day basis, but in the comparitively commitment-free way in which you can live your life at 16.

Bible basher

Taking a late night stroll around the worldwide interweb, I decided to follow Erica's lead and test my Bible knowledge.

As far as I can remember, I've only been to church five times since I left school -twice for funerals and three times for weddings (including my own).

So it came as quite a shock to discover that I'm still fairly clued up on the scripture.

74 per cent - that's a definite pass. My colours may not be as flying as Erica's, but I'm just an amateur - she REALLY knows her stuff.

You know the Bible 74%!

Wow! You are truly a student of the Bible! Some of the questions were difficult, but they didn't slow you down! You know the books, the characters, the events . . . Very impressive!

Ultimate Bible Quiz
Create MySpace Quizzes

Rise of the Machines

Ever offered to help out with something and then wished you hadn't?

I've spent the best part of a week helping to 'fix' a friend's computer. Initially, it looked as though it would be a simple case of swapping out a damaged hard drive for a fully-functioning one.

But this laborious quest has instead involved performing a Frankenstein treatment on two separate machine and installing three different operating systems.

The desired result, that my friend should end up with a basic machine for a six-year-old to play games on, has finally been reached.

It all seemed so much simpler back in the days of Windows 95 - you stuck the CD in, the operating system installed and that was you ready to go.

Now, with online registration of operating systems, Microsoft has really upped the ante in a bid to stamp out piracy.

Which all just makes me very glad that I chose to turn my back on being an IT professional and pursue my career in the media. I no longer have the patience to sit in front of a computer that won't work and attempt to solve its problems.

Where the Magic Tune Box goes, nobody knows

It's been a wee while since we delved into the darkest regions of the Magic Tune Box, so here goes. Brace yourselves.

1: A Strange Arrangement Of Colour by I Am Kloot (from the album I Am Kloot): Typically downbeat Scouse indie. I'm a big fan of the band, especially Johnny Bramwell's lyrics and deadpan drawl.

2: Falling Away With You by Muse (from the album Absolution): Muse's ascendancy to one of the biggest bands in the world has taken a while, but each successive album has built on their skyscraping, over-the-top blend of Queen, Radiohead and Pink Floyd. This, from their third studio album, is a characteristic combination of an almost leisurely verse and bombastic chorus.

3: Shoot To Thrill by AC/DC (from the album Back In Black): Few bands in the history of rock'n'roll could follow the tragic death of their frontman by recording their greatest ever album. There are no weak tracks on Back In Black, and Brian Johnson's gravel-voiced roar, whilst different from Bon Scott's drunken drawl, helped carry AC/DC to the stadium-rock level.

4: The River Curls Around The Town by Hood (from the album Cold House): Using cut-up vocals over backwards-masked guitar lines may not be a new trick, but Hood use it to good effect on this track, although it meanders along throughout its three minutes without ever really progressing too far.

5: C Note by Body Count (from the album Body Count): Guns'n'Roses-tinged instrumental from one of the most intentionally antagonistic albums ever recorded. Amongst the other tracks on the record are KKK Bitch, Evil Dick and the infamous Cop Killer, which was removed from later releases of the album.

6: Zip...Just Gone by Lo-Fidelity Allstars (B-side from the single Lo-Fi's In Ibiza): If Lo Fi's In Ibiza is the sound of a big beat Balearic rave, then Zip...Just Gone is the after-show comedown, combining jazz horns with an almost spoken vocal. Very chilled.

7: Guide My Hand by Driveblind (from the album Driveblind): One of the slower numbers from the Aberdeen band's debut album. It still seems strange to hear of Driveblind playing sold-out shows in LA, as I know a couple of the band's members fairly well, having worked with them in the office of an Aberdeen engineering company. Guide My Hand isn't one of the stronger tracks from the album, but does carry the band's hallmarks of strong vocals, faultless guitars and magnificent production.

8: Skeptics and True Believers by The Academy Is... (from the album Almost Here): American indie-punk by numbers from the Chicago band. Whilst I have nothing against them as such, this track does sound indistinguishable from Fall Out Boy, All-American Rejects and their ilk.

9: Bully Boy by Shed Seven (from the greatest hits album Going For Gold): In which Rick Witter - whose name became unfortunate Britpop-era rhyming slang for shitter - recalls a beating he received. Not the band's finest hour, with Witter's foghorn delivery failing to gel with the poor man's Stone Roses backing track.

10: I Don't Know by Beastie Boys (from the album Hello Nasty): I didn't really get into the Beastie Boys first time around - it wasn't until the release of Intergalactic and Body Movin' that I sat up and took notice. I've subsequently discovered their Beatles-sampling masterpiece Paul's Boutique, and whilst Hello Nasty doesn't quite compare with that record, it's still a very strong set. I Don't Know is one of the record's quieter moments, eschewing the Beasties' electro beats and triple-pronged rap attack.

Fit of the gigs

My imminent move back to Scotland's chilly east coast has revealed a new benefit that I had barely considered in the few weeks that have passed since I was first offered a new job.

