Popping the zits of culture.

I blimming love burgers me. So thought I’d try my hand at writing about them. 

Honest Burgers 189 Portobello Road

It’s funny the memories we attach with dining out. A few years ago I was seeing someone who shared my love of gentrified fast food. On one date to Bodeans she tucked into some wings with such relish that she didn’t notice or care about the sauce running down her arm. Reader, I could have married her there and then. But sadly things didn’t work out. One of the last times we saw each other was for lunch at Honest Burgers in Soho. I wasn’t overly impressed by the food then but I often wondered if that was because of the bittersweet nature of that meeting.

Fast forward to the present day. I found myself walking along Portobello Road and a wealth of memories came flooding back. The first decade of my life was spent living in a tower block near Ladbroke Grove so the market there provided a lot of the food I ate. Even when I moved away I still frequented Fantastic Store, the long defunct comic shop that’s responsible for a lot of my misspent youth. The long arm of gentrification has long reached the area and I spent a while reminiscing of places long gone. It was then I spotted a branch of Honest Burger. As much as I’m dismayed by the displacement of the poor, I was kinda grateful for it as I was sort of peckish. My stomach is a hypocrite I know.

Because it was such a nice day I decided to treat myself with the Honest Burger, a cheese and bacon burger to the layman, and BBQ wings. It’s a cozy little nook with a good view of the street outside which is perfect for people watching. The decor like the menu is simple but tries a bit too hard to be classy. Like other fancy fast food places it’s hard to tell the difference between service and clientele but they were friendly enough. However in my good mood and distracted by the decent music selection, a half hour passed before I noticed my food hadn’t arrived. Just as I was wondering if I should make my excuses and leave, I was handed a bowl of onion rings as a peace offering. They were light with a satisfying crunch and not too greasy. But the batter did taste a little powdery and the onion was a bit limp. Still, not bad for a freebie.

The rest of my order arrived soon after on the now standard tin plates. Everything looked impeccably prepared, crisp rosemary salt fries with the skins left on, a burger heaped with fillings and delicious looking wings covered in chopped spring onion. I picked up a wing and got stuck in straight away. The meat was tender and the skin retained a bit of crispness but the vital ingredient, the sauce, was disappointingly bland. There was only the merest suggestion of sweetness and could only muster a light tingle. I went though each one hoping for some sudden burst of flavour but it never came.

(photo taken from Burger Me!) 

After a mediocre start, I went onto the star of the show. The Honest Burger itself. On inspection, everything was in place. A juicy patty, thickly cut bacon, some lettuce and gherkin in onion relish and gooey melted cheese. All wrapped in a bun that could have been used to advertise itself. But on first bite, the brioche bun was a little stale though points should be added for the toasted inside providing a nice bit of crunch. However all the delicious looking ingredients for some reason didn’t add up to a wealth of flavour. Each bite tasted exactly like the last. No complaints about how it was cooked, it just didn’t have much to it.

...fight a horse sized duck or 100 duck sized horses?

After having thought about this for some time, my original answer was going to be 100 duck sized horses. I’m over 6 foot, in ok shape, should be easy. I could take out the first 10 or so easy, no problem. Couple of good kicks to their neck should see them running off. Second 10, might take a bit longer, I’d have to start using my fists as well now. At first I thought this was going to be a walk in the park but now I’m letting anger take over, they just keep on coming no matter how many I take out, there’ll be a couple more. It would be around the 40s that my fists and feet would really start to feel the kicks and punches I’ve inflicted against all of these tiny horses. The adrenaline is keeping the worst of the pain at bay, dulling it to a warm glow. The red mist is keeping me going. I’ve made it too far to go back now. The strain of throwing so many punches and kicks is starting to take its toll on my body. A few of those horses have gotten a few kicks in. Even at that size, their muscular legs can still pack some power. My legs are covered in tiny hoof marks but I still fight on. Around 60, I’m fighting fatigue as well. It feels like I’ve been doing this forever now, I can’t remember anything else. I feel numb to their pained whinnies as my bruised fists connect with their long faces. Every punch or kick I throw takes about 5 times the effort it should but I can’t stop now. Around the 80 mark, I’m filled with a new vigour knowing the end is in sight, they still come. When it’s done, I’m surrounded by injured creatures licking at their wounds. I’m covered in blood both mine and theirs. I’m breathing heavier than I ever have before. The pain that I’ve caused these small, wonderful, horses is clear to me. I almost apologise but I can’t even look any of them in the eye knowing what I’ve done to them. Their shocked expressions will haunt me forever after this. I close my eyes and all I see is my boot connecting with their small bodies. I withdraw into myself, unable to form any kind of relationship with anyone. I start drinking heavily to forget. There was no reason for any of this to happen other than blind stupid bravado.

“I got too much energy to switch off my mind, but not enough to get myself organised”

The above quote from Infected by The The* has always stood out for me. It’s been one of my favourite songs for some time but that line perfectly sums up the tension between potential and cold hard reality. Ideas are easy to come up with, making them happen is bastard hard.

I get all my best ideas when I’m in the bath. Probably because having a bath is always a good idea in itself. But this one came to me after I was getting over bout of insomnia. While having a soak listening to 6 music, I remembered all the times I’d laid staring at the ceiling thinking of all the things I could be doing instead of trying to sleep but never had the energy for when one sentence just popped into my head. 

