You see, a lot of people think I live a rock and roll lifestyle. This is partly due to the fact that I have been known, on occasion, to travel around the country reviewing  gigs and festivals. Hell, I even run a music reviews website with my friend. I have tales of drunken nights out, and crazy friends. But then maybe you have to be crazy to be friends with me?

No, as much as I love – and occasionally live – rock and roll, I don’t see myself as a hell-raiser (although I have it on good authority that my beard has the capability of scaring small children). This was brought home to me by a conversation I am having on MSN with a friend and fellow writer, someone I can always turn to if I’m struggling to find that elusive word, or if I just fancy an amusing chat (possibly about cold noodles being ‘cool’ or swans being ‘rapey’).

As she typed, she was sitting with a glass of wine in hand, brainstorming ideas on possible articles she could pitch to a website owner. At the exact same time, I was sat at my computer typing back at her, sipping on a glass of milk and looking at books about tying knots on Amazon. (And for your information I am a Scout leader and not some sort of kinky pervert, thankyouverymuch.)

And this was when I realised just how anti-rock and roll my rock and roll lifestyle is. But , to paraphrase that old rocker Shakespeare, therein lies the rub: I’d rather be me than anyone else. Maybe the spirit of rebellion and ‘sticking it to the man’ exists within my glass of milk; sticking the finger up to the stereotypical preconceptions of a music-obsessed teenager. Perhaps.

My supervisor once called described me to someone as being ‘like a computer nerd, but cool’. And I’ll be quite happy if people think that of me for the rest of my life.

Oh, and for those of you that were wondering: semi-skimmed.

Sink hole or first warning from the Herald of Galactus? You decide.

Thanks go to my dad for the idea.

The adverts said it was like Back to the Future meets The Hangover. I suppose I can see where they’re coming from: is it a brilliant time travel parody? Is it a film about what happens when you get far too wasted? Well, that’s a yes on both counts, but Hot Tub Time Machine definitely a film that stands on its own. The dude from Sex Drive and Kick-Ass - whom Google informs me is named Clark Duke – is excellent, as is Chevy Chase as the mysterious Hot Tub Repair Man of Destiny! Actually, they’re all great. OK, so Ipredicted a major plot twist 15 mins in, and the characters are mildly stereotypical, but the film is far too much fun for any of that to matter.

If you’re looking for a good time, go and see Hot Tub Time Machine. You won’t be disappointed.

(Oh, and I couldn’t help but snigger as Martin Freeman appeared on the screen, thanking the audience for all paying to see the film… Ah Cineworld, think before you play the anti-not-paying-for-films reel at a free preview screening!)

http://youroldcrapwebsite.wordpress.com/

Arcade Fire, The Gaslight Anthem, The Futureheads, Blink 182, Paramore, Weezer, Guns N Roses, Queens of the Stone Age, Biffy Clyro, Lostprophets, NoFX, Billy Talent, Serj Tankian, Frank Turner, Klaxons, We Are Scientists, Mumford and Sons

Yipeeeeee!

Goodness knows how many months ago, a ginger cat began to visit our house. At first it would come over and look for attention from my mum while we were in the garden. She’d be sitting there in the sun, reading the paper, when all of a sudden a blur of orange would streak through the garden, and she would generally find herself speaking to and stroking this ginger cat.

Before long, the cat had built up enough confidence to venture into our house. It was only allowed into the kitchen, and soon – buoyed by my mother’s habit of feeding it scraps of meat, and eventually proper cat food – it became accustomed to the three of us. Over the months the cat was given more freedoms, and soon  the cat was – for some reason unbeknownst to me – granted free roam of the house, and indeed stays in our house on many a cold night. So this is the stage we are at now: he has his own bowls (three of them – one for food, one for water, and a small one for milk as a treat), a litter tray and it sleeps in the ironing basket. We have affectionately named it ‘Ginge’. (Although it may also be referred to as ‘The Ginger Cat’ or ‘That Bloody Cat’.)

My mum has convinced herself that this cat is a stray; that we have somehow rescued it from the wilderness of Aberdeen and given it a safe haven. I am convinced that it is far too well groomed to be stray and has an owner; it just loves the attention and food.

A couple of days ago, the ginger cat walked into the house and covered our kitchen in blood. Although this made a change from covering the kitchen in ginger fur, it was not a welcome one. We soon discovered the cat’s paw was cut, and deduced that it had been in a fight. (The clumps of misplaced fur were also used as deciding evidence.)

So my mum took it to the vet. She had kept the cat carrier from when we had our own cat, and so bundled it into the car and off she went. Needless to say, the cat was distressed. Being the kind caring soul she is (her words!), she strapped the cat carrier in the front passenger seat facing her, so the cat wouldn’t be too scared. As a sign of gratitude, the cat promptly stress-molted and attacked her through the bars on the front every time she changed gear. Honestly, some cats just don’t appreciate the effort!

After surviving the embarrassment of being summoned by the vet in front of a waiting room full of worried-looking owners and a shivering dog (“Ginge Smith? Is that really what it’s called?!”), the cat was given some injections. My mum wasn’t given any of those, but she was given a bottle of antibiotics and told to keep the cat in the house.

Bear in mind, at this point, that this cat is not ours. it turns out the cat is micro-chipped, however they “turn off” the database at the weekend, so we can’t find out who owns it until then. So this was how I found myself pinning a cat down to the kitchen work-surface as my mum droppered the antibiotics into the cat’s mouth in the hope that we could reduce some paw-swelling. Indeed, that was a ‘fun’ task. Not letting the cat out does pose two problems, however:

1. This cat is a speed demon and will bolt for any open window/door/crack in the wall it can find to get outside.
2. We may have accidentally kidnapped some poor child’s cat. Every day I keep expecting to see posters stuck on lampposts.

Of course, it may be the case that the owners have moved on somewhere, and the cat has found its way back to our area where it used to live. In that case, we shall welcome Ginge to the family (and probably give it a proper name). I just can’t wait until my mum has to make that phone call though:

“Hello. We have your cat…What do you feed it?… Whiskas?… Oh no, it won’t eat that any more. You’ll have to buy the gourmet stuff, that’s what we feed it… Yes, we feed it… Yes, your cat has basically been living in our house these past few months… Actually I was phoning to say it was injured, and I took it to the vet. We’ve been giving it medication…  I think kidnapped is a bit of a harsh word, don’t you?… Hello? Hello?”

Joe’s War
By Joe, Eoin, Euan, Cara and Amira

Hi my name is Joe,
Was called up and had to go,
Now I’m marching in the snow,
Will I live? I do not know.

I hear the ringing of a bell,
Oh no! here comes another shell,
This war is turning into Hell!
Will I ever see my girlfriend Mel?

I’m on guard with Private Herman
Looking out for the enemy German.
This whole trench is full of vermin.
Oh no! Ran out of bourbon!

Here I’m sitting by the fire
Watching horses stuck in barbed wire,
To kill them all is my desire,
Maybe I should just retire.