We went to see Brokeback Mountain last night. With a bellyfull of chinese food we sat down to a film that, for Darren especially, we had very eagerly anticipated for the last six months. I was dreading it being mediocre but was stunned by its epic-ness. It's wonderful. Those two men were in the wrong place at the wrong time and they suffered substantially in the shadow of huge mountains and small towns. It's a grim story with a sharp lesson for everyone and I think you will all love it.

Last day of the year today. We're staying indoors tonight with a bucket of KFC and bottle of cava. We may even go to bed before midnight. I met Darren five years ago at a new years eve party. I talked him home with a 'Sex And The City' line - "you wouldn't want me to wake up alone on the first day of a new year would you?". It worked and since that night I've been as happy as anyone has a right to be.

Happy New Year to everyone who passes through here. May all your hopes and dreams be better realised than those two poor cowboys.

We drove from North to South in a shocking snow storm and luckily made it back before the main roads became unpassable (and just in time for the French & Saunders special. and how brilliant was that Vera Drake sketch? bloody brilliant!). Christmas was great oop North. Nice gifts, too much food and the Boxing Day Lions Club swim at Newbiggin By The Sea (fit tattoo'd geordie lads virtually naked and swimming in this for charity). I bought my Mum and Dad a city break to Amsterdam for Christmas so expect stories of drug abuse and prostitutes-behind-glass hilarity in a few weeks. They bought us matching portable DVD players so last night we went to bed with a movie each instead of a book. I watched Pink Flamingo's and Darren viewed Disney's Fantasia 2000 (poles apart, one sickly sweet and the other just plain sick).

The history of cinema in two minutes in one of the bests ads I've ever ever ever seen. Let it load, it's worth it. From Georges Melies to Lost In Translation and all starring a rabbit.

Remember the classic 501's ad where Nick Kamen undressed to his boxers in the launderette? Well, click here to see this mpeg homage featuring Buck Angel. Buck is currently causing a commotion in the adult movie world. He makes male gay porn for these guys but adds something very very special to the mix. Go see.

We're in the hills of Northumberland now (and hoping for snow tonight). Mum's house smells of baking, we've opened the expensive biscuits and the ham-off-the-bone is nearly all gone. In case it doesn't snow here's a picture of my Dad shifting last years load:



I hope everyone has a smashing day tomorrow.

Picture this: you are at the end of a long year working for a huge American bank in their Moscow branch. You were in charge of a key project to redevelop their software infrastructure and bring it in-line with the Russian system (which everyone knows was invented by Ukrainian squirrels). The Russian ‘officials’ have disappeared with their ‘gifts’ and their promises of government assistance. The Russian software designers have unsurprisingly proved to be completely unable to create anything of use for the project and disappeared overnight. The pre-project consultants paper, which concluded that Russia was not a promising market for investment or joint ventures (and that the only purpose for a foreign company to be there was to exploit the country’s natural resources: oil, gas and prostitutes), has proved to be prophetically true. You fly to London to report this sorry state of affairs and the bank request you stay for another year to ‘sort it out’. You throw your head back, laugh and light a Marlboro Red then say “no” and resign. Your sanity is suffering and the quality of life is very poor. You fly back to Moscow and start to ‘tidy up’ before leaving. You take a few colleagues out to dinner on your last day and then visit your neighbourhood bar for a nightcap before bed. And that’s the last thing you remember. Two days later you wake up in a Moscow mental institution, your arms and legs strapped down to the bed and a nasty tube draining your dick. A nurse tells you that you were brought in late at night shaking violently and screaming. Blood tests have revealed a hideous poison in your blood and that the authorities decided it was a suicide attempt. Your wallet and most of your clothes were not with you when you were brought in. You’ve missed the appointment with your landlady to hand over your flat (and so she decides to keep your $4000 deposit). You’ve missed your flight back to London (kindly paid for by the bank). You take 24 hours to convince the doctors that you have been the victim of a classic Moscow ex-pat mugging technique. You are finally released, buy a new plane ticket and a few hours later kiss the ground at London City Airport while weeping with relief.
Tom is recuperating with us at the moment and is the butt of all the ‘mental’ jokes. This morning I was making a pot of tea at 7am while singing ‘Mad World’. I heard him shout “I suppose you think that’s funny” from his bedroom. I did.

