The MacDonald Brothers

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse than Take That reforming, there’s news that the MacDonald Brothers have landed a double album deal. For those of you who don’t live with Romanian songbirds who insist on watching the X Factor each week, the MacDonald Brothers are singers in the tradition of The Proclaimers but without the spectacles, social commentary, melodies, sweaters, or even a hit record. What they lack in talent that make up for with kilts, so there’s no need to worry. They have plenty of kilts.

Call The Chipster a cynical old Welshman but I’ll not be linking to them sometime soon. The war against this form of terrorism has to start somewhere and I say it starts at my thong and ends with cruise missile strikes on Aberdeen or wherever else they come from. It is only a heightened sense of professionalism that stops me plunging a rusty knife into my genitals whenever I hear them begin to sing in close harmony.

And, of couse, Gabby says ‘men in dresses gorgeous you think’.

Well, I don’t think. The only way they possess the X factor is if the ‘X’ is found written on the label of a large bottle with a child-safe cap found beneath the kitchen sink. And safety cap or no safety cap, if that CD comes into this house I’ll be bleach my insides before I put my head in the microwave.

I don’t tell her this, of course. She dyed my hair pink because of something I said about Take That. My insulting The MacDonald Brothers might involve some rare form of Romanian torture.

Such as, in fact, listening to The MacDonald Brothers…

A Pink Shock

My hair’s turned pink.

I went to bed with my luxurious golden locks lay out on the pillow beside me and woke up to find them as pink as Graham Norton’s bathroom set. At first I didn’t know what to do or what to think and that’s when Gabby burst out of the wardrobe, giggling like a Romanian machine pistol. They have some odd ideas about humour in East Europe. Some funny ideas about revenge too.

It turns out it was all her doing. She got bored this morning and after our slight row last night when I happened to make some offhand remarks about Take That’s masculinity, she decided to teach me a lesson. How I managed to sleep through the whole dying process is the thing that worries me the most. I can taste something funny on my tongue and I’m not totally convinced it isn’t the last of some crushed sleeping tablets blown down my throat with a cocktail straw.

At the risk of you thinking I'm one of those Lib Dems who'd like to legalise drugs for lesbian goats, can I just say that pink hair isn’t that bad. In fact, it’s given me a totally different outlook on the world. People are already treating me quite differently. The woman at the off license this morning even knocked a pound of the bottle of vodka I bought as a peace offering for the Romanian. Pink hair has that effect on people. I think it’s the aura of excitement that they’re responding to. I’m suddenly a man who lives on the other side of the edge of normality which marks out most people’s lives.

I’ve decided not to dye it back to something more normal but to let it grow out. If it does nothing else, it reminds me not to cross a woman who also has some Slavic blood running through her veins and who sleeps with a knife strapped to her thigh.

When God Made Wogan

So it has emerged that Terry Wogan has been taking a fee for Children in Need. Gabby’s appalled and swears she won’t listen to Radio 2 again. I’m delighted. It gives me even more reasons to worship the man.

I mean how politically incorrect is it for someone to take a fee for a charity gig where they spend the whole night praising people who have lived a week in a bath of prunes to raise £15 for the little children? But why should he do it for free? Why should ‘talent’ give our services for nothing? Sod that for a wheelbarrow full of needy causes. Give me more selfishness.

The world is so full of charade, fakery, and old fashioned flummery, that Wogan and his fee stick are the perfect antidote to Al Gore and his carbon footprint the size of Texas. Wogan is the honesty missing when Prince Charles goes jetting across the world to pick up his environmental awards.

First thing tomorrow morning, I’m off to get a tshirt made with the slogan ‘Wogan does it for money’.

February Was A Month of Records

February was my best month ever with nearly 120 unique visitors over the four week period, which is 120 visitors up on January. Page impressions were also up with 121 impressions suggesting that one person clicked on two pages. I’m struck by the number of new sites linking to me. Zero is a very striking number, don’t you think?

I’d normally include a list of the top 40 sites linking to me but I don’t have that many so here’s the top 10 singles chart instead.

1. Kaiser Chiefs, Ruby; 2 Mika, Grace Kelly; 3 Kelis Ft Cee Lo, Lil Star; 4 Akon Ft Snoop Dogg, I Wanna Love You; 5 Fray, How To Save A Life; 6 Just Jack, Starz In Their Eyes; 7 Gwen Stefani Ft Akon, The Sweet Escape; 8 Sophie Ellis-Bextor, Catch You; 9 Fall Out Boy, This Ain't A Scene It's An Arms Race; 10 Take That, Shine

Take That 'Take That'

It’s a brief update tonight. If anybody asks, the jet lag finally caught up with me today and I slept away the good part of 24 hours. But before you say anything, I know there’s not much chance that anybody will ask you about my whereabouts but I’m just covering all possibilities. You see, Gabby’s been dropping bit hints all morning that I should buy tickets for the ‘Take That’ tour.

