One of the weaknesses I’ve noticed among the intellectually inclined is the tendency to use the comma unnecessarily. The use of the comma is, of course, to denote when we take a pause in the flow of speech, or to list a number of items in a sentence. Smart people however tend to use commas before words like ‘and’ simply because it fits with how their sentence sounds. This has become an annoying bugbear for me, simply because the smarter people seem to be the more they seem to misuse commas, this is paradoxical and therefore annoying. Not only have I noticed that the cleverer people seem to be the more they misuse commas but the dumber people seem to be the less they use commas, full stop. (That was a grammar joke).

In other news, I spent far too much money in poundland, a place where not surprisingly everything is one pound, a veritable dream for those with masculine financial tendencies. Manly hardware at the manly, cheap price of £1. What could possibly make this difficult? The minimum spend if you’re going to use a card to pay, that’s what. I ended up having to spend a fiver most unnecessarily on two boxes of malteasers and a pack of walnut whips simply because I panicked and didn’t like the idea of walking away from the counter like I’d done something wrong. Imagine looking like you’d fucked up in a pound shop, surely that is the pinnacle of looking intellectually pathetic.

If that wasn’t bad enough, I wasted another seven pounds on having a dirty little kebab brought to my house and yet, it was missing everything that could have been considered unhealthy. As I ripped off the greasy wrapping paper like a fat kid’s Christmas present I was greeted by the image of a diced lettuce swimming in garlic sauce. Not a chip nor a piece of chicken in sight, I was a little disappointed it has to be said.

My next post will have a point. I promise.

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Holy hell, I said this story had more to it and I was very much proven to be correct. The rumours of financial irregularity vindicated and this isn’t the first time there’s been consternation over a Fraser/DUP incident.

The real problem with this story lies in entirely the point that few are picking up on properly or with the fervour I’d like to see it picked up on. Peter Robinson is a cynical man. He quite readily broke the news of his wife’s affair and attempted suicide in a bid to cover up or detract from the fact that he was fully aware of financial wrongdoing by his wife, and himself by extension for not declaring financial interests. He has therefore broken the rules, as has his wife and they should be treated as such. He should not be able to survive as First Minister, he has compromised the interests of the people he represents and abused the trust of those very same people.

The fact is, power was abused, it was covered up by the most powerful politician in the country and then he cynically used his wife’s poxy affair in order to distract the people of Northern Ireland away from his own personal wrongdoing. If this was happening in England the shit would be proverbially smashing the fan. I would expect us not to be so shortsighted as to not to see Robinson punished for his part in this.

The next player in this saga is Selwyn Black, a man who apparently felt ‘betrayed’ by what Mrs Robinson had done. Yet, he managed to keep his gob shut until his job at Stormont was at an end, until his paychecks stopped coming. Those are some self interested feelings of betrayal there. This man is equally guilty of the self interest shown by the Robinsons. If he knew about this he should have been out with it immediately and not waited on his job being finished, so no, Dr. Black does not deserve a round of applause here, though he must indeed be credited with at least bringing this information to light. I’m just not sure about either his motives or the reason as to why it took him so long. The real credit belongs to the BBC Spotlight team, for great research, a fantastically compelling explanation of events and some of the most terrible reconstructions ever conceived.

Most importantly, a lot of wrong has been done here, and heads need to roll, for the good of the political process here.

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Midweek Musical Musing (No.1) - Mrs. Robinson - Pomplamoose

I’ve had a masterstroke. From here on in, I’m going to try and choose for my (as of blogging) 14 loyal followers a song which reflects my mood or stuff that’s going on. I’ve decided to call this feature the: Midweek Musical Musing. This week’s Midweek Musical Musing is going to be this interesting rendition of Mrs. Robinson brought to us by Pomplamoose - purveyors of fine music, check out their version of Michael Jackson’s Beat It especially!