I don't know who I want to be this Christmas. I feel as though there is a crazy black lady with an angels voice trapped inside me. I'm torn between Diana Ross at Richard Pryors funeral:



or voodoo-Haiti-zombie Lauryn Hill at Hammersmith Apollo last week:



However, I fear that my inner negro probably looks something like this:

A power cut in my office 12 days ago has still not been rectified 100%. A stern letter from our boss to the building management company has resulted in trays of festive cakes arriving at our tea point every few hours. A moist slice of madeira cake really topped off my 3pm cup of tea today. Here's hoping that the problem isn't rectified for the rest of the week.

Darren and I are off to my parents for Christmas. We have festive pyjamas with reindeer on them for lounging around in. We have warned them that the TV remote belongs to us and that Trivial Pursuit is 'not just a game' (it's a general knowledge war). I'm taking my PS2 and my PSP in case we all fight and I need to hide in a spare room.

Don't forget the Catherine Tate Christmas Special tonight.
*tries really really hard to resist shouting "how very dare you!"*

Arctic wind whipping off the Thames at Greenwich today. Went to see Ting Tong, sorry, King Kong and sat in the 'posh' bit (adults only, unlimited popcorn/chocolates and a leather sofa each). 3 hours long and very, er, immersive. I was glad it was over once it ended but now I'm back home I think it was splendid. Of course it looked great and the jungle creepy crawlies will cause nightmares tonight but on the whole I'd give it a thoroughly good recommendation.
Darren Gough has the best arse so I'm glad he won that BBC1 dancing show and on the other channel there was no surprise when proto-gay Shayne won the X Factor. Mediocraty beckons for Shayne but we'll still buy his calander next year if he does some 'fleshy' pics. His family are such chavs and his mum was arrested for fighting in a pub last week. I'm looking forward to that perma-tanned and pram faced girlfriend of his to get dumped once the showbiz shagging sets in (good grief, I sound like a bitter and twisted homo now). Damn his good looks and stunning vocal range.

This naked man helped me see in my forty first year on Monday night.

Little Britain was mighty funny. Very slick and professional and every character greeted with rapturous roars and appaluse. They deserved their standing ovation.

We watched The Forty Year Old Virgin at the weekend. Brilliant writing and not at all the crappy teen comedy that the title suggests. Filled to the brim with unusual characters and teeming with one-liners (as well as a trio of horny fellas - Seth Rogan, Paul Rudd and the star Steve Carell).

The first three items on the news this morning were the King Kong premiere last night, some really old London busses and a very boring article on babies dummies ('pacifiers' if you live in the land of the free). Next up was the story of some silly old Christian git who has gone and got himself captured in Iraq and his family are all 'very worried'. Why would someone go there as 'a gesture of solidarity'? My mind boggles. He obviously cares very little for his family. I hope they release him soon and his family are spared any horror but I also hope he gets a bloody good dressing down from our Foreign Office (and his passport taken from him and destroyed). Christians eh! Lions den etc.
As a gesture of solidarity towards out-of-season seaside towns we're heading to Blackpool tonight for a long weekend. It's my birthday on Monday and the boys from Little Britain are spookily playing Blackpool Opera House that night so we're going. My Mum and Dad will be joining us for most of the weekend as they have tickets for Little Britain the following evening. Sunday will be a 'pretend Christmas day' at Darrens parents as they are escaping to the sun for a few weeks soon. I've lost 8 pounds (fat, not money) in just over two weeks since we returned from Florida but fish and chips, a huge turkey dinner, a box of malteasers at the theatre, and chinese tonight before we leave should see all that good work scuppered. *loosens belt in preparation*

In lieu of anything interesting to say (did someone just say "never stopped you in the past"?) here are some pictures of jet engines.

You could hear a pin drop at the theatre last night when Antony began singing. Boy George said it best (he came on mid-way through to sing 'You Are My Sister' with Antony) - "you break my heart when you sing". There were posters all over the theatre asking for silence and no smoking during the show (and all of the bars were closed during his performance). His wishes were granted so the only issue he could come up with after his first song was something to do with the sound (sounded fine to me but then I'm not a diva). After his first number he stormed backstage to bitchslap a soundman then returned and asked us to forgive him for his Mariah Carey behaviour. Oh how we laughed. By the time he got to 'Hope There's Someone' grown men were weeping and straight boys were holding hands with each other. The Velvet Underground classic 'Candy Says' closed the evening and Antony left us with Lou's perceptive words:
"What do you think I'd see, If I walked away from me?".