I only ask that you pity The Chipster. I’d rather have my manhood nailed to Dame Tanni Grey-Thompson’s wheelchair before pushing her down a sharp incline for the sake of Sports Relief than stay even a minute in the same auditorium as Take That. Only Gabby doesn’t seem to understand my feelings, which accounts for my keeping my head down and not leaving the bedroom.

Now it’s three o’clock in the morning and I can’t sleep. But at least I’m not pestered to listen to another track from ‘Beautiful World’.

The Injunction

It’s the early hours of Saturday morning and I’ve just had to slip on my legal thong to ensure that I’m very careful as to what I write. I can’t name every name and legal restrictions make it impossible for me to give you ‘the full monty’, as we call it in the trade, but the facts, as I can report them, are something like this: The Bangor Evening Chronicle tonight intended to run a story in which they claim that local thongman ‘Tiny’ Blair illegally wore pre-stuffed posing pouches throughout 2004 and 2005 stripping seasons. The local Labour union have managed to get an injunction to stop the full details of this news from going to press though the Chronicle is working hard to have the news printed by another paper not covered by the restriction.

I’m at least two miles away from the epicentre of all this intrigue but I’m willing to go out on a limb here based on the information I have at hand.

Sources close to Tiny have told me that his thongs were indeed stuffed with cotton wool but it was his manager and local pimp Lord Love who was in charge of the bag packing operation. Everybody who works with Tiny were aware of some unusual activities involving tubes of cream cheese and moles but the scale of this thong deceit has taken everybody by surprise. It was thought that investigators would soon announce that they could not prosecute anybody on charges relating to the moles, but this new investigation is rapidly gathering evidence. The authorities have already seized Tiny’s thongs and as secondary ‘secret’ thong collection has been found in his home. It’s believed that it’s in this second collection that the padded thongs were discovered.

Investigations are on going but if any of the accusations are proved, they might lead to Tiny being forced to resign his position as President the of Welsh Stripper’s Union.

I'll give you more information when I can but this is the best I can do without the risk of being thrown in prison.

The Bluetit

The grey skies have constantly reminded me that I’m no longer in America but it was the dead bluetit I found neck down in my bottle of milk this morning that probably soured my mood. It certainly put me off my cornflakes.

It’s only natural that I should feel a bit down after my adventure in Washington but I never expected the down to be so ‘down’. I don’t have any work for a few days so I have time to mope around the house and consider my future. Does anybody have any advice for a man with the odd qualification? At the moment, I feel quite like the bluetit. I’ve supped life’s cream and I’m not looking forward to a semi-skimmed future.

The way I see it, wherever you look in this world, somebody is out to treat us all like the dumbest rubes at the fairground. It’s ironic that stripping is probably one of the more honest ways of earning an honest buck these days. At least people know what to expect when they pay me to perform. Armies complain if they’re asked to fight, hospitals give you more terrible diseases than you went in with, and our children spend years in school in order to avoid learning anything useful. At least you know where you stand with a man in thong.

Gabby gave me a gift today. She wanted to cheer me up and, thinking I should find a hobby, she bought me the first instalment in the weekly magazine which lets you build a scale model of the Bismarck. Bless here heart naive Romanian heart. It cost her fifty pence and she thinks I’ll now happily spend £4.99 on each additional instalment. There are only another 139 issues which means in a just over two years time I’ll have built a scale model of the Bismarck for £700. I quickly persuaded her to scuttle the idea before I jump overboard. That's when she told me that the window cleaners have also put up their fares again. Did I mention that they drive Audi TTs and often take the afternoon off to go and play golf?

At lunchtime, I turned on the TV to catch the news and saw a new ad for mops. That’s right: mops. Three glamorous models dressed in futuristic white tight leather waving mops around. Only they weren’t just mops. There were mops with geometrically shaped ends. Mops with multi-coloured strands. Mops that have been designed by a computer. In the end, of course, they’re just mops.

It makes me wonder about the bluetit. Did it fall into that bottle or did it jump?

The Chipster's Theory About MyBlogLog

Pour me a stiff drink. I’ve had my first comment from a real world fan! Thank you Jane, wherever and whoever you are. I'm delighted that you enjoyed the show. You have to make yourself known to me the next time you come see me perform. I’ve a complimentary thong with your name on it.