“I could write a book”

It’s something we’ve all said to ourselves at some point in our lives. Some of us have even tried, fewer still have actually done it. But for me, the sentence itself holds so much potential and takes on some poignancy especially when it’s thought by someone whose brain refuses to shut up. The mind dancing with so many what-ifs and what-abouts in all directions while the body is trying to shut down and reboot itself. 

I’ve had the idea for doing something based on the mad inner monologues of someone trying to sleep for a while. Write what you know after all. But never really found the right kind of format for it. At one point, it was going to be a sitcom that took place in one person’s mind. It may well do at some point but for now, I don’t think I could do it justice. 

But a single flight of fancy in a comic form? That I could do! So I got out of the bath and set to work on a quick mock up of what it could look like. I got the instructions for making a mini-zine from the excellent Sammy Borras (do check out her work, it’s amazing!). I’ve always wanted to do something short and sweet so this seemed like a perfect fit. I quickly made one up, it was rough as shit but that’s cool because that’s all it needed to be. And then I did something totally and utterly reckless, I drew with a pen. 

Drawing with a pen means commitment. And being a man, I actively avoid it whenever possible. Drawing with a pencil is fine and dandy, you can make a mistake and it won’t matter too much because you can always rub it away. (Like casual sex, rubbers are important!) But this time I just wanted to see where the idea would take me rather than vice versa. 

I had 5 pages to work with. Not a lot but a daunting prospect when you have to fill them. But these five in particular came easily to me. The first page was when I was sure of what I was doing. A brief establishing shot, someone is trying to sleep. Then BOOM! “I could write a book”. The inciting incident, the sentence upon which everything else hangs. 

After that, it was just a matter of what comes next. Seeing yourself as one of those types who writes in cafes. Working on the next great novel that will change EVERYTHING. Then when you’ve conquered the literary world, there’s new forms of media to take over! All barriers are removed, you are the master of your own destiny. So of course you have to prick that pomposity at the end. 

I have a lot of old abandoned comics that never saw the light of a scanner. Partly due to my own frustration at not being the best artist ever. Drawing is a strenuous task at the best of times. To git gud, you have to put in a lot of hours into sketching and refining which is most frustrating when you have the best idea for a comic ever and you just want it out there now so people can see your genius.  

(seriously, count the jokes in that one page! There’s more than an entire series of Louie!)

In my years, I’ve read a LOT of comics. From Beano and Dandy to Ranma to Appleseed to Akira to Spider-Man to Batman to Ghost World to Optic Nerve to The Boys to Sex Criminals to Archie to new Archie. But it was reading Walter Scott’s Wendy that finally gave me the motivation. It’s fair to say that Wendy’s art is scrappy, but it really captures the immediacy of its world. Wendy is a mess of a person who’s trying her best to move forward but is thwarted by circumstances beyond her control. I empathised with Wendy’s felt tip lines more than a hyper realistic rendering of any superhero.

Another thing Wendy did well was expressiveness. Comics are a great medium for showing how a character feels. Rumiko Takahashi is one of the all time greats at this with her sense of comic timing. And Makoto Kobayashi’s characters all have wonderfully elastic faces. Obviously I was a bit limited with my options of showing a guy trying to sleep. But one pivotal page has him literally opening his eyes towards the potential that lays before him. Until he remembers he’s still unable to do that most basic of tasks. Sleep.

Seeing what Walter Scott could do with his art style made me want to just churn out something. ANYTHING. So I got some A5 paper, pencil and felt tip and just dashed off those pages as quickly as I could. Couple of fuck ups happened, like not leaving enough space for the title on the first page but remembering I could clean it up in post production easily enough**. And the arm on page 4 which most likely happened because it was about 3 in the morning. Staying up all night to draw a comic about insomnia, the irony does not escape me. 

I do still wish I had the ability to draw something more refined but I liked being able to just go mad and knock out a page within half an hour and I got more confident with it as I went on. A lot of the sight gags were made up on the spot. Though Kermode’s cameo was there from the start. Why? I just thought it would be funny imagining a potential movie adaptation of a potential book reviewed positively by Mark Kermode really.

I suppose there’s something very apt in finishing a comic while trying not to fall asleep that’s about all those creative ideas  you have when you can’t fall asleep. Usually I try to do a lot of pre-planning so I don’t get lost whenever I’m attempting something but it’s too easy to lose momentum (side eyes the ever growing drafts folder). Pre-planning is incredibly important but it’s another obstacle in getting a first draft done so you can clean it up as you go on. Plus some of the better jokes came out of the moment. It helped me realise that I just need to trust my gut instinct more. 

It seems weird now that just a few days before I wouldn’t have even conceived of drawing a comic about insomnia and creativity. But now I have an actual tangible thing that proves I can and I did. And it makes me hopeful for the future because I don’t know what I’ll be writing or drawing next but I can’t wait to show it off.

*Someone I once played this to called it boring. I mean really. It’s probably a bit self indulgent and overlong but boring?!?!!

A short comic about creative urges vs the need for sleep. 

Back in the 90s, I worked at a mail order firm that imported anime and game merchandise with a complete wanker. He was an incredibly difficult patronising little shit of a man who almost ran the company into the ground when left on his own. We thankfully didn't have much in common but what we did was a love of arcade games and cheesy rave music. Oh and my girlfriend at the time too but that's another story.