I'm off to see Antony and the Johnsons tonight so I thought it was good idea to get the 'favourite music of 2005' post out of the way. By the way, we put our christmas tree up yesterday. It's white and plastic and is decorated with minature gold crackers and 6 heavy mirror/disco balls. Which brings us back nicely to my favourite music of 2005:

The disco ball theme of the spellcnut christmas tree is a celebration of the shiniest (yes, even shinier than Goldfrapp) Madonna album ever. Confessions On A Dancefloor has swept us off our feet in the last month and re-ignited my latent love for the patron saint of chameleons. I thoroughly enjoyed American Life, Music and Ray Of Light but this one has got 'classic' stamped all over it. And she's done that 'zeitgeist' thing again (i.e. Vogue and the movie 'Paris Is Burning' back in the 90's), this time with La Chapelles krumping movie 'Rize' (which we saw in LA back in February *buffs fingernails on shirt*).

Antony and the Johnsons. I Am A Bird Now. It's beautiful and sad and makes me want to be a better gay (it's my Helen Hunt). Daily listens of this album have dwindled to weekly now but it still 'stirs' me.

Demon Days by Gorillaz has been a constant pleasure since the summer. It's very catchy and clever and even has my first wife singing on it (remind me to tell you about my 'breakdown' in 1994 when I convinced myself I was married to Neneh Cherry and was removed from her Torremolinos garden by the police).

Bloc Party, The Cribs, The Rakes, Art Brut, Editors, British Sea Power, Franz Ferdinand and Maximo Park all made great British albums this year but if I had to pick a favourite it would be Bloc Party. By the by, the drummer from Franz was sat opposite me on the tube on Saturday afternoon. Victoria line, Northbound. He wore a scarf with 'Scotland' on it and had an expensive carrier bag with tissue wrapped gifts in it. He got off at Walthamstow. Very weird.

My favourite neck, wrists and hands of 2005 belong to James Murphy from LCD Soundsystem and his album was thick (like his neck) with good stuff. And look! We have something in common as we both worship Michael Clark.

Honorary mentions must go to System Of A Down, Queens Of The Stone Age and The White Stripes for their noisy and driving rock music.

I gave several albums more than a few listens this year but just wasn't rewarded with any pleasure: Dungen, MIA, Magic Numbers, The Engineers, Doves, Kate Bush and Bright Eyes spring to mind. Must do better.

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I've just re-read this post and realised I missed out loads of other faves: Goldfrapp, Kaiser Chiefs, Arcade Fire and Gang Of Four (remix album) all made mighty grand albums 2005.

That big building above is the Hollywood Hotel Tower Of Terror at Disney's MGM Studios. It was the spot for movie celebs in the 1930's until a terrible accident during a stormy night. Lightning struck the building causing an elevator shaft to malfunction and the elevator to plummet to the ground killing some movie stars. Allegedly.
This attraction is the most exquisitely themed ride in the whole of WDW. The walk to the building is through artfully overgrown hotel gardens leading to the foyer which is as it was that night 70 years ago; leather luggage, newspapers and fur coats all coated with cobwebs and dust. We creep down into the basement past the old furnaces and pipes and find an old service elevator. 10 of us are strapped into seats inside the elevator and then it begins it's journey through the 'doomed' hotel. The ghosts of the dead lure us down corridors until we are facing a wall which suddenly turns into a gigantic TV screen which then splits into two and opens to reveal....sunshine and the theme park layed out 14 stories below us. The doors suddenly close and we are dropped to ground zero in a stomach clenching 2 seconds. Hang on, there's more. The elevator launches us back to the top where we are given a swift view of the park again before plummeting earthwards again. And then it does it again, one final time.
This mixture of high technology and old-world movie glamour is stunning and has proven to be such a design classic that Disneyland Paris is getting its own version of the Hollywood Tower Of terror soon.



Anorak alert - graphic artist Casey Jones was involved in the design and artwork for this attraction. Here's his vision of the bellboy uniform at the hotel which the staff (sorry, cast members) wear.