Why I think you should... Go & Watch Your Local Non-League Football Team

I am a greedy and slightly fickle football fan. I openly admit to following 3 football teams for various reasons that I feel are reasonably justified (Plymouth Argyle - nearest pro club to home, Manchester United - club my grandfather supported & used to take me to the pub to watch (admittedly somewhat successful too), Atletico Madrid  - nearest team to where I lived in Madrid, team of the opposition to the fascist, rich (and successful...) Real) and, I must admit, pay more attention to any of them when they are winning than when they are losing. As I have 'grown up' I have tended to put less emotional store in supporting football and instead gauged myself by other means - career, lovelife, contribution to society. I often think that I should have stuck with the football...


So last Saturday I almost thought I might have found a 4th club to add to my sympathies - The Mighty Rooks, Lewes FC. My friend Max has been to watch Lewes a few times in the past, and as it was his birthday coming up he decided to invite some friends along, myself included, to join him in enjoying a day at the footie. The attraction he said was that you were allowed to drink beer on the terraces, there was a plethora of comedy chants on offer and you were allowed to drink beer on the terraces (sic) (hic). Alas, only one of these was true, as I discovered before leaving to meet the guys at the station on the club's Twitter feed that due to this being an FA Trophy game, and thus having to abide by different rules regarding the consumption of beer. Did we let this stop us? Well, there were some murmurings, but away we went nonetheless on the train armed with a can of cider each to watch Lewes.


On arrival at the Dripping Pan (one of my favourite ground names, up there with Gay Meadow and Spotland) we paid our tenners and made our ways onto the Phicox Terrace with the game already kicked off, no goals and found a place between fans of, we thought, the Lewes denomination. I have to admit I was shocked to find the fans in front starting singing "We are the famous Salisbury City" after a few minutes - experiences in professional football tell me that away fans in the home area can only result in one thing, violence. However, none seemed forthcoming, and that despite the fact that the 3 lads in question in front of us seemed rather inebriated. And, while I'm not one to judge books by covers I was sure not adverse to a bit of rough and tumble, as was borne out a little later....

The Dripping Pan, Lewes

We moved across the stand to more Lewes-friendly territory (we were Rooks now after all) but it was the group of maybe 10 Salisbury City fans who sang the loudest for the duration of a first half. Max said the Lewes fans seemed low on the ground by comparison to normal either due to lack of cup interest or just maybe the lack of terace beer, and thus were a bit less audible. However the Salisbury fans' enthusiasm for being the famous Salisbury City kept us amused, and amongst my group we amused ourselves by trying to come up with witty retorts. Max had accidentally offended a Salisbury City fan earlier by referring to them as Salisbury Town, so we thought of shouting 'TOWN' or even 'VILLAGE' after they sang City would be good and it amused us briefly. Due to their pride in their cathedral "You're just a town with a big church" was belted out to some amusement. I put forward "Small town in Stonehenge, you're just a small town in Stoooonehenge", and then my own personal favourite "You can shove your f***ing Stonehenge up your arse" (Ouch), but these were rejected by the majority. Somewhere in front of us a game was going on, but as Lewes had gone 1 down (Kelly, 21) and were being outclassed by the imaginatively nicknamed "Whites" we nipped in 15 minutes before half time for a quick half in the bar.


When we came back out one of our number went to the toilet to find 2 of the aforementioned Salisbury fans being pulled out of the Portaloo along with a Lewes fan with his crutches. It seemed there had been some kind of altercation and the Lewes fan, despite his protestations and clear disability, was being kicked out. I walked past shortly afterwards when the stewards were talking to the 2 Lewes guys - both seemed very worse for the wear from at the very least alcohol - and they were ejected shortly afterwards. Given the friendly 'bantery' nature of things at the Pan, with both sets of fans mingling together and having a laugh this was quite a turn up, but it was the only sign of anything happening, and a source of some mirth purely for it being so out of place in the situation.