What made working in the same room as him tolerable was the ability to listen to soundtrack CDs. Back then yer average import CD would set you back £30 and when you're earning a slave wage, that's a big chunk of change to splash out. This was a time when a scary amount of my pocket change would end up in the blessed Namco Wonderpark along Windmill street, the greatest arcade that's ever been. At the time I was mad for Rave Racer in a way that I hadn't been with Daytona and Ridge Racer. Tucked away in a corner was Ace Driver Victory Lap, Namco's take on Formula 1. Never having been a fan of the sport, I never bothered playing it but the guy I worked with was super excited when the CD soundtrack came in. Upon first play, it became an office favourite.

The second Ace Driver is a curiosity of its time, taking a wholly arcade approach to a technical sport but isn't remembered as one of the great Namco racing games. Most likely because it's a bunch of elements that just don't fit together. It's a looser, heightened take on Formula 1 coming only a few years after Sega made a decent job of capturing its finesse with  Virtua Racing.

The rave flavoured soundtrack however has a blissed midnight vibe to it, sounding like it belongs to a downhill drift racer ala Initial D. Namco had already been plundering the UK rave underground for soundtrack inspiration several years before Nobuyoshi Sano's work on Numan Athletics was more than a bit influenced by Prodigy Experience. But along with the HI-NRG pulse pounding beats and orchestral hits, Ace Driver's OST is pinned down by riding a blissed out wave.

Noboyoshi 'Sanodg' Sano wasn't involved on this one. Instead the soundtrack was composed by Keiichi Okabe and Hiroyuki Kawada and is far removed from their usual work on Namco titles like Dragon Spirit and Galaga 88. Okabe's intro is the audio equivalent of a sunrise coming up on a racing track while Slightly Refraction has an amazing breakdown halfway through that melts into the main track beautifully. Kawada's Let it go is aptly named as it builds up tension and pace only to remind you of the wind whistling through your hair throughout. And Infnity is a blissed out fusion of jazzy soul and breakbeats. Though obviously dance music in origin, it's more contemplative and, dare I say, chilled than you'd expect.

Revisiting this soundtrack, I'm reminded of when arcade games had a sense of optimism, an awareness that they're escapist fantasies. In these navel gazing times, gamers and critics (with a capital C) alike seem to equate seriousness with ART! One such critic I keep seeing seems to take pride in how above games they are. And looking across the current landscape of post-apocalyptic/gritty shooty goodies vs baddies nonsense that makes up the AAA sphere, it's tempting to agree. Especially when background music is so often an afterthought rather than integral part of the experience. Bored of droning orchestral backing music, give me fucking tunes man!

It's a funny old game the whole relationship thing. Which is probably why some of the best movies about loves many wonders have been comedies. We've all got stories of awkward dates and the times we've flustered in front of the one we fancy so it makes sense that there's a genre dedicated to how ridiculous the whole deal is.

I found out about That Night sort of by accident, googling around on IMDB. Starring TV's James Corden and Alexandra Roach, it's a short, sweet, story of two people who meet on that most romantic of locations, the top deck of a nightbus. Roach is always watchable no matter what she's in, which is handy because she's been in some drek. (C'mon, Utopia, once you take away the fancy filters and odd soundtrack, was terrible.)  The pair walk and talk through night time fairytale London talking about everything and nothing on a journey to get to the next bus. Seeing as it's billed as a romantic comedy, I don't think it's spoiling anything to say it ends on a sweet note. And that's all fine. I'll happily admit to being a complete mark for that kind of magical realism. However the problem with this film is it doesn't manage to convey either of those elements enough.

The elephant in the room here is James Corden. Despite popular opinion, I still rate his turn in Gavin and Stacey as the lad best mate and the Wrong Mans is one of the best things he's done. But here, he's miscast. It's clear that this film is going for the quirky indie film vibe right down to having our couple meet over a mutual love of a singer songwriter. Corden was never meant to play the average joe. He can do big and slightly lairy as well as awkward and shy but he can't do relaxed. Roach is fine as the wide eyed tourist but is only ever there to react to whatever Corden is saying. As a couple, they're not convincing. But more crucially, this short is around 17 minutes long and not a lot happens. Two people meet, they get on, they part. The end. As a lifelong Londoner, I've walked home many a night and felt that it can be the perfect backdrop for romance. There's some gorgeous shots of the capital at night but this film doesn't capture its sparkle enough. And worst of all, the soundtrack is insipid mobile phone ad fodder.

On the other hand, On Women Who Validate Themselves Through Sex is the complete opposite. Roughly 5 minutes, On Women... is a sketch of two old friends bumping into each other and swapping stories about their current love lives. One having trouble even getting a date while the other is literally having them que up for a go. Visually it's basic but it doesn't need to be anything more. The script is witty in a matter of fact way and in five minutes in listening to these friends talk, I felt like I knew more about them than That Night managed in over three times that length. While there's a slightly judgemental tone to this short, it made me laugh with its sharp observation and filthy details.

I got my start writing (sort of) professionally for Den of Geek. Its editor Simon Brew is a lovely man and I’ve largely agreed with him on many things. But his last few tweets have struck a chord with me...

Sat through a really interesting panel at New York Comic-Con on 'geeky journalism', and found myself disagreeing with the bulk of it.

— Simon Brew (@simonbrew) October 11, 2015

Most of the writers on it were saying they were happier now they wrote pieces that didn't put their opinion on the line.

— Simon Brew (@simonbrew) October 11, 2015

But why shouldn't you put some of yourself into your writing? Maybe I'm getting old(er)...

