Ten Not Out

Hello All,

Jupes is off at a voice over and then the Store so as we missed out on the show this week, I thought I'd try and catch up here before my impending deadlines hit me like an errant buffalo. Though, if you do need to hear from him, try Twitter, he appears to post his movements on there (and sometimes mine!) about every thirty seconds. Twitter; an evolutionary step backwards for every right-minded person who's ever enjoyed the written word. But that's just my opinion, not that of P&P Industries... Or indeed Richard Herring who railed (that's not the word I'm looking for, ironically, given my earlier statement) against myself and Andrew 'College' Collins for not joining the Twitter Revolution. Such a grand title for something so weedy, it's like describing an asthma-ridden child as burly. Anyway, I digress, I'm here to tell you (unfurls parchment) why there was no show this week; work and lots of it. That's no gripe, it's hard to find the stuff these days, but we do this gratis as do USP who run the studio, so the day we had free they did not. Sadly, the Ten is a hobby not a gig and so always has to take second place to the various day jobs. It's a shame as we love doing it so very much. And talking of the Ten, and I was, I'm not sure there could have been less grace among our audience when we posted the news that there was no show this week. Most of you were kind, but the fat Peter Kay lookalike (nice shots of you playing rugby, dumpy) who described us as 'You cunts' is going to get bitten through the face the day I meet him. Admittedly, it might have been a joke, or a clumsy attempt at one (your photos indicate that clumsy might have been the word you saw a lot on your school reports), but we tried hard to pull the show together this week - we were still trying to make it work at 10pm on Monday night - and that was the last rejoinder we wanted to see.

Anyway, on a happier note, Grace Jones played the most remarkable show at the Roundhouse in Camden, proof-positive that women in their sixties can still swing. She pole-danced like an adept teen from Texas and then pretty much thrust a camera up her behind while never missing a note... They should make her the Angel of the South. In other news, Phill's working on his first book (non-fiction), while I scratch my head quizzically and stare at my second novel as if we've never met before. Just how did I complete and sell the last one? And in a charmed moment, the wonderful Nicky Wire gave me his tickets for the forthcoming Wales game in Cardiff this weekend, trying to find a hotel is a different matter, but I'll worry about that after the third pint of Brains has been sunk and we've watched England trampled mercilessly into the Welsh turf. More on that on next week's Ten, we're recording on Monday so we hope to have the new show up by end of day, thank us then.

And for those who even care, I'm still wading through the Paris Review compendium I mentioned last time, listening to two new albums, one from Therapy? which is called Crooked Timber and Chris Cornell's Scream. The latter recorded with Timbaland, it won't be to everyone's tastes... Film wise, I've liked Hush and had very little time for Body Of Lies, succinctly put, it's a beautiful mess.

We'll see you next time and when I say that, I mean Monday. Now play nice.

Phil(l)