Now I’m back in Bangor, I thought it about time to take stock of my life with my blog. Jane’s comment only brought into focus my disappointment with the reality of blogging. If I performed on stage to the silence I find of the blogosphere, I don’t think the Chipster could get his shoes off, never mind the rest. And then there's all the work it takes, coming up with something new to say each day. The whole thing is a worry to me...

You know, I’m not getting any younger and I have to think about a career after the thong when my perfectly formed buttocks begin to sag. I’d hate to be still stripping in ten years time. That's why I think of alternative occupations. I enjoy writing and would like to find work crafting words, which is why keep pestering the local newspapers to see if they want any pieces of thonglateering to put next to their ads for second hand motors.

Sadly, my appeals fall on deaf ears. And I can’t help but feel disappointed that there have been far too few invites to review the papers on Sky News. The same is true of the BBC who ignore me daily. And as to the newspapers: they don’t even seem to know me. I’ve not had a single offer to write a piece for The Telegraph, The Guardian, The Times… The list could go on and on.

Yet the one place where I feel like I’ve made some progress is with MyBlogLog. I subscribe to it a while ago and have found it lightens up my otherwise drab days. I enjoy nothing more than looking at the faces of some of you visitors and trying to gues what you’re all really like. I tell you that there’s a thrill to be had by looking at the picture on the Mybloglog profiles guessing what your blogs are going to be like before I see them. I’ve studied it for a few weeks now and I’m ready to reveal my conclusions.

The Seven Categories of MyBlogLog Visitor

1. The Beautiful People

Okay. We all know that I’m one of these. You can spot those of us who belong in this category because the picture on our profile shows you how bloody gorgeous we are. We’re the type of person who really knows how to communicate with our bodies and understand every commination sent out by our bodies in return. Webcams were created for those of us in this category. As were tropical beaches, which is where most of our pictures are taken. We’re also the sort of people who look straight into the camera. You’ll know too that we beautiful people usually have beautiful blogs where you can read all about our beautifully rich lives. Admit it, you hate us and love us and you want to be just like us. Bless...

2. The Charlatans

You can spot these people because they’re usually in some dynamic pose. They’ll probably be pointing at you in a ‘get off your arse’ way. These are the people who want to change you life for the better. The photo might have been taken an usual angle, full of Feng Shui. If you click on these people’s profiles, you’ll usually end up at a blog that’s promoting some sort of modern day quackery. These are the estate agents of the internet. The faith healers. The lifestyle gurus. The career consultants. The readers of the stars. In other words, these are the lowest of the low when it comes to blogging. Avoid them at all cost and never give them your credit card details. I hate to generalise but they all do strange things with animals and smell of feta cheese.

3. The Extrovert Shy

These are the people whose have their pictures taken but then go to great lengths to obscure their identity in some way. These are the people that hide behind their hands or they use Photoshop to obscure their features. Sometimes the pictures are taken in the semi darkness. These people are a mystery and their blogs are usually equally mysterious. Satanic rituals are usually involved and they don’t use any kind of blog template. Their websites are usually built from scratch, have a black background and yellow fonts and they’ve used javascript to play a tune and turn your cursor into a magician’s wand.

4. The Extrovert Extroverts

These are different to the ‘beautiful people’ in that they’re not actually beautiful. Yet in a way they are the people who are most a home with who they are. These are the people who put their passport photos on their profiles. Their blogs are usually very open about their lives but tend to get bogged down in detail about what their cat ate for breakfast. Ignore these people. They are extremely boring. Never under any circumstance give them your home address. They will visit you.

5. The Hidden

These are the freaks of the web. These are the people who hide their identities or prefer anonymity. Sometimes they create a false persona and blog from behind this veil of anonymity. You have to watch out for these people as they’ll often use a fake photograph. These are very odd people and you can’t believe a word they say on their blogs. They will lie about anything. You have been warned.

6. The Graphic Designers

These are the people who have designed their own logo. These people are creative bores with abnormally large egos. They seem to think they are so unique they need to corporate branding. Their blogs will be extremely well put together, with great visual style. Unfortunately their content shows why they are often accused of having style of substance. Usually that substance is weed which also makes for very long and dull ramblings about the nature of peace. They will often post about style sheets and tips on setting your website out in three or more columns. Don’t contact these people as they will definitely try to sell you some of their paintings.