I am soon going to be able to attend far more gigs than in recent years, given that I will be working in Aberdeen, home to several great venues.

In the coming months, tours by The View, The Killers, The Australian Pink Floyd, Bloc Party and Idlewild all call into the Granite City.

And one of my favourite bands in the world, and the greatest rock'n'roll band on the planet today, The Cooper Temple Clause, play there at the end of March.

All of which is terribly exciting to someone who has spent the past two years living almost three hours from Glasgow, the nearest port of call for major tours.

Is it you?

Groanin' visitor number 3,000 should arrive on these pages at some point today, and there may well be a prize in it for the lucky reader.

Although saying that, it didn't really work with visitors 1,000 or 2,000.....

Beach balls

This story, emailed to me recently, made me thankful that I'm not often tempted to swim naked on public beaches.

It really is one of those situations that makes you thankful that it isn't you.

There can be no unembarrasing way to make a phonecall to the emergency services to ask them to free your swollen testicles from the wooden slats of a deckchair.

But hey, at least it's not as embarrasing as 'I was Hoovering naked when I slipped and ended up with the hoover pipe up my ass.'

House and home

Although Mrs Wife and I went through it as recently as two years ago, I'd forgotten just how stressful buying a house is.

Groanin' Towers is currently under offer, so we're casting our eyes at available replacements on the east coast.

And already, dealing with estate agents, solicitors and banks is stressing me out.

I just hope that it all resolves itself quickly and without too much hassle.

Drawing to and end

I'm a little tired today, as I was at a Burns Supper in Oban with the faither in law last night.

Normally, such an occasion would lead to my reaching an advanced stage of drunkeness - in fact, the last time I attended the Oban Burns Supper, I was so spectacularly drunk by the end of the meal that I had to return home before the speeches.

However, last night's enjoyment was curtailed by the fact that I have to work in Campbeltown today - 80-odd miles from Oban. As a result, I stayed disappointingly sober last night.

Still, these days are coming to an end - very soon, working weekends will be a thing of the past.

Roll on February 16th!

Rural affairs

It must take a special kind of person to join the Scottish Rural Women's Institute (SWRI).

I've just been sub-editing a few reports on meetings of local SWRIs, and it seems that they really are an unusual bunch.

For example, what sort of group of people makes such a thing as Red Onion Marmalade?

And then runs a competition to judge how good each batch of this vile-sounding product is?

This very same organistion simultaneously ran competitions for a crocheted blanket and for each member's favourite jug.

That's right, these women have favourite jugs.

I can't imagine ever reaching a stage where I care enough about jugs to have a favourite. Nor can I seriously ever see myself thinking: 'Hmmmm, I wonder if my friends also have favourite jugs? Perhaps we should run a favourite jug competition.'

I wonder upon what criteria the judging will be based? Are extra points awarded for intricate patterns, or is it design, craftmanship and functionality that wins the day in a jug-judging contest?

Wicked

I love Wikipedia. It's my new favourite thing to do at work when I should be working.

Today, I finally decided to answer a little question that has been niggling me for a while:

Is the wrestler Bonesaw McGraw in the film Spiderman played by Macho Man Randy Savage?

So, a quick search on Wikipedia revealed a plethora of information about the former WWE star.

And with each new morsel of information came a link to another hero of my childhood years. Memories of Hulk Hogan, Jimmy Hart and The Big Boss Man came flooding back.

And I found out there is a word 'kayfabe' and what it means.

But the best fact of all that I found in my afternoon trawling Wikipedia?

That Macho Man Randy Savage's real name is Randall Mario Poffo.

Which means that he is probably the only person for whom a name change to Randy Savage would be a notable improvement.

Big Eck's back

So Alex McLeish is to be the latest recipient of the poisoned chalice that is the Scotland manager's job.

It seems that the fact that Big Eck is currently unemployed has as much bearing on his appointment as his coaching expertise.

But, having said that, McLeish was probably the best-placed of all the shortlisted candidates. Gary McAllister has no experience of top level management, whilst Jim Jeffries has done well at Kilmarnock, but hasn't seriously contested major trophies since his Hearts days.

Tommy Burns' hissy fit put him out of the running, but he would never have been the SFA's first choice anyway.

McLeish, on the other hand, has very recent experience of managing at the top end of the SPL and in the Champions League. He pulled in a decent haul of trophies during his time at Ibrox, and has the benefit of having been a top player in the squad when at his prime.

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the job was the number of potential candidates who weren't interested in the post - a veritable 'who's who' of success in the British game.

Sir Alex Ferguson, George Graham, Graeme Souness and Kenny Dalglish were all quick to distance themselves from the post. In the case of Ferguson, this is understandable - he's top of the Premiership with the biggest club in the world.

But none of the other three, all of them very experienced and successful managers and all unemployed, showed any real interest. Has the Scotland national side become so little regarded that these men aren't willing to contemplate leading their country?

Exhausted

What a day. I'm away from my usual office this week, working single-handedly to produce a newspaper in an area I don't know terribly much about.