— Simon Brew (@simonbrew) October 11, 2015

Writing: if you risk nothing, you gain nothing.

— Simon Brew (@simonbrew) October 11, 2015

As a low level geek journo meself, I’ve often found myself dangerously out of step with the geek consensus. I got a small amount of blowback on my reviews for series 4 of The IT Crowd. Long story short, 5 duff episodes and one genuine standout. Ryan who was providing an alternative review was initially more positive but soon came to the same conclusion. The Linehan fans weren’t happy and accused us of a conspiracy, hating joy etc etc.* 

Yes yes, opinions, arseholes etc. Everyone loves to show theirs on the internet. 

But this is what happens whenever a reviewer dares to defy the status quo. They clearly must be paid off to denounce the beautiful Media Product! (About £60 a review last I heard) That is the only explanation as to why they don’t see the Media Product the same way I do! This nonsense has been around in some shape or form since the mid 80′s. (Though tbf there has been the odd time it’s been rooted reality, Driver 3 anyone?) And recently found its final form in the hashtag-that-dare-not-speak-its-name. A tidal wave of tedious pricks who know it all but understand shit all enabled by a bleached blonde sociopath. Shouting down any dissent from the consensus that AAA intellectual properties are really cultural touchstones** impervious from any criticism.

Is it any wonder then why low paid journos are tempted to give in to the herd who just want their own opinions reflected back at them so they don’t feel like they’re wasting their own lives? 

I remember going to see the Dark Knight with my oldest friend when it was out. After all the hype, the squeeing over the Joker and a load of youtubers declaring it the second coming, we expected more than the dull tepid piss we saw. Both left sorely disappointed and wondering what anyone ever saw in it. (I lost my phone that night too to add a cherry on top of that shitcake) A few years after, The Dark Knight has more or less sunk without trace, almost like we’ve collectively forgotten that it wasn’t really all that. A mass hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. 

We’re in a weird stage now where criticism has been democratised thanks to blogs, livejournals, tumblrs and twitters. Yet the loudest voices as ever belong to the loudest crowd who don’t want any personal insight or analysis, just a tick box of features that tallies with their own. And we’re led down the path of list-icles on why Avengers*** is the single greatest achievement of human civilisation and will change your life if you so much as glance sideways at it. Not to mention the endless bloody updates on what fabric Thor’s cloak will be made of in the next film. 

Fuck that. I want to see the critics heart splayed open on a page. Give me passion over servitude to paranoid hordes. Nothing will ever please them because they can’t please themselves. Let me see what you’re all about, what makes you tick, what gets your goat, what chokes your chicken! Tell me what you see in something good. Spit out at what you loathe. SHOW ME WHAT EXCITES YOU!

I’m very secure in my geekness and my opinion. I see the flaws in the things that make my heart sing and I’m unashamed in expressing my devotion for them. These things aren’t mutually exclusive. I’ll always find something new to say about Silent Hill 2, I’ll talk about my favourite Doctor Who stories with seriousness and enthusiasm in equal measure. And I’ll always believe that Community is overrated. 

And seriously, fuck the nostalgia critic.

*Weirdly, the one positive review I wrote only got several spam comments. 

**And they are, just not in the way that they want.

Not gonna lie, the cancellation of Silent Hills is a tragedy in my eyes. But as a long time fan of the series, it's no big surprise. The decline of the series since The Room and the very public falling out between Konami and Kojima pretty much spelled the end before it was confirmed by Guillermo Del Toro during a Q&A. P.T being taken down from PSN is another sad loss as it almost managed to reignite the spark that had been missing from Silent Hill for so long.

But now P.T, a game/playable teaser/whatever so obviously influenced by indie horror games, is influencing the new wave of indie horror games. Allison Road has just announced a kickstarter having already shown 13 minutes of gameplay that owes more than a slight debt to Kojima's teaser. Fuck it, it's more or less lifted wholesale without the deft storytelling and a cheap jumpscare at the end because, y'know, indie horror game.

Let's be honest here, Allison Road looks astounding and not just due to the Unreal 4 engine. Its incredibly detailed rendering of an average house in Manchester is a lived in, believable environment in the spirit of P.T's eternal hallway. But besides some nice lighting, there's nothing really interesting about this place. P.T's hallway was a spiral into descent, a claustrophobic space where you felt constantly watched. Allison Road's Manchester house by comparison is just a decent student digs.

But what really tugs my chain is its opportunistic timing. There's already been a lot of unofficial P.T remakes in Unity and Minecraft which have at least provided some way for new players to experience it. But Allison Road comes riding in ready to pick up disappointed players on the rebound like a predatory lothario at a wedding.

Because, no matter how noble and pure Allison Road's intentions are, it's still very clearly made with P.T in mind. In its sell on its kickstarter page, it mentions the usual standbys of Resident Evil and Silent Hill 2 as benchmarks of psychological based Survival Horror. Along with Dead Space for some reason. Already aiming itself square on at a receptive audience hungry to recapture at least a fraction of the dread felt on their first playthrough.

The footage released of its antagonist Lily only further reveals Allison Road's crippling lack of ambition. A stock scary girl archetype with a pretty name. With P.T's Lisa, there was an uncanny body horror at work. A grinning twitching extended figure bearing the scars of what happened to her. Lily walks around in her underwear covered in blood and has sharp teeth.

