LoLyoaks

Now I love Hollyoaks in much the same way as I love my novelty alarm clock shaped like a cat - it's hilarious, cheap, crap, pretty to look at and has an infuriating jingle. In fact, the only thing I love more than Hollyoaks is the photos the cast have to pose for to illustrate the stories of the week for the various tv listings magazines.. observe:














So here we have Rhys perving on Hannah's ear in the harrowing plotline that culminates in 'Pushing Brain' a late night Hollyoaks special featuring British tv's first simulated earfuck while other cast members get it on rather implausibly in soft focus to somehow pad the action out to half an hour, and Michaela and that guy whose name I can't remember in the episode where she rehabilitates him back into society via the medium of salsa after his repetitive wanking injury. Duh. Worth a thousand words people..

Well anyway, the rather marvelous www.lowculture.co.uk has taken these photos and parodied lolcats in a way that is either utterly amazingly fantastic or completely incomprehensible, depending on how up on your low culture you are:

So simple, yet great!

On the merry streets of Soho

For some reason it pleases me immensely that Bathing Ape - sorry Bape - 's flagship store in Soho, perveyor of limited edition £500 trainers and baseball caps that cost £100, is next to a Greggs, perveyor of sausage rolls and steak bakes for less than a pound.
I fondly imagine that I will troll down there one day to see a standoff between the queue of faux Japanese trendies outside Bape and the queue of grey wheezing proles outside Greggs, but that's just the stuff of Jason Nevin's nightmares.

Cape Wrath - Cape Whaaa?

My head, it hurts! This programme is really well acted to a T but literally makes no sense! Dramatic confrontation after dramatic confrontation, always with a dash of pointless sex or violence and always with a twist! It's like watching thirty Drama A level assessments in an hour, which at least explains why most of my drama teachers have been barking.

Still main guy, whose name I forget as it's something boring like David Blah, is oddly attractive. So I will persevere.

I'm going to put my neck on the line here..

..no, no I'm not even in the slightest, but I had an epiphany that I first had at Glastonbury again on the bus this morning - the Arctic Monkeys are really fucking great. Like, really, really great. Like, great enough that it makes me really want to live up north again, away from the snideypoos of London Town who don't say what they think and don't know what they feel. Not, admittedly enough to bring up a child in the North, but that's Tom from Hollyoaks fault. Mind you, Ben from Eastenders is pretty much killing my love of southern kids too, so perhaps I will have to run off and have a kid with someone whose accent doesn't feature in a soap opera. Not that this is exactly an immediate concern I hasten to add, before my male friend start covering their crotches in the pub and I find a boiled bunny on my desk tomorow.

But anyway, I digress. Arctic Monkeys - ace. Totally ace. And anyone who laughs at me for being really middle of the road, or boring or obvious can sod off. I can't hear you anyway because I'm singing along to my ipod in a reet terrible norvern accent.

Well I guess it's not MY taxes paying for this

Actually I think this film has made me like the US Navy at lest 100000000 times more than before. But then they aren't wasting my money or killing my family, so I guess that actually makes me a bit biased.

Nah, I think, as demonstrated by the Philippino prisioners, there is always room for a nice bit of miming and mugging in the workplace. I'm just bitter because no one at work has twigged that by coming in every day dressed up an airhostess I'm not the cleaner and that I actually want to start an impromtu rendition of Flying the Flag by Scootch. Or Toxic by Britney. Hell! Even Woah We are Going to Ibiza by the Vegaboys. I'm not fussy. But I won't empty your overflowing bin.

Walking, Talking, Living Doll

I don't know who this classy lady is, but much like Sienna Miller a few posts back, she appears to have jumped into a time machine and asked the 6 year old Biche for makeup advice. Only this little dollface raided my dressing up box too!

TRUFAX! I used to have the most amazing black velvet and gold lame leopard print strapless cocktail dress when I was younger. I mean, obviously it didn't stay up and it reached the floor rather than a be-stockinged knee and I wore it over jeans and a t shirt, but I was still clearly The Shit. My friends had to make do with cast off gypsy skirts and parachute pants.

Respecttothemanintheicecreamvan!

No.

Although respect is due to:

*The street sweeper of Crouch End Broadway. He must be about fifty and appears to be built soully of sinew, wire and reflective yellow plastic, but my god! He is like a grizzly old duracell bunny! Well, to be honest he is probably on speed or at least some other low level amphetamine, but my god he gets the job done, and woe betide any dog/pregnant woman/annoying little tyke not in pushchair (who collectively make up at least 75% of Crouch End at any given time) who wanders into the path of his giant blur of a broom. I did used to think he was pretending he was in Stomp! in his head and was actually beating out complex drum rhythms as he anihilates the fag butts and bus tickets to the curb, but having seen into his eyes (through the protection of the bus shelter) I fink is jus da drugs.

Which begs the question why they don't subsidise them as part of the job. If they did I'm sure more people would sign up. Well, it would probably lure mon frere into gainful employment at any rate.

*The old man who dropped his melon on the bus yeterday. No shame, he just went and chased after it like a toddler chasing a duck before securing it somewhere near the drivers feet and getting a round of applause from the bus.

Ha you can tell I was thinking of this on my journey to the pub last night, can't you?

Christ what a lame entry