It's hard enough work putting together a paper on your own, without having to do it in a strange town.

But it's almost finished - and the company must be fairly happy with my work, as they've agreed to extend my leaving date by a fortnight so that it ties in with my start date at my new job in Aberdeen.

Good things come in threes

You spend two years looking for a new job, then three come along at once.

Although I accepted the chance to join a newspaper in Fife just a few weeks ago, I've now been offered the opportunity to work as a reporter in the oil industry in Aberdeen.

It's funny how things work out - I wasn't relishing the prospect of a daily commute between Angus and Fife, and just when I thought that my finances were going to take a serious hit as a result, a golden opportunity lands right in my lap.

So all is good in the world of Groanin' Jock! (In fact, I may have to change the name of this website accordingly - Happy Jock doesn't really sound right though, does it?!)

Looking for Lust

A recent check of how Groanin' Jock's visitors have arrived at these hallowed pages showed up one interesting arrival in the past week.

Someone popped up here after searching on Google for "Bebo Campbeltown sex".

I don't know which is more worrying: that someone was searching for it, or that they were directed to this site.....

Under The Sea

Seeing as how it's the weekend, I'll share with you all a funny email I received today from my old friend Mike. Enjoy!

Children Writing About The Sea:

1) This is a picture of an octopus. It has eight testicles. (Kelly age 6)

2) Oysters' balls are called pearls. (James age 6)

3) If you are surrounded by sea you are an Island. If you don't have sea all round you, you are in continent. (Wayne age 7)

4) Sharks are ugly and mean, and have big teeth, just like Emily Richardson. She's not my friend no more. (Kylie age 6)

5) A dolphin breathes through an asshole on the top of its head. (Billy age 8)

6) My uncle goes out in his boat with pots, and comes back with crabs. (Millie age 6)

7) When ships had sails, they used to use the trade winds to cross the ocean. Sometimes, when the wind didn't blow, the sailors would whistle to make the wind come. My brother said they would be better off eating beans. (William age 7)

8) I like mermaids. They are beautiful, and I like their shiny tails. How do mermaids get pregnant? (Helen age 6)

9) I'm not going to write about the sea. My baby brother is always screaming and being sick, my Dad keeps shouting at my Mom, and my big sister has just got pregnant, so I can't think what to write. (Amy age 6)

10) Some fish are dangerous. Jellyfish can sting. Electric eels can give you a shock. They have to live in caves under the sea where I think they have to plug themselves into chargers. (Christopher age 7)

11) When you go swimming in the sea, it is very cold, and it makes my willy small. (Kevin age 6)

12) Divers have to be safe when they go under the water. Two divers can't go down alone, so they have to go down on each other. (Becky age 8)

13) On holiday my Mom went water skiing. She fell off when she was going very fast. She says she won't do it again because water shot up her fanny. (Julie age 7)

Publish and be damned

Today's post has a conscience. The text underneath the photograph to the left makes for harrowing reading.

I was sent the photograph by email yesterday. I'd heard the story of Kevin Carter in the past, firstly through the Manic Street Preachers song of the same name.

But until yesterday, I'd never seen, nor especially wanted to see, the photograph.

However, when I saw it, it was hammered home just WHY Carter ended up taking his own life - how could anyone live with themselves having recorded that image, knowing they could have done something to save the child?

In an archive interview shortly after the image was published, Carter said: "My first instinct was to make the picture. After the child moved on, I felt completely devastated."

Such was the outpouring of interest in the child that after the photo ran, the New York Times was forced to run an editor's note to say that though Carter saw the emaciated girl resume her journey to the feeding center "it is not known whether she reached the center."

Carter said he chased away the vulture. Afterwards, he told an interviewer, he sat under a tree for a long time, "smoking cigarettes and crying". His father said: "Kevin always carried around the horror of the work he did."

As a journalist, this issue intrigues me; at what point should one's duty as an employee be superceded by one's duty as a human being?

Carter's photograph brought him the highest recognition in his field, but it also brought him unimaginable misery and in the end cost him his life.

So where do we draw the line? Was the New York Times right to publish the photograph? Or did it cross a line that should never have been crossed?

The old rhetoric of 'publish and be damned' still seems to hold fast. But should it?

Personally, I don't think I would have been able to take the photograph that Carter did, nor leave the girl to crawl onwards towards her potential saviours. But in different circumstances, such as the hanging of Saddam Hussain, I would probably have been primed and ready to capture the image.

Which I suppose means that in all situations, the person involved must weigh up their own thoughts on the issue and make the decision that sits best with them. Kevin Carter made that choice.

Straight A student

Whilst wandering the wild plains of the worldwide interweb this morning, I chanced upon Lisa's site at Lemons & Lollipops, where I read that she had scored A- in her online vocabulary test.

So I decided to test whether I was actually suited to being a journalist, or whether I am just taking the company's money without having a clue about the language I am writing.

Your Vocabulary Score: A

Congratulations on your multifarious vocabulary! You must be quite an erudite person.