When we talk about Yamaoka's incredible compositions for Silent Hill, it's often the droning industrial soundscapes that come to mind. Not the melancholic arrangements or strong memorable melodies. The traditional Indie game sad piano is wheeled out in the clips on AR's kickstarter page with track's literally titled 'Memories' and 'Guilt' like the worst ever new age CD.

It's hard not to see Allison Road's development as cynical opportunism. Retreading ground not even left cold, bringing nothing new yet still getting all of the write ups because it looks a bit like something we all enjoyed. Like an Elvis tribute act it makes all the right moves, wears the right clothes, even sounds a bit like the original too. But it'll never feel the same. Forever missing the inspiration and refinement that went into the titles it wants to stand side by side with.

Allison Road isn't the only recent game to have cashed in on Silent Hill's memory. Forgotten Memories, a lovely looking iOS game developed over several years made the same promises. A return to Survival Horror's roots, psychological horror, deep disturbing story etc etc. But while an admirable attempt, its execution fell short of its ambition and was released on a platform it just wasn't suitable for. Even having the voices of Guy Cihi and David Schaulefe (Silent Hill 2's James and Eddie) only serves as a reminder of what Forgotten Memories wants to be but isn't.

Both Allison Road and Forgotten Memories are well crafted imitations that exist only to scratch the nostalgic itch of a fiercely loyal fanbase used to disappointment. But at least they exist as some form of game. Recently a website popped up called ingsoc with a countdown promising a reveal, heavily implying that Kojima had pulled off another marketing coup. Hopes were raised that maybe Silent Hills wasn't dead after all. But it was all for nought when it turned out to be an astronomically exploitative move by an indie developer pushing their game Black Hound which so far only exists as a logo which is a facsimile of the Silent Hill movie one.

It's clear that there exists a hunger for the kind of experience that Silent Hill excelled at in its heyday. I'll probably spend the rest of my gaming life chasing the rush when I first played SH2, to feel that captivated, surprised and grimy once more. To quote Jeremy Blaustein who worked on SH2, 'it's a game that makes you want to take a shower afterwards'. But on the evidence of diminishing sequels and mediocre imitations, developers have only taken the surface elements of what made Silent Hill unique and missed out on how to get under the player's skin.

Allison Road may well turn out to be a very polished product and satisfy its backers needs. But right now it just seems like a cry for attention. A marketing opportunity built on the back of Konami's failure. It's a high profile entry in an already crowded field yet only stands out because of its resemblance to P.T. A knock off adaptation rather than a twist on an established formula. I want to be surprised by a horror game again, not roll my eyes in recognition of their tropes.

Further Reading: 

Part 1 of an occasional series.

I've been wanting to write about the late night tv landscape that dominated my 90s for some time. Tonight being the 60th anniversary of ITV seemed just a fitting way to pay some sort of tribute to the channel for pretty much giving over a large chunk of space to all sorts of weird ephemera. Most of which are, rightly or wrongly, forgotten. This is just an introduction to a tiny portion of what made that time what it was.

It was a hard life being a hormonal teenage boy in an age before the internet. The only hope of seeing nakedness in motion for most of us back then was either a foreign film on Channel 4 or a critically acclaimed BBC drama. Either way, I passively experienced a lot of culture by accident.

When I got a TV in my own room at 13 years old, there was a whole new world suddenly made available to me. I was only dimly aware of the mysteries that lay beyond my 11pm bedtime as a teenager, I'd scan the TV listings wondering what kind of show Hitman and Her was. A whole world of broadcasting was suddenly open to me, as long as I kept the sound turned down so my mum didn't catch me.

That first fateful Friday night when I decided to see what was out there, ITV was the only choice. My first brush with this new frontier was... The James Whale Radio Show*. A sort of low rent adult take on a Saturday morning magazine show (remember those eh?). Afterwards was some godawful US sitcom** I can't recall and not even google is helping me out here. But then there came American Gladiators!***

This was just my first taste of this weird twilight world of TV. A schedule only known by a select few insomniacs. There's a certain kind of nostalgia we attach to the shows we used to watch, mostly to return to a time when we had less responsibilities. But the variety offered by late night ITV showed me a whole other world. A nod from broadcasters to an audience who didn't fit the cosy family demographic.

I can't really overstate how important late night review shows were to me. I had the bad luck to be cursed as a huge geek in the 90s which meant I would have to leave the house to indulge my passions. None of this ebay or ordering online for me, I had to seek out any rare books and films with my own bare hands with no way of knowing if any of it was any cop!

As an avid fan of 'weird shit', there were review show covering the kind of stuff that was below Barry Norman. My first late night love was Video View hosted by husky toned Mariella Frostrup, later to become the little picture show when Carlton took over. Often featuring some of the start up video labels that sprouted at the start of the 90s such as Made in Hong Kong, Manga and Kiseki reported on by guests like Kim Newman and Harry Hill. (A mention must go to Channel 4's excellent Vids, a hybrid of Video View and The Young Ones hosted by a duo made up of a Glasgow stoner and violent welshman.)

Late Night TV was also a haven for some brilliant music TV. Finding out that there was a whole sonic universe outside of the Top 40 was like having the training wheels taken off your bike. A shaky ride at first, possibly more than a few crashes to follow but gets smoother as you get experienced and more sure of yourself.

The Beat hosted by Gary Crowley came at the right time to bring the new wave of British acts, with guests reviewing new releases and some fantastic live footage from gigs and festivals followed by the not quite as good Rockmania. Raw Power on a Friday night would be the sole bastion of heavy metal, rock and punk on terrestrial TV (barring the occasional appearance on the Chart Show). And the Sunday night/Monday morning Cue the Music first hosted solely by Mike Mansfield then for some reason Tony Slattery and Richard Vranch (I think?).

