Spring is here...

So, it's sunny outside, there are lambs littered across the countryside, I had a go on a bouncy castle and I'm currently sitting on my patio furniture working. The sun has got his hat on, the cats are cool and the pissheads line every London street, 24/7. Summer's here! And the lack of spitting, pissing rain and depressing grey suits and umbrellas have urged me to crack on with the blog once again. Which means I need something to say.

So I'll begin with the genius of Charlie Brooker, followed by the not-so-genius of Phil Parkinson, followed by a few good tunes to see in the sunshine. A feedback sandwich, I think Stewie Griffin calls it. Firstly, then, the doyen of cynicism; Mr. Brooker. As those who know, love and hate me have realised, I think his old series Screenwipe was a masterstroke of vulgarity, in-depth perception and entertainment. If there was ever a dearth of bleeped-out c**ts and f**ks then Charlie's pushing the envelope one funny swear word at a time. And now Newswipe continues down the same well-trodden path, picking apart and shitting out the best and worst (but mainly worst) in the make-up of our much-loved news givers. Check out the iPlayer now for his latest considered tirade about the G20 riots an' awl that. If you've got doubts about the efficacy of the news now, you won't believe a blood-soaked word after Mr. Brooker's got his sweary hands on you.

Next - oh, it's Charlton. I almost don't want to rant on about the half-baked, couldn't give a toss attitude of the players; but I will. People seem to think you're doomed already if you dilute your squad with a myriad loanees, interested only in salvaging their own careers while the club goes down the pan. Well, I can kind of agree with that, having had the privelige of watching Hameur Bouazza for half a season, with his unerring ability to go past no-one and to pick out the fat bloke sitting in row F, block D on every single attack. At least the donkey-faced Jaffar impersonator (seriously; check out his twisty chin) is consistent. That, alas, cannot be said of permanent straw-chewing stable mates Jon Fortune, Andy Gray, Darren Ambrose and KELLY YOUGA. Capitalising the latter's name suggests that I don't think he's the best player to have strode down the Valley flanks. That's a half truth. I think he is by far the worst player to have donned the red and white shirt. Before Djimi Traore. Or Amdy Faye. You can see why the League One trap door opened up so quickly.

Lastly, a bit of choonage. I can't really be arsed to rant on hypothetically about the state of music and all that cajones. What I will say is that Lily Allen's The Fear is probably the best track of 2009 so far, followed closely by a load of less-known tunes. The chart isn't always shit (it usually is, though). A little top ten for you - in no particular order:

Lily Allen - The Fear
Eugene McGuinness - Those Old Black and White Movies were True
Beirut - La Llorona
Howling Bells - Nightingale
Crystal Stilts - Converging in the Quiet
An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump - Lights Go Out
King Khan & BBQ Show - Zombies
The New Sins - Feelings Have Changed
Bretton - I am a....(insert Polish here; the idiots took it off their Myspace, am plugging for it back)
Young Lords - Pretty Little Mess

...And Guitar Hero's the nuts. And I've started liking monochromed wankathon post-punk. Am I about to live under a copy of the Guardian huddled in Bethnal Green tube station? I really hope so.