How's Your Vocabulary?

And it seems that all is well - I'm a veritable vocabulary swot! It's just as well for me that it wasn't a maths test....

250 million reasons why LA is best for Beckham

Some of you may remember me saying that I'm not the biggest fan of David Beckham.

In a previous post, when it looked as though he might stay at Real Madrid, I did admit that I think that, despite being the most over-rated professional footballer ever, Golden Balls has made the most of his limited but highly-honed attributes, and that he is very professional in everything he does.

I think that Beckham's decision to move to LA Galaxy in August is probably for the best. His powers are clearly on the wane, and none of the English Premier League's big hitters would be interested (at least on simply footballing terms). For a 'superstar' of Beckham's magnitude to slum it (relatively speaking) with one of the Premier League's second-string sides such as Newcastle or Spurs would be unimaginable, probably tainting the Beckham brand.

Part of his allure is that he has always plied his trade at the very top - in a Champions League winning Man Utd side and Real Madrid's infamous Galacticos team.

At least living in Hollywood will allow the Beckhams to continue their push for global celebrity, with David given the chance to curl free kicks into the net twice a week in return for 250 million dollars over five years.

For further musings on the future of Brand Beckham, check out the Guardian's sports blogs.

Stains

Whilst I was reading the Sunday papers yesterday, a little catalogue dropped out.

This paper emporium of delights purported to be 'everything you need to be safe around the house and garden'.

Idly flicking through the catalogue, I happened upon perhaps the most ludicrous invention of all the strange gizmos on offer - the adult bib.

Yep, an adult bib. A bib for adults.

This 'durable, wipe clean clothes protector' was three foot in length. Tied around the neck, it claimed that it would keep all ties and shirts stain-free.

I cannot imagine any adult in full charge of all their faculties wishing to purchase a bib for their own use.

Mrs Wife might disagree, as she is forever pointing out my food-based mishaps. Anything involving gravy, ketchup (or indeed sauce of any kind), ice cream, chocolate or custard tends to find itself, at some point between plate and mouth, down my front.

This very lunchtime, I struggled manfully with two soft-boiled eggs and toast soldiers (OK, I battled - there is no manful way to struggle with boiled eggs). Incredibly, my shirt and tie were blemish-free at the conclusion of my meal.

So, is there any market for the adult bib? Or should we march gleefully onwards, taking whatever stains eating too fast throws in our way? I know which gets my vote.

Rocky road

The Rocky films have never really done much for me. For a start, I'm not a fan of Sylvester Stallone - he's perhaps the most wooden actor ever to 'grace' the silver screen.

And the Rocky films are predictable, cliche-ridden ego trips for the diminutive star.

So, it was with no surprise that I heard recently that Stallone has reprised his most famous role 'one last time'.

It seems I'm not alone in wondering how anyone would believe that a short 60-year-old would be able to go ten rounds with the world heavyweight champion of the world.

Writing in this week's Guide magazine in The Guardian, Joe Queenan says: "Concerned about his legacy, not sure he is getting the respect from the boxing press that he is due, Rocky decides to come out of retirement for one last fight.

"This time, he will duke it out with Mason "The Line" Dixon, an undeafeted black man who, though prodigiously gifted, has never really been tested. That's because up until now he has only battled tough black men in their 20s, but has never had to face the ultimate test: a 10-round bout with a decrepit Caucasian restaurateur pushing 60."

I think I will be giving Rocky Balboa a wide body swerve when it is released in the UK next week.

Monkeys Aloud

Regular readers of this online catalogue of moans and groans will remember that I spoke of my new-found love for the music of Girls Aloud a few weeks ago.

And that I also named Arctic Monkeys as the winner of the Album of the Year at the inaugural Jock Awards.

Now, combining these two passions, here is my favourite cover version of the past year or so. Strangely, the Girls' pristine pop sounds natural when given the jingly-jangly Sheffield treatment by the Monkeys.

At a loose end

With Mrs Wife now working over on the east coast and Groanin' Jock stuck without the Jockmobile over in the wet west, I am alone this weekend and unsure how to fill what seems like my first work and commitment-free weekend in years.

The weather forecast isn't promising, which leads me to the conclusion that any activity I do undertake will be indoors.

Although Mrs Wife and I bought bikes last summer, and I have enough waterproof equipment to ensure I survive a day of physical cycle-based activity, the bikes are at the back of the shed, behind a mountain of possessions moved from indoors to help make Groanin' Towers appear less cluttered when potential purchasers visit.

Therefore, I am not inclined to delve into this gardening tools graveyard in an attempt to rescue the bike.

So I guess it's a weekend of computer games, music, football on the TV and DVDs for me.

It's a hard life....

Royal farce

One thing that I believe will set me apart from most of the readers of this esteemed electronic catalogue of moans is that I have been (mildly) threatened by royal security guards.

In the course of my work, I have on two occasions been sent to cover royal visits, once to snap the bumbling heir to the throne and once to secure some pictures of his sister.