7. The TV Bores

When you can’t think of anything else to use as a logo, steal something from the TV. That’s the mantra of these TV bores. They are very easy to spot because they’ll have stole a picture from The Simpsons and will be going around the web claiming to Police Chief Wiggum. These are the bloggers that usually bring nothing new or original to the blogosphere. They believe that to blog successfully you must rehash what they find on other blogs. Their sites usually contain nothing but the reposted scrapings of Youtube. Don’t visit their blogs unless you want to see videos of people getting injured, dogs attacking TVs, or long 'funny' clips of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings intercut with scenes from the original Star Trek.

Touchdown Bangor!

I kissed the tarmac at Manchester Airport or as close to the tarmac as I could get. It was actually the floor of the arrivals lounge and it tasted of strong disinfectant that made my lips sting. I’m glad that I experienced America. It has taught me of a world that’s harsher and odder than the one I’ve known in North Wales. People are no stranger over there but with so many gathered together in one place, there’s much more chance that a group of the very oddest should gather together and take part in orgies for the sagging and hairless. My buttocks are still sore where I lost skin jumping through that window but I’m really just aching from all the travelling and in need of good hot bath.

When I got home, Gabby was really quite angry with me. She’s been reading this blog and knew everything about my ‘adventures’. I think she was most angry about my desperate need to make easy money and she’s made me donate the $5000 to a good cause. It’s probably for the best and the local donkey sanctuary promised to put the money to good use. No doubt they’ll name a feed bucket in my honour.

Opening Discussion

I’ve been lying in my hotel room all day, waiting to catch a taxi to the airport. For this reason, I’ve no great adventures to recount. I’ve done nothing but read the Jules Verne and browse the web. You might say I'm wasting time in one of the world's great capitals but I'm keeping my head down, fearing that an appearance outside might lead me into more trouble with ‘the Washington authorities’.

This seclusion did, however, give me plenty of chance to look at the website that Charles Clarke and Alan Milburn have launched today for their 2020 Vision campaign.

Now, the Chipster wants to make it known that he’s all for the future. He thinks the future will be big next thing. You just can’t ignore it or it will be on us before we know it… Whoops! There you go! Just as I was typing that sentence, a bit of the future was here and I missed it. Well, we’ll just have to be more careful the next time… Damn! Too late… A bit more slipped right through my fingers.

You see how easy it is to get slightly manic about the future? It gets only worse once you realise that the politicians are all for it too. This 2020 webside, for example, is full of happy thoughts about tomorrow and the day after. And is it any wonder when we’re so resolutely marching ‘towards a progressive century’?

To be honest, I don’t actually know what they mean by ‘a progressive century’. It sounds a bit too much like a ‘progressive skin disease’. And what is ‘progressive’ about a century exactly? Is it longer or shorter than a normal century? Does it come in different colours? I don’t know. I’m just a stripper with a large thong collection. Terms like ‘progressive century’ are less meaningful to me than the sound of a well snapped piece of gusset elastic. Yet I know it has to mean something. It has to mean something when the people are spending so much money advertising it. I suppose it’s just up to me to figure out what it means.

They mean, I suppose, that in the future we abandon whatever we’ve been doing in favour of something else. Out with the ‘old thinking’ and in the with new. That sort of thing. We’re still not quite sure what this other thinking we’ll be doing will be, except it will be a damn sight better than the things we’ve been doing so far. In fact, that is probably an example of progressive thinking right there. I feel illuminated just being in its presence.

So, ‘progressive’ means we get rid of all that conservative thought that’s been holding us back for too long. And I’m all for that. After all, what has the power of conservatism ever given us except for a bit of civilisation for the last few centuries? We’d be a damn sight better off with something else and I’m brimming with excitement at the thought of burning everything down before we even begin to think of an alternative. What’s more progressive than a short period of anarchy? The most important thing is to rid ourselves of that horrible conservative thinking. We want radical ideas for a nation where a man can be proud to wear underwear on his head and call himself the Archmage Skinflick the Third.

Charles Clarke and Alan Milburn clearly have a good handle on how we should move forward. This website of theirs already declares that their ‘recent speeches’ are ‘coming soon’, which is how it should be. While we’re looking forward to the future, we can also look forward to the past. Policies are also in the future pipeline but that’s good since too we’ll be giving the old policies well before we think up the new ones. And if you’re getting confused, the whole thing boils down to one line: ‘Politics is about the future not the past’.

Apropos of nothing: I hear that dementia is increasing in the nation at large. That can only be a good thing given that it's all about the future and not the past. Whether we suffer dementia or not, we’ll all soon be living in the future with no though of what’s gone before...

History is history, baby. The Chipster says so.