At half time we hit the bar and grabbed pints (I of course went with some of the local brew from Harvey's brewery) and chatted about the game and anything else that came up. We could have been anywhere in honesty, a good friendly pub atmosphere and good beer, and we remained in the bar as the second half kicked off finishing our pints and chatting to one or 2 more loyal Lewes fans. Some of us caught through the bar windows that Salisbury had doubled their lead (Clarke, 49) and things did not look good for lacklustre Lewes. We resumed our position on the terraces and listened to further Salisbury chanting and tried desperately to think of more of our own. Lewes though came back into it and finally started getting some confidence going forward. One of the best goalmouth scrambles I think I've ever seen occurred right in front of us, and we started to Believe. The local fans, us included, got into full voice - "Leeewwwweees" was the chant, and ref and players started to get some verbal heat. The Salisbury fans were quiet, worried indeed, and they were right to be after another slightly smaller scale scramble Lewis (not that one) Hamilton (72) poked home from an angle. Game On.


Alas, it wasn't to be. Lewes petered out and in all honesty Salisbury were the better side and with 4 minutes remaining Clarke got one on the counter attack to put the game out of reach. The final whistle rang out, the Salisbury fans cheered and continued to sing their hearts out and we pissed off into town for a pint. 


It was great fun and I'll certainly go again. There was the feeling that the football wasn't quite as important as the good time to be had (or was that just us), and Max tells me that addition of further beer to the terraces has a great enhancing effect on the quality of the football. I'm not saying that the fans don't take it seriously, but the great thing is there is perhaps a realisation that at the end of the day there are more important things in life (well, for all bar 2 or 3), and as long as there's a pleasant distraction to be had that's all that matters. 


Why do I think you should go? If you're a football fan its to realise and appreciate the grass roots of the game where small towns like Lewes, Corby and Truro take a little pride in a team however they're doing and enjoy the football and the atmosphere regardless of the pay packet of those on show. Also I certainly didn't begrudge the tenner I paid going towards a small community club like that, far less than the 20-odd quid I've paid to watch drab & disappointing League 1 football. If you're not a football fan it's not just about the football at all, there's the banter, the beer and the interesting sociological experiment of placing 2 opposing groups of fans in one area, and it's a friendly (generally family friendly) atmosphere and you can possibly start to appreciate some the thrills and rushes possible from the game of Association Football.

A Warning From History: An email from my "Friend" Frank Benjamin

I quite like flicking through my junk emails. It throws up some classic email subject lines, and I have to admit I was intrigued by the following subject line, which was simply:

compensation

In fairness, this drew me in, and so below is copied the contents of the email, which I have to say, I enjoyed thoroughly. I have no more to add to this, and am unsure as to what conclusions could be drawn from it. I offer it here, at The Blog That Saved The World, only as a contribution to the miscellany of life that we one day may be able to make some sense of in our quest. Please enjoy (especially the influential Man):

Dear Friend.

 I am very happy to inform you that the transaction has been perfected well through the help of an investor that was introduced to us from Japan. 

Since all our effort in conjunction with you were met with various failures and disappointments after the other, there was an 

Influential party from Japan that was approached on our behalf by THE MANAGER OF FOREIGN OPERATIONS DEPARTMENT (NATIONAL BANK OF GREECE) and with his (influential party) imputes, the Fund was paid out and I have collected my own share. 

Presently, I am in Japan, in partnership with a core investor in the Mining Sector of their economy, we are investing in the industry. But, I am not IN DOUBT of the fact that you did your best in that context, although, it seem that element of doubt crept in. You were not to blame, as there were many Circumstances that would reflect such skepticism to any reasonable being.  

For your sincere but unfruitful sacrifices, I pressurized the influential Man to BRING out some amount as COMPENSATION to you, for the resource that you have put in even the time and inconveniences. The sum of $US450.000.00 was what my partner and i agreed to as your compensation value, and the sum was made in draft but, because of my appointment in Japan, I could not get through to you since your number at any time indicated "not in use", I then handed it over to the Secretary of THE MANAGER OF FOREIGN OPERATIONS DEPARTMENT (NATIONAL BANK OF GREECE). 

Her name is: Mrs Rebecca Johnson 

E-mail: rebeccajohnson@mailbox.sk 

You are to forward to him the following: 

1.YOUR FULL NAME  

2.YOUR FULL ADDRESS 

3.YOUR TELEPHONE NUMBER  

The Secretary is very much informed by me about you and I instructed her to hand over the Draft to you as soon as you contact her. I gave her the CODE 555, which you have to mention for identification. 