On the latter occasion, I was the only member of the press there. Princess Ann arrived in a convoy of black vehicles and with a police escort - this despite the fact that the engagement was not an official public occasion.

I was primed and ready to fill a 96MB digital memory card with as many photographs as my fingers could take.

As I took the image to the left, standing barely two metres from the horse-faced horse rider, a member of the mysterious Special Branch stepped in front of me and stated that: 'You do not take a photograph of a lady when she is removing her jacket.'

Why?

Princess Ann is probably amongst the most photographed women in the history of publishing. The paparazzi have taken photographs of her on countless occasions. So why should a photograph of her removing her jacket (which was never going to see the light of day in any medium until now) be so taboo?

Granted, she is no stunner - but the camera doesn't lie.

Anyway, to avoid being drugged and dumped in a nearby loch by MI6, I agreed to take no more photographs until the Princess had removed her jacket. It just seemed a strange demand that I have never quite been able to fathom, although I think it may just have been a bored security guard exerting a little bit of misplaced authority.

Return of The Magic Tune Box

It's been quite a while since we delved into the darkest corners of the Magic Tune Box and joined its journey through my diverse music collection.

So, hold on folks, here goes.

1: Projects by Ash (from the album Nu-Clear Sounds): Nirvana-influenced rock from the Belfast boys. I've been a big fan of Ash since I was a teenager, and none of their albums has ever disappointed me. Nu-Clear Sounds moved their sound to a harder, grungier feel, and Projects is a throaty yell backed by Grohl-like drums.

2: Baby Get It On by Ike & Tina Turner (from the Nutbush City Limits box set): Soul-rock stomp featuring a full-bodied duet from the most turbulent couple in pop. Whilst most of Tina's solo career is middle of the road crap, her early work marked her out as one of the greatest singers of her time, infusing Aretha Franklin's soul with a shot of rock spirit.

3: Dolphin '99 by Shed Seven (from the greatest hits album Going For Gold): Shed Seven were amongst Britpop's finest magpies - able to knock out facsimile copies of Oasis, The Stone Roses or The Charlatans depending on the prevailing indie wind of the time. Dolphin '99 attempts to copy the Roses' loping drum beat, combining it with Rick Witter's enthusiastic vocals.

4: Conspicuously Leaving (Without Saying Goodbye) by AC Acoustics (from the album AC Acoustics): Fairly bland, warbling indie tune ideally suited to background music. Never likely to get the pulse racing.

5: Queen Of The Hours by Electric Light Orchestra (from the album First Light Series): ELO have been unfairly maligned in rock's history. Although claims that they were going to be the 1970s' answer to The Beatles may have been wide of the mark, they did at least attempt to inject a bit of creative energy into their songs. As with most of their output, this track incorporates an elaborate string backing, giving an eerie feeling.

6: New Pin by Oceansize (from the album Everyone Into Position): Earnest rock song that simultaneously evokes Nine Inch Nails, Radiohead and Metallica. By no means the highlight of a strong album, but a stirring listen nonetheless.

7: Squealer by AC/DC (from the album Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap): Boasting a false start before typical Angus lead guitar work, this is the sound of the young AC/DC beginning to find their own distinctive sound. Includes a minute-long song section where only Bon Scott and drums are audible, bar the occasional guitar chord. Then, two minutes in, the band begins to rawk. Bon Scott is Scotland's greatest ever frontman - born just down the road from Groanin' Jock in Kirriemuir.

8: People Take Pictures Of Each Other by The Kinks (from the album The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society): Ray Davies is undoutedly one of Britain's greatest songwriters. Having single-handedly invented the punk rock sound on You Really Got Me, he deserted his rock roots for explorations of life in a fast-fading traditional England. People Take Pictures Of Each Other is a typical Davies song of the period, combing 'la-la-la' backing vocals with intricate acoustic guitar work.

9: Oh My God by Kaiser Chiefs (from the album Employment): Whilst I think the Kaiser Chiefs are a great live act and that their debut album contains some great songs, they do occasionally have the feel of a novelty act unexpectedly turned massive. Oh My God is a definite highlight of the album, and as great a festival anthem as has been recorded in the past few years. Deserves kudos for the line: 'But you work in a shirt with your name tag on it, Drifting apart like a plate tectonic'.

10: Switching Off by Elbow (from the album Cast of Thousands): One of the greatest crimes in music today is that Elbow aren't as massive as Radiohead and Muse. As a creatively inventive band, they are matched today only by those bands and by Super Furry Animals. As with most of their output, Switching Off has an almost hymnal quality, led beautifully by Guy Garvey's voice.

Star Wars recreated

At various times during these first four months of online groanin', I have written about my love of Star Wars.

I was three years old when Return of the Jedi was released, and spent my formative years with thoughts of Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader, Princess Leia and Han Solo taking up more space in my head than was probably healthy or useful.

And, to be honest, that love of the films has never really gone away.

Which is why I am delighted to present to you, dear readers, one of the most faithful recreations of the original motion picture I've ever seen.

