The TV's still on, the typing's still shocking...

Alright there, clarts? Safe as? You knows it!

...Well indeed, and many of you may be asking what brought on this sudden burst of Cod Jamaican-Newport patois. Well, I can tell you. Your humble correspondant has recently discovered the joys of the Goldie Lookin Chain. Who? Hard to explain but you might be best to go and look at youknowsit.co.uk. The flash-based 'Hi-Tec' section is obviously pretty cool, but you should also check out the old-school bit, where there's some MP3s that I suspect that will probably never get issued properly and that are worth downloading (particularly 'Thru Space and Time' and 'The Alchemist'). Also, follow the link to the BBC sessions stuff as well - there's some great GLC live tracks (more if you use the menu option at the bottom) and also a really cool session from Optimas Prime. Two things I should say about the GLC before I move on to a new subject:

a) They are very rude, so please don't follow the above links if you're easily offended
b) I was into the GLC before Radio 1-based gimp Scott Mills started playing 'Guns Don't Kill People...' fairly regularly. Not much admittedly, but I was, so there. I'd hate you to think my music tastes were influenced by the prattling goon, or that I even listen to him except under duress.

So, anyway, as hinted in the title, yes the TV is on in the background - the BBC's coverage of the Olympics, no less. You've got to love the Olympics, if only for making you momentarily interested in sports you'd otherwise never give the time of day: yer shootings, yer archerys, yer three-day eventing, yer (God help me) synchronised divings and even yer gymnastics. Quite why I should care about how well a sparrow-boned Romanian can prance around a square or throw herself over some bars I don't know, and what on earth is going on with the scoring is beyond me, but it most definately is compulsive viewing.

Blogging being what it is , I should probably have included some links in amongst that lot but frankly, if you can't find info about the 'Lympics on the internet right now, maybe you should just think about taking your computer back to Curry's...That said, I tried searching for the rules to the Madison the other day and just ended up with a headache. It's something to do with cycling and it's very confusing, OK? Let's just leave it at that.

Anything else that I had plans to mention? Well, inspired by the late, lamented Malevole.com (don't look for it, it's not there any more, kids) I've started spotting odd items that have been left in strange places in supermarkets. Latest that stuck in my mind being the feather duster in amongst the frozen peas - I can only grasp at the thought processes that must have been involved: 'Now what did I come here for? It's a big shop, I must be able to find what I need. Ah yes! Feather dusters! My house is very dusty, I'll go home and give it a quick dust. Dust, dust, dust, that's all I'll do. No hang on, wait! What was I thinking? It wasn't a duster I came here for, it was some frozen peas! Mmmmm, lovely peas. Get out of my basket, feathery duster! Begone from my sight!' Next step is to start taking my digital camera to the supermarket, but I think that might be taking things too far...

Finally, first in a probably once-only or at least pretty rare series here at Squidstew - phrases and mixed-up word spoonerisms that annoy me for no apparent reason!:

People who say 'Pacific' when they mean 'Specific' (and say 'Atlantic' when they mean 'Vague', no doubt, arf)!

People who say 'Momento' when they mean 'Momentum'!

People who mix up words like 'energy' and 'force' (I'm looking at you, Martin Brundle)!

People who say things like 'The tyres what the team have chosen' (I'm looking at you, Mark Blundell)!

Right, that's quite enough of that. Time for bed. Ta-ra!

TV on, poor typing skills

So, having done the briefest of intros and farted around with the profile, time to do a proper post. So, what Earth-shattering topic is going to be under my scrutiny? Climate change? Global terrorism? The Blair-Bush axis of twattishness? Nope, Eastenders.

For those not lucky enough to be in the know, Eastenders is a soap opera made by the BBC (for further enlightenment, click here, why don't you?). But why is this of interest to you? Well, in all likelihood it's probably not but it matters to me - at least it used to.