If you haven’t guessed this is in response to the revelations on the Northern Irish political front that the ‘first family’ isn’t quite the marital bliss it would seem. Today Peter Robinson gave a statement saying that his wife had attempted suicide as the result of guilt due to an extra marital affair with an as-yet unnamed suitor (Tiger Woods? Gerry Kelly?). This isn’t the first time we’ve heard allegations that family life isn’t all it was cracked up to be in the Robinson household, with strong allegations coming from some quarters that there was domestic violence between the couple.

For what it’s worth, I don’t think we’ve heard the end of this saga, and personally, after looking as a shaken and gaunt Peter Robinson today I’m not entirely sure he’ll end up staying in the job much longer. As well as that, it doesn’t seem to quite add up, there’s more to this case, rumours abound which are would give comments like these an interesting twist. All unconfirmed of course, yet I’ve heard things from reputable journalists but I dare not get myself into hot water. This has made for a rocky day in NI politics, we certainly haven’t heard the end of this.

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These are the people I seem to detest most in life. Everyday life that is, I do reserve a rather Daily Mail attitude for paedophiles and rapists - that they should have their peckers lopped off. (Same with a car really, if you can’t use it in a safe manner you may not have it at all)

However, returning to my initial point, television criers are some of the most abhorrent people that can be found. Amanda Holden, that chap off the F-Word, countless football players, the list goes on. Indeed, I understand that crying is a somewhat integral part of drama, which is why I have post point exempted that from my list.

That is all on that point really.

In other news, I have resolved to achieve some things. Firstly, I would like to cook a little more, I adore cooking and collecting cookery books but I never seem to make the time to open a page and cook something. This has annoyed me in the past and made a small fortune for Uncle Ben.

Secondly, and perhaps further to the previous resolution (I hazard to call them those for fear of disregarding them by February) at some point I would like to be considered a sex symbol. I realise from extensive research that this is not necessarily everything to do with looks, though of course that’ll help. It has much to do with attitude. Apparently chicks dig guys who can cook, guys with drive. Again though chicks also seem to dig famous coke addicts. I’m looking at you Sherlock!

Perhaps you can help, in some small way to boost my flagging ego. You can refer to me in your own blogs, quite simply; and without much ado, by saying -

“Ciaran is a Buck”

or something along those lines…

If you do end up doing that, please tell me about it - @doorofkukondo

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Too easy to forget to do or indeed become lackadaisical with regard to - blogging is certainly not my forte but thanks to Project 52 and New Year’s Resolutions I’m being made to look bad because I don’t do this often enough. Then again nothing much of any consequence happens for which I can add a new or interesting insight on.

Though I suppose I can sell out and review my year in a self important and all too common manner of only highlighting the one or two moments of 2009 which were of any worth. I honestly can’t do that though. 2009 was a runt of a year, in the scheme of the last decade somehow it seems not to be able to establish itself as a year that was worth living through. Fuck, we lost Michael Jackson and Jade Goody, that makes me sad. Fuck you 2009, you took my heroes from me.

Lets be serious for a moment though, despite 2009’s inability to seem like a good year, and everybody’s bitching about it, it wasn’t all that bad. I say this because it was a sort of coming of age for me. I turned 18. I organised something awesome, felt dead grown up. Got totally hammered for the first time in my life, also suffered my first hangover. I have to agree with a lot of people and say that 2009 wasn’t awesome but it had some awesome moments, it really did.

I’m looking forward to 2010, it’s already shaping up to be a pretty good year, hell, it’s Elvis’ 75th birthday, I’m going to go to university in September, just not Oxford or Bristol. Fuck you Oxford and Bristol. This is exciting. So is the idea of CupcakeCamp Dublin, but the chances of that happening are looking somewhat pathetic. Cheers economic downturn, mind you, that might be a good thing, I’ll only end up blaspheming and landing myself with a fine.

I’ll blog more, can’t promise it’ll be happy, nor can I promise it’ll be as wonderfully intelligent as this post, but that’s half the fun. The other half is talking shit while listening to Elvis.