To view, go to your Start menu on your computer, click on Run and copy this text into the box: telnet towel.blinkenlights.nl.

Hit Enter then sit back and enjoy the show!

Clean(ing) break

It may come as a surprise to you that I am not the tidiest of creatures.

Don't get me wrong, I abhor an untidy living space, but I am also chronically lazy. After the working day is done, I like nothing more than to stretch out on the sofa with my laptop on my lap, the TV and surround sound system cranked up, and a bottle of Coke and a bar of chocolate at my side.

And when I am in this state of repose, all thoughts of cleaning and tidying Groanin' Towers evaporates from my mind.

Now that Mrs Wife has departed for pastures new (or Angus at least), I am to be left to my own devices for the best part of a month. Under normal circumstances, the sitting room would quickly be enveloped by a blanket of magazines, books, CDs, DVDs, PlayStation games and the like.

But as we are attempting to sell the property, and could be visited by a potential purchaser at any point, I have to struggle to maintain some semblance of tidiness throughout the house.

I didn't realise just how untidy I am until yesterday, when we finally had it looking spotless. Just living in a house for one afternoon and evening served up ample opportunity for me to make a mess. Cooking dinner, having a shower, getting dressed - all of these activities offered up fresh debris which would normally be left where it landed.

But, one day into the challenge, I am persevering - Groanin' Towers retains that sheen of spit and polish (not literally, I am not prone to spitting whilst indoors).

But can I maintain this false state of affairs for the next few weeks?

Dan-Ger

Rangers' disastrous season continues to lurch on - today's performance against Dunfermline was horrific.

To concede three goals is shameful, but to do so against the SPL's worst side, who hadn't scored in five weeks, is utterly abominable.

We can only hope that the expected arrival of Walter Smith and Ally McCoist, and the integration of Andy Webster into the backline, will shore things up quickly.

If not, the UEFA Cup will become an embarrasment.

How do you get an elephant into a Mini.....

....Open the door.

Can't stop for long today folks - Mrs Wife leaves for Angus tomorrow, and we are attempting to load the contents of a two bedroom semi-detached house into a Renault Clio.

I have a feeling that this will be a fruitless endeavour.....

Sin City

Seeing as how I only have three weeks left in my current job, and seeing as how it is Friday, and seeing as how I can't be bothered working, I have spent most of today abusing my current employers' super-fast internet connection.

Which means pissing about on the web, where I stopped by my old friend Eric's site at Straight White Guy, where I was encouraged to find out how sinful I am.

It seems I'm greedy, lazy and have an eye for the ladies. Hey, tell me something I don't know...

Your Deadly Sins

Greed: 60%

Lust: 60%

Sloth: 60%

Envy: 40%

Gluttony: 40%

Pride: 40%

Wrath: 20%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 46%

You will die love and feared by many. And you'll be buried in a tomb.

How Sinful Are You?

But only a 46 per cent chance I'll go to Hell? I need to try a whole lot harder on that score.

Le Gone

The past 72 hours has probably been amongst the most exciting in the history of the famous Glasgow Rangers.

First Paul Le Guen stripped Barry Ferguson of the club captaincy and banished him from the first team, before presiding over a 1-0 win against Motherwell.

Then, the club announces that Le Guen is to leave 'by mutual consent' - yeah, right. Le Guen is a goner because Sir David Murray is fed up with unacceptable performances on the pitch, a team full of mis-firing foreigners and the fact that Le Guen had obviously lost the confidence of his players.

I'm surprised that Walter Smith is apparently the favourite to replace the Frenchman, as I always thought he'd have more sense than to risk damaging his Rangers reputation by attempting to repeat his former glories.

As soon as I heard that Le Guen was gone, Ally McCoist's name was the first I thought of, and he'd obviously be a popular choice amongst the supporters. However, there is perhaps the an element of risk involved, as Super Ally has no previous managerial experience.

But, with close friend Ian Durrant already heavily involved in the club as reserve team coach, I think that bringing back the club's record scorer could be the best choice.

Other names in the frame include Billy Davies, who again is Rangers through-and-through, and former captain Terry Butcher. Although both would be popular with the fans, none has the same appeal as McCoist.

So can Rangers' golden boy restore a bit of sparkle to the ailing Ibrox side? I certainly hope so.

Wheeling and dealing

When Mrs Wife and I bought Groanin' Towers 18 months ago, it seemed like the most stressful thing I had ever encountered.

But it seems that selling our abode and finding a new place could be just as traumatic. Dealing with solicitors, estate agents, banks and removal firms does not fill me with great joy, and I have a feeling that my rapidly greying hair will be white by the time we move into New Groanin' Towers, whenever that will be.

But hey, at least property prices are substantially cheaper on Scotland's east coast - cheap enough that we should be able to afford a larger residence with ample room for a troop of kids and dogs.

My gosh - didn't that post just sound VERY middle aged!

And now, the end is near....

....Groanin' Jock will be groanin' no more.