As the 90s wound to a close, the ...Forever series started. Taking on a year at a time, ...Forever would dig up the hits, failures and forgotten singles. Always well researched, it was a neat trip down memory lane.

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Then there were the cheap but enthusiastic shows that just wouldn't fit at any other time. Get Stuffed, the perfect student cooking show. Popped in Crashed out, a music trivia quiz hosted by Kerrang editor Phil Alexander that had Ozzy Osbourne as a guest before his family went meteoric. Cyber Cafe, a cheap fluffy magazine show about the internet whose host gave a Ted talk a few years ago. Late night TV was a haven, freed  from the constraints of pleasing demographics, the production values were run low but the heart was massive.

So what happened to late night TV? A number of factors really. The beginning of the end came when digital TV started to take a foothold around 2000. The multichannel future brought about by 1990's broadcasting act meant that budgets had to be stretched across whole channels during ITV's expansion. The very public failure of ITV digital dealt a huge blow to funds so there wasn't much left for quirky shows watched by an audience of 12. Repeats of daytime fodder like Trisha and Vanessa filled the spaces left until the takeover by phonebill draining quiz shows encouraging plebs to dial premium lines for the miniscule chance of winning £50 in the mid 00's.

Watching late night TV as a teenager felt forbidden. Like a space carved out for the curious unsatisfied with the norm. I lived an isolated experience with most of my friends living outside of London at the time so going out wasn't on the cards. But I could experience a kind of nightlife that I felt comfortable in, that would show me something I hadn't seen before.

It's a sad fact of progress that the weaker species are the first to fall by the wayside. In this age of high production slickly produced TV, just about everything must look like a huge event. TV's fighting for your attention across 1001 channels, away from Netflix, away from the PS4 and away from HBO shows recommended by the guardian and twitter. We've an embarrassment of riches but have lost the rough gems.

However, the spirit of these shows lives on with the internet and youtube.****  filling that cheap yet passionate void. It's not all preening teenagers and shouty game men! The late ConsoleVania and TV spin off Videogaiden is perhaps the closest the internet ever came to those glory days. Bob 'Moviebob' Chipman produces incredibly well researched and informed reviews and op-ed videos on both movies and games.Jim Sterling’s Jimquisition is a weekly dose of reality for the games industry. VideoGamer's youtube channel has been consistently brilliant since Jamie Trinca joined the team. The video version of Kermode and Mayo's radio show is pretty much the best film show coming out of the BBC at the moment. All of these are filling the space that was demolished by a broadcasting act designed to help Murdoch strengthen his grip on media.

For further reading: Grace Dent on ITV. TV Cream run through some of the better known late night shows on ITV. Clip from It's Bizarre, a cheap and cheerful talk show with Linda Lusardi.

*Would later become Whale On with Cleo Rocos as co-host. One episode that sticks in the memory had a competition to win a megadrive which was being played by a guy who played Altered Beast 'Piano style'. His fingers would hover over the controller laid flat on a table. This was enormously exciting to me as I'd yet to see the megadrive in action then. Like I said, it was a time before the internet.

**I know the US is leading the way in sitcom now, but back then there was a lot of shit thrown at a wall before some of it started to stick.

***This were a few of us who watched this at school. When the UK version was announced, we felt kind of smug knowing what it was first. Nowadays, we've got bitorrent.

SO! It's a few days after the fact but seeing as everyone else and their dogs are writing up their half formed thoughts about posh wank novel 50 Shades of Grey. I decided my take should be unique and untested so I'm presenting my fully uninformed opinion. With any luck, I'll get a commission from Comment is Free out of this!

I've not seen or read any of 50 shades of grey and I have no interest in doing either. The only story I want to read about a billionaire donning a leather suit to beat people is Batman.

50 Shades of Grey started off as an adult orientated wank fantasy romance to young adult fantasy romance wank, Twilight. The book series that ends with a teenage werewolf getting randy for a newborn vampire baby. Anastasia Steele, fresh from her 70s TV action show, is gearing up to interview handsome young billionaire Not Edward Cullen or Christian Grey as this film insists on calling him. Anastasia is a young naïve girl from a ranch in a small town probably. Was far too young for yahoo chat back in its heyday so had to rely on myspace to talk to boys. Her parents were well angry with her for wanting to escape to somewhere that has a multiscreen cinema rather than eke out a living raking horseshit for pennies a week. She does super well at uni/college and stumbles into a reporter job at a top mag without having to churn out a listicle about funny cakes or whatever. Ana blushes at the sight of a suggestive peach so when she sees our boy Grey standing tall, she's gushing so hard she's turned Grey's office into a makeshift skating rink!

After grilling Grey with tough questioning like “what's your favourite colour”,  “what's it like flying a helicopter” and “Why aren't you beating up mental patients dressed as dandy clowns?”, Ana wants to know why Grey is single despite being wealthy, young and pretty tasty at Tekken. He explains that he finds it hard to connect, all the women he's met are mostly Paul or Law players and he mains Jin but can play a decent Kazuya. Also his mum is dead.