So that's the issue, I used to love Eastenders - fair enough, even at my most addicted I rarely made a great deal of time for it in my weekday evening schedule, but collapsing hungover in front of the omnibus on Sunday afternoons was a ritual event in my student days. And does anyone remember the story with Phil getting shot and no-one knowing who did it? God, I was out on the night that finished so I videoed it, no really.

But the point, the point. I was getting to the point. Eastenders. These days: Rubbish. And I mean that; utter, utter claptrap. Unfortunately, Mrs Squidstew is still quite the fan, otherwise it wouldn't get TV time in the house. But it was due to her continuing allegiance to the show that I was recently exposed to an episode that made me realise that the affair was finally over and it really was time to cut the chord and move on.

The episode was aired on Monday the 2nd and involved some of the shoddiest, poorly thought-out and irrelevant writing I've ever been subjected to having blasted out of my television.

To give a rapid review, Paul (a rough-diamond character with a history of criminal activity)'s father and his wife are trying to be allowed to foster children. They are going through the process of interviews and checking, and Paul (because he lives with them in their B&B) has to take part. He is unwilling but doesn't want to shatter his doting father's dreams. At the same time he has also, apropos of absolutely nothing (do you see where I'm going here?) been teaching da local yoot basketball at the community centre, depsite having never shown the slightest interest (let alone enough skill that people would want him to share it with them), in his entire time in the programme.

So he's in the interview, smoking like a train, and it's not going swimmingly due to the evidence of air-bourne carcinogens, his rough diamond-ness and the whole criminal activity thing. Just as it looks as if he's completely blown the whole kaboodle, with his dad fuming outside the door, a whole bunch of the afore-mentioned yoofs barge in and demand to know where Paul's been and why he hasn't turned up to practice. One of them might even go so far as to say 'We can't do it without you' or some such nonsense. This, of course, swings the whole thing and the fostering deal is back on.

And this is just the problem: lazy, lazy writing. Shortcuts all over the place. Appaling character development. Spare a thought for poor old Gary Beadle (who plays Paul) - he has had some great storylines: His Mum clearly not caring two jots about him (culminating in him yelling 'what about me??!!?' at her as she died), his daughter being robbed from him by the mother, the big reveal of how he saved his doctor brother Anthony from jail. But these have been interspersed with moments where the script-writers clearly haven't had the first clue what to do with him, resulting in him being forced to portray every possible personality type from kicked puppy to Rude-bwoy Gangsta. To give him his due as one of the better actors on the show he's often risen to the challenge, but this isn't character development or depth, it's just inconsistant scripting.

Anyhoo, so there you go. Dear Auntie Beeb, please pull the plug on Eastenders, the great big weeping sore that it is. Thank you and good night.

Blimey, that was all a bit Televisionwithoutpity, wasn't it? Or did I even stray into TVgohome territory? Yeah, right, I wish. On a side note, Charlie Brooker's column Screenburn in this week's Guardian Guide was worth the price of the newspaper by itself, as is often the case...

Hmmmmm

Seem to be having problems here, two attempts at posting a picture last night failed, here's hoping third time's lucky...

Anyway, the picture was to be of a little cartoon squid who goes by the name of squishy



There he is!

Anyway, to explain - the blog's called Squidstew because of a song we used to do in a band back at Uni, and also (due to my addiction to console games) it gave me an instant icon in the shape of Squishy from the Kirby series of games. Hopefully that goes some way towards explaining the slightly crytpic title of the first post.

Right, at work again, but it's my birthday today so let's go crazy with cake and jelly and blogs!

Can we say Squishy?

Right, first (and potentially abortive) attempt at a blog. Writing this at work (naughty boy!) so will just fire this first post off and then return to this once I am at home and back in the world of the dial-up dweller...

Wow, big intro...

Oh well, might at least make an effort at this blogging thing...to see how a member of the family really does it, why not visit the site of my big blister? She's dead clever and good wiv words and stuff. Clicky here why don't you?