As of the end of this month, Mrs Wife and I will be leaving rain-soaked Argyll behind and returning to the Arctic shores of Scotland's east, where there are cinemas, good roads and Pizza Hut.

In fact, Mrs Wife heads off to a new life in Angus next week, to be followed by me at the start of February. The letters of resignation are in, and pastures new await.

Which will mean changes to this website. The little paragraph in the top left, which currently reads: 'Displaced from Scotland's east coast and settled in the west, where it rains too much, the roads are crap and there are no cinemas.' will need to be amended to take stock of the new situation.

Does anyone want to buy a two-bedroom house in Argyll?

Happy New Year

Short and to the point today - I feel the way Woody looks.

Happy New Year to all you strange people out there on the worldwide interweb. May your hangovers be light throughout the year!

The Queen's English

Yesterday, whilst watching television, I was subjected to an advertisement for a new movie.

I can't remember what the movie was, but at the very end of the commercial, the voice-over informed the viewers that it would be released on 'Jan Five'.

That's how he said it - Jan as in the woman's name and the number five.

When did January the Fifth become Jan Five? What advantage does the voiceover gain from shortening the date? Admittedly, it might make the commerical one second shorter, which could reduce its cost - but it's a slippery slope folks.

Any more of this shortening and our language will become unintelligable - text speak (not TXT SPK) is already creeping into print and conversation such as with the dreadful LOL, which I believe stands for 'laugh out loud'.

Make a stand people - start speaking your own language as it was intended to be spoken.

Get Me Out Of Here

Yesterday, whilst hunting for those post-Christmas bargains, Mrs Wife and I went our separate ways, she to find clothing bargains and me to seek out those audio-visual deals too good to miss.

Having had my fill of the crowds and the cold, I attempted to find Mrs Wife in a large department store.

So engrossed was I in this task that I wasn't paying too much attention to the departments in which I was wandering, until it was too late.

It seems that whilst attempting to locate the little lady, I had stumbled into the lingerie section of the store. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it).

Which begs the question: Is there a subtle way for a man in his mid 20s, wearing a leather jacket and jeans and absent-mindedly sending a text message to leave the ladies' underwear section of a large high street store?

Should one straighten one's back and stride purposefully out of the area without looking back? Or should one scurry out, casting furtive glances hither and yon, lest someone has seen you?

I think my retreat was a combination of the two - a purposeful stride whilst looking round to see if anyone had noticed.

Over The Counter Culture

The turkey has been stripped of edible meat, the trifle is but a memory and the mince pies are slowly disappearing.

I always find the days following Christmas a bit strange - you spend weeks or even months preparing for it, spend a whole day eating, and then just go back to life as normal.

Well, not quite normal. As early as 9am on boxing day, people were descending on the shops in the hunt for that once-in-a-year bargain.

Even in Brechin, a small town with little in the way of shops, the streets were pretty busy. Hordes of rampaging consumers stampeded from aisle to aisle, barging past their fellow man lest they miss out on that Little Britain DVD reduced in price for one month only.

I dread to think what bigger cities will be like. Mrs Wife and I are to venture to Dundee tomorrow in our own quest for Goods of Reduced Price (like the Holy Grail, only available from Next and HMV).

If there are no further posts to this site, it is because I have been lost in the Bargain Hunter War of 2006.

Merry Christmas!

As I am likely to spend the next few days in a stupor caused by excessive amounts of meat, chocolate, trifle, Christmas pudding, rubbish television and alcohol, I'd like to take this opportunity to wish all of you a very happy Christmas.

World Tour

Never been to Paris? Desperate to see the world-famous Pinnacles in Western Australia? Want to get closer to a bunch of sad Star Wars fans queuing two months in advance to get tickets for Episode III?

If you answered yes to any of the above, check out this website. I don't know how they do it, but it's mighty impressive.

The reason I'm giving you the link to the Pinnacles site is that it is one of the places on the website that I have visited.

Mrs Wife (then known as Miss Girlfriend) and I arrived shortly before nightfall, in the part of the day known as the gloaming. With the light falling and the visitors leaving, I was inspired to dance around the Pinnacles in the style made famous by Billy Connolly.

For those unaware of the great man's work, Mr Connolly has been known to perform a merry dance in several famous world locations, not least the Arctic and at a stone circle on Orkney, as well as the Pinnacles.

The thing that makes Billy's dances so memorable is that he performs them naked. Which is what I did deep in the Australian desert one April evening.

Miss Girlfriend recorded video evidence, which I may be prepared to share with you weird and wonderful people if enough of you are disturbed enough to actually want to see it. And if you give me enough money.....

Festive funk

I love Christmas music - to me, Christmas is as much about Slade and Wizzard as it is Santa Claus and mince pies.

The growth of the worldwide interweb and the ability to download music now means that I have a sizeable stash of festive music on the magic tunebox.

So at work today I am sharing the delights of some of the best Christmas music with everyone in the office.

And I can't let all you good people miss out, so here is Bootsy Collins' take on Jingle Bellz.

Enjoy!