Yours Sincerely,  

Mr.Frank Benjamin, 

united Kingdom

Why I think you should... Listen To The Kissaway Trail

The Danes have made their mark on the world for sure. Any country that can produce both Hans Christian Anderson and Lars Ulrich deserves at least a cursory glance in their direction from an artistic point of view (I realise describing Ulrich as an artist is like describing Michaelangelo as a decorator). This, in addition to certain porcine products, Peter Schmeichal and high taxation rates (but not, it seems, Great Danes, thus leaving me struggling slightly for suitable puns for this piece) makes Denmark a place of some note.


Now I'd like you to consider an addition to the short and distinguished list of quality Danish exports. The Kissaway Trail carry that all too easy description that a number of bands carry of 'sounding a bit like Arcade Fire'. The friend of mine who introduced me to them says they're like a cheerful Arcade Fire without the understanding of English. Or French, I'd be tempted to add. Either way, and despite the slightly lazy (albeit reasonably accurate) description, it's very much worth you checking them out. I'll now explain why.


Aforesaid friend (we'll call him Dave) first recommended the 'Trail to another friend on Facebook a couple of years ago. I stole this recommendation for my own fiendish purposes, and immediately downloaded the eponymous first album. I was hooked pretty quickly. The stand out song, the nonsensically titled "Smother + Evil = Hurt" (the '=' is pronounced equal rather than equals) immediately grabbed me. The jangly guitars and melodies with a full all round sound is comparable to a few bands, none of which occur to me right now, and the powerful drumming and vocal layering is great to hear. My favourite line is "Our kisses were lost and always windy". It could be evocative if we had any idea what they meant by it...


The rest of the album is along similar, heartening lines and while I don't doubt they fully believe in the sentiments of all the songs, there is also a feeling that they don't take themselves too seriously which allows the album to rattle along on a positive and generally uplifting note, while there is also some genuine craft in much of the songwriting. 


Since moving to Brighton in September I resolved to get to see as much good live music as possible, and was verily delighted to see the Danish doyens of dangle were playing in town (see I can do it too). I tried to persuade others to join me, however Tim Robbins was playing on the same night and had taken the attention of many. So I pitched up to the gig on my own, always a slightly sad act, and was one of a decent crowd of 50-75 I'd say to enjoy a performance of vigour and fun at The Hope.


After I'd bought my advance ticket a fortnight before I had made sure I that investigated their follow up album Sleep Mountain, released earlier this year, on Spotify. It's another album with loads of potential, less raw perhaps, more structure songs and maybe in some way loses that innocent tone of the first, however the songwriting is still of a high quality and there's a few great anthems in there that make for great live material.


So at the gig I had reasonably high expectations. Their sound seemed made for live performances, and indeed it proved. Most if not everyone there knew their songs so it was very much a friendly crowd, a hardcore of which were dancing far too energetically for a Wednesday night, but the guys put in a great deal to please everyone and must have gained some new fans. I came away delighted that I'd made the effort, if slightly disappointed that from what must be close to 2 hours of album material they'd only played for a little over an hour.

To look at they're a slightly strange but reasonably generically Scandinavian looking group of individuals, whilst in action they are really quite an entertaining bunch to observe. In addition to the 5 above they also had another fellow with a ginger bowl haircut whose main role appeared to be bounce up & down with a tambourine occasionally joining in the 6 part harmonies the Trail do love to throw in. They chop & change instruments although they do have generally defined roles. My favourite was the tall bass player chap (4th from left, above) who I think was Rune Pederson, who is totally loving every moment, and occasionally looks entirely surprised to be on stage doing what he clearly always dreamed of doing (albeit maybe not in venues like The Hope, which is quite the pokey shithole).


So, to answer my question - why do I think you should listen to The Kissaway Trail?They write well crafted songs that could make you smile just through their persistent optimism and enthusiasm.

• They do some quite frankly outlandish things with the English language that can't fail to please, if not amuse.
• They sound a bit like Arcade Fire, who you probably love.
• If you have a chance to see them live, you will be able to appreciate them even more by having listened to them, and will be thus heartily pleased by their on stage personas and presence.
• They arguably have more artistic merit than Lars