This isn't enough for our plucky horny reporter, she presses him on why he doesn't commit. Grey says he has... unconventional desires. “Well I'm starting to really get a grip on playing Yoshimitsu” Ana replies. Grey shakes his head and says “I've got a shag palace the size of a South London housing estate! Fancy a butchers?”. “Oh go on then!” says Ana, “But best of three on Tekken after?”

Grey lifts up the head of a bust and presses a hidden switch. The far wall of his office revolves around like in Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends to reveal a variety of dildos and implements that you only have to look at to choke a bit. Ana is all :O and Grey is like ;) They boff til Christmas, there's a fisting bit that's filmed in soft focus because this is erotic. Some wee is involved. At some point Ana lets out a fanny fart that's heard across the entire Grey office building.

The interview makes the front page of a glossy magazine narrowly beating 'My husband ate our kids in front of me!'. Ana is dead chuffed at becoming a proper published journalist and continues to visit Grey for thrashing sex, the filthy cow! But after one session, a statuesque blonde barges through some double doors dramatically, Grey's secret fiance Suzanna Doornail has returned from somewhere for some reason. Ana shoots Grey a look and Grey just shrugs gormlessly. TO BE CONTINUED!

In 2011, I was in the mood for a quick bite to eat so I popped into a shop as I have every right to do (© Arnold Brown). When I went to pay, I noticed the hip young lady behind the counter was wearing a Misfits t-shirt, as in the band not the TV series/anatogonisers of Jem and the Holograms. Now as we all know, The Misfits are a seminal punk band, once fronted by the mighty Glenn Danzig, who are heavily influenced in style and music by horror B movies and comics. Having once had a loud guitar music phase, I recognised their distinctive skull motif and I complimented her on her choice of apparel.

“Uh, I don't actually know who they are. I just liked the t-shirt.”

“Oh they're really good! I caught them live once.”

“Oh yeah? When was that?”

“At the LA2... in 1999” Upon realising that that was not only over a decade ago, it wasn't even in the same century or even MILLENIA, I crumbled to dust and drifted away when someone opened the door.

Now call me old fashioned but I only wear t-shirts of bands I like. Better people than me have written about how everyday fashion is a signifier of social identity. But to break it down a bit more, anyone wearing one of those deliberately offensive comedy t-shirts with a joke stolen from a shock comedian printed on it is an imaginatively stunted dullard and should not be engaged. Also Dragon Ball Z t-shirts will never get you laid as cold hard experience has taught me.

In the last couple of weeks there was a bit of buzz over a FCKH8.COM viral video featuring a bunch of sweary young girls repeating gender inequality statistics. It's well produced, slickly edited and yeah, I chuckled. It achieves the near impossible by having feisty kids that aren't (literal) poster children for contraception. But it left me with a sour aftertaste with its hard sell at the end, and I'm not the only one. “$5 goes to kick ass charities …to make the world more equal for women and girls” the young woman exclaims before “$15 T-Shirts!” is flashed up. To put that into perspective, two thirds from each T-shirt sale goes towards costs and profit. FCKH8 is a for profit store and activist organisation set up by Luke Montgomery owned by Synergy Media, a corporate brand marketing firm. Recently coming under fire for cashing in on the recent events in Ferguson. Those with functioning memories may recall the tide of feel-good activism that arrived with Kony 2012. On the surface, a worthy cause to fight for. Behind the scenes, an astronomically cynical exploitation of good intentions in the name of brand awareness.

More recently David Cameron was criticised for refusing to wear one of Elle's 'This is what a feminist looks like' t-shirts while Ed Milliband and Nick Clegg were both pictured wearing said item. Clegg and Milliband have yet to credibly oppose the demonisation of benefits claimants, indeed the decades old trope of the feckless single mother is still alive and thriving. An issue that went unchallenged by supporters of Who Made Your Pants, a feminist organisation that employed and paid the living wage to its refugee workers. A fine and very worthy cause. However the implication from its supporters, notably the execrable Vagenda, was that not buying WMYP's wares, starting from £12.50 a pair, was 'unfeminist'. Get on board or you're the opposition was the message here, failing to understand that £12.50 for a pair of scanties is a bit much for anyone on a low wage (5 million at last count) let alone women on JSA. Sorry kids it's going to be 8p tins of beans for every meal again, it's for the sisterhood y'see.

In much the same way people share 'inspirational' memes and stories on facebook without a second thought, we take sloganeering at face value, no questions asked. Quasi-spiritual narcissist lothario Russell Brand has shifted his career direction towards political rebellion since the cancellation of his US show Brand X. The past year has seen him espouse his esoteric effluence about guvvaments 'n dat on (once) respected platforms like Newsnight. Again, those with memories may well remember his crusade to improve care for addicts. How we all got behind him when he had a pop at that bloke from the Daily Mail (Boooo! Hissssss!) eh? It was harder to get behind him when he patronised an NHS doctor because she didn't support his abstinence program making sure to mention the luxury lifestyle he doesn't care about. The BBC three documentary ended with the disclaimer that all addicts on his program relapsed. Not to mention the No More Page 3 campaign proudly boasting him as a convert because he posed with one of their t-shirts. “And finally, through the love of a good woman, teenage, sexist me was slain.” forgetting it was adult Brand who prank called a rape hotline. Epic lolz eh? The one time Brand was challenged on his airy-fairy lovely revolution stance, the chumminess he displayed with Paxman disappeared replaced with bared teeth. Get on board or you're the opposition. Reviews of his manifesto, Preaching to the Choir priced at £20, have eviscerated his overly flowery prose and general incoherence.