Long live The King - uh huh

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Doesn’t get much better than Mr. Walken

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You sit there and you thump your Bible, and you say your prayers, and it didn’t get you anywhere! Talk about your Psalms, talk about John 3:16… Austin 3:16 says I just whooped your ass!”.

Stone Cold Steve Austin

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Eclectic, I suppose that’s how I can describe this week without going entirely overboard and using the all too oft used word of the generation ‘random’ but I suppose it could fit too.

I’ve been looking forward to this week for quite a while now and indeed it managed to impress me more than I could have expected. The first three days were spent toiling away as usual in school but come Wednesday night there was a sudden time warp around 8PM and we were transported back to 1986 suddenly watching Hadley, Norman, Keeble and the Kemps.

On the silky screen erected around the stage the word ‘Reformation’ faded in (quite possibly in helvetica) and the sound of ‘Round and Round’ floated nostalgically through the Odyssey. Meanwhile the stage screen showed video and pictures of Spandau from the mid 80’s, during the hay days in the tartan trousers and costumes a Jedi would be proud of. My special commendations must go to Tony Hadley and the backing singer whose name escapes me currently. Their voices didn’t falter the entire night and they belted out ‘Highly Strung’, ‘Gold’ and ‘Fight for Ourselves’

One can not underestimate the emotion displayed during ‘Through The Barricades’ when the entire crowd really came alive and sang along. Really really special that.

By Friday the dark circles were forming beneath my eyes and my tongue was beginning to feel like sandpaper through dehydration and weariness. I really should drink more water.

However, I had Tim Minchin to look forward to, a man who could all too easily be described by referencing Bill Bailey for his musical based comedy but somehow the two have completely different styles, and from last night it could be deduced a healthy rivalry too.

Tim was on wonderful form and mixed some brilliant new songs with fantastic classics despite having a problem at the beginning which he dealt with so professionally by telling us ‘Fuck off Belfast’ A wonderful whimsical performer with some brilliant messages. Primarily - don’t take everything so damn seriously.

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Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty good.

Larry David

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How awesome is that?! I have to say, that after the first revision of Doctor Who I honestly wasn’t too impressed with the whole, ‘natural concept’ that Russell T Davies had moved towards with both the branding and the TARDIS. It lacked that, cheeziness and 1970’s-ness about it. It was a professional new sci-fi direction and that wasn’t Doctor Who. Despite my irk with the branding and indeed the inside of the TARDIS. Now may be the time for an admission. I really really love the Paul McGann Doctor Who movie. It was visually really really nice, the plot sucked royally, but the TARDIS and all things Whoish were beautiful. It was a new direction but it was one I embraced for still having that Edwardian charm that some Doctor’s really flaunted (I’m looking at you Pertwee) But despite some of the problems in the new new Who, I adored the new version and had to eat many of the bad words I may have said about Davies. He did, for the most part reinvigorate Doctor Who, and introduced us to a writer named Stephen Moffat, previously known for the wonderful Who spoof “Doctor Who and the Curse of Fatal Death” and if you can spoof a show, you sure as hell can write for it. He sure proved that with one of the seminal Tennant era shows “Blink”; right up there with some of the best Classic Whos.

This new logo, with it’s more classic style (I’m thinking very pedantically here - Doctor above Who as opposed to “Doctor Who” right to left.) and maybe more importantly Moffat taking over the reigns of Who from Davies I hope is an indication that Doctor Who might get on the straight and narrow again, will be a sci-fi adventure show with a nod to the classic series, not a soap opera or moving towards the Twilight, aimed at teenage girls promo photos I’d been seeing when Matt Smith was introduced as the new Doctor. Moffat immediately moved away from the Bernard Black attire Smith looked mildly dashing in and put him in tweed, boots and a bow-tie truly reflecting a little of the Doctor’s alien personality.

I live in hope that it’ll be awesome and that maybe they’ll redecorate the TARDIS.

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