Groanin' Jock's Guide To Christmas

Further to my recent post calling on the government (whether in Britain or Scotland) to make the whole of December a holiday (I still haven't heard from Westminster or Holyrood - must be busy at Christmas parties), I am now proposing some broadcasting rules.

There should be no soap operas on television on Christmas Day. Who really wants to wallow in misery on Albert Square or Coronation Street on the biggest holiday of the year?

Christmas Day's television should be devoted entirely to blockbuster films, comedies, the Queen's speech and re-runs of festive Top Of The Pops.

Sadly, I think this appeal will fall on deaf ears, and that Mrs Wife and Mither will subject me to an afternoon with the soaps on Christmas Day.

Mystical ball(s)

The internet is a fantastic place people - where like-minded folks can get together and shoot the breeze about the important topics of the day. (It's also a place for people to find pictures of Britney Spears' front bottom, but that's another issue altogether.)

But the worldwide interweb is also a magical place, where true sorcerers can practise their dark arts in anonymity.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Mystical Ball - be amazed, and just a little afraid.

Christmas in Dundee

A little ditty from my friend Mike dropped onto my virtual doormat this morning by email.

Mistletoe and Wine
Christmas time, valium and wine,
Children indulging in petty crime,
Dad's on the heroin, Mum's oot her tree,
Christmas is great when you live in Dundee.

As I was born in Dundee, it makes me pine for home!

Firm favourites

It's very rare that an Old Firm match has meant so much and little as today's.

Rangers really need a win over Celtic to restore a bit of pride, but even a resounding victory would leave them 13 points adrift of the Bhoys.

If Celtic take the honours, they will be 19 points clear of the Gers before Christmas, a frankly embarrasing situation.

Admittedly, Rangers do have a further two matches against Celtic after today's, which, if all three were won, would reduce the gap to seven points - still needing Celtic to lose three times outwith the Old Firm encounters and Rangers to win all their matches.

But hey, let's just get on with restoring some pride.

Oh, and winning the UEFA Cup as well.

The Force is strong in this one

As this is the first weekend when neither Mrs Wife nor I are working, where we have no visitors and no plans to do anything, we will be testing the surround sound system to its limit, with all six Star Wars films back-to-back.

We've loaded up on popcorn, Irn Bru and crisps, the curtains are drawn and I'm all set to press play.

Speak to you all in 15 hours' time

Say no to sprouts

One thing I've never been able to stomach (literally) about Christmas is Brussel sprouts.

I remember reading once, possibly in FHM, that the sprouts were 'Satan's vomit in bite-sized packages' - I've never yet heard a better description.

With this in mind - and Mither, if you're reading this, no sprouts on my plate on the 25th please - I can recommend this little game.

Smash the sprouts!

Feeling festive?

I can scarcely believe that it is less than a fortnight until Christmas.

As I've grown older, all of the magical ritual associated with Christmas has been stripped away.

Who could forget the buillding excitement we experienced as children as the run-up to Christmas began? Adverts extolling the merits of the latest toys and games, kids TV programmes running Christmas specials and Slade and Wizzard blaring from every radio.

Probably the biggest factor was spending eight hours a day in school with other children, all whipping each other into a frenzy.

Even the little details, like sending Christmas cards, buying Advent calendars and putting up the tree seemed so exciting when we were young.

Now, they are just extra chores to tackle at the end of a long working day. Spending 40 hours a week in an office is no great way to build excitment for Christmas.

So, I am now proposing that December be declared a holiday. I realise that there may be impracticalities to this, but screw it, let the politicians figure out the fine details.

Just give me my month off.

Ginger at Christmas time

This is the greatest Irn Bru advert EVER!!! I love it - especially as I have always hated The Snowman with little gay Aled Jones warbling away. Listen carefully to the lyrics on this version - they're great!

Is this aloud?

I've always thought of myself as a pretty cool indie kid - my musical heroes are such bands as The Stone Roses, Oasis, The Beatles and so on.

So is it wrong that I think I'd quite like Girls Aloud's Greatest Hits?

Most of the songs seem to be pretty darn good - plus the girls are pretty easy on the eye (yes, even the ginger one isn't too bad).

Am I getting old? Or is my taste in music shrivelling? Or do Girls Aloud just make super-duper pop music?

Early Christmas present

Great news this morning - Rangers are said to be leading the chase to sign recently-released Hearts captain Steven Pressley.

I've been hoping that David Murray would open his cheque book to bring big Elvis back to Ibrox for a few years now, and it seems circumstances may work in the Gers' favour.

Rangers' defence has been flimsy this season, and Pressley would add a massive chunk of Scottish grit to the back line. He may not be the most gifted footballer in the world, or a replacement for the long-departed Richard Gough, but chances are he would be a damn sight better than the mish-mash of confused foreigners who have filled the centre back slots since the start of Rangers' ramshackle season.

Even if the big man does return to the club where he started as a teenager 15 years ago, he won't be eligible for the UEFA Cup.

But he's still well worth signing.