An inspirational meme I can get behind. 

I remember reading a really good line in a book somewhere, something about not worshipping false idols. It struck a chord with me despite the rest of the book being a bit preachy. The lesson I gained from it was that you have to get past the superficial, to judge people on how they are rather than how they appear. Actually I think that might have been something a mate posted on facebook. But the point is that no one is going to change the world with owning a t-shirt. By turning political stances into fashion accessories, we demean the very values we claim to stand for. It is only when we've fully examined our positions and ourselves that we can wear those values with pride.  

TGS 2014 is in full swing right now. Nothing big has been announced yet but Kojima showed off a concept movie for everyone's favourite corridor walker simulator P.T. and there's no way I'm going to let it pass without typing some nonsense about it. Time to do this Guardian style! Why not click play and read along?

(0:05) Wow! This corridor looks a bit nice!

(0:10) Ok, ball bouncing repeatedly against a door. Creepy. Like it.

(0:26) Really like the lightening flash-JESUS!

(0:32) AHHHHHHHHH! NO! NO! NOT COOL!

(0:47) UNF! Dat coloured lighting tho'....

(0:55) Wonder what's around thisEURGHHHHHHHHHHH

(1:04) FUCK!

(1:07) Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(1:15) AHHHHHHH!

(1:20) ...the flip?

(1:29) Yeah, nah m8. LATERS!

"There are no subjects that are off-limits to comedy, there are just attitudes that are not funny." - Ben Elton 1998

A few weeks ago, I was linked to a collection of “Epic Prank Fails” on youtube. Clicking on said link brought a compilation of clips featuring young mostly white American men approaching strangers of different ethnicities, generally African American & Latino, and performing a “hilarious” prank. Such as reciting a racist joke, pretending they're about to pull a weapon out or in one particularly unpleasant case straight up grab a mobile phone out of their hand. The “Epic Fail” part comes into play when things go wrong for the would be prankers get their heads well and truly kicked in. “It's just a prank! It's not real!” they scream while the boot in their teeth is all too real.

This video was depressing for many reasons, the combination of racism as humour and violence being the biggest ones. I was left wondering what the hell did these idiots expect to happen? That their intentions would become clear and they'd be forgiven? While I can't condone the violence that follows, I can understand it as a reaction to having someone essentially use their race as a punchline to a joke. Though unsophisticated, a punch is the most honest and immediate review there could be. Perhaps next year it could be adopted for Edinburgh posters, “Didn't want to punch them. 5 stars”.

Pranks aren't the most sophisticated form of humour but at their best they can be wonderfully primal. As I type this, I'm giggling over footage of a Sky sports reporter having a purple sex toy thrust into his ear. A pre-watershed display of aural sex.

A couple of weeks ago, someone posted a sketch they had worked on and uploaded to youtube. The entire premise being a man in a relationship with a puppet who reveals she's cheated on him several times culminating in her death at his hands. The final punchline being a puppeteer awkwardly walking away from the grieving murderer cradling a bloodied puppet corpse. I commented that the joke hinged on domestic violence. His response was “It's only a puppet!” and to label me as part of the self appointed liberal intelligentsia. After consulting with my colleagues at the self appointed liberal intelligentsia HQ, we agreed the best course of action would be to tell him about the case of Christy Mack. A porn actress recently hospitalised by her partner, an MMA fighter known as 'War Machine' for supposed infidelity. War Machine's would-be defenders excused his actions with “What do you expect from dating a whore?”

Recently, it emerged that many famous young actresses including wunderkind Jennifer Lawrence had their online storage hacked. Nude pictures and video shot on their phones were uploaded and shared across social networks. Their privacy intruded upon. “Well maybe they shouldn't have taken them in the first place!” was the defiant cry of those who shared the images, casually ignoring that they were stolen in the first place.

On the morning of Monday 1st of September, multi-millionaire Ricky Gervais tweeted “Celebrities, make it harder for hackers to get nude pics of you from your computer by not putting nude pics of yourself on your computer.” only to delete it soon after. But not before it had been screenshotted, shared and turned into a Buzzfeed feature. As is customary to mention when talking about Gervais, The Office was an excellently observed sitcom that explored the relationship between offence and reaction. Gervais reaction to criticism was to tweet “Avoid criticism by never saying or doing anything, ever. Or, do what you love, have a great time & let others waste their time criticising.”. This tweet was also deleted soon after.

“It's only a joke! He didn't really mean it!” Gervais' would-be defenders on twitter repeated en-masse, some calling his critics “moron” and “cunt” to emphasise how right they are. “We've all got a right to free speech! No one has a right not to be offended!” they cried to silence those who would offend them by calling them sexist.

The issue of free speech often comes up in regards to comedy. The greats of stand up from Lenny Bruce to Richard Pryor to Jerry Sadowitz to Bill Hicks are famous for daring to say the unsayable. Chris Morris has taken on both paedophilia and terrorism to great effect. The common factor here is that all of the above were blessed with insight into their chosen topics. Something wider to say, a truth brought to light. A factor lacking in the prankers attempts, puppet sketch and Gervais' joke tweet whose actions only serve to reinforce the status quo. The events leading up to the Ferguson protests show that African American lives are disposable in 2014. Domestic violence is still a major cause of death for women. No one famous or otherwise deserves to have their naked pictures weaponised against them let alone blamed for having taken them in the first place. Genuinely risky, edgy comedy has no business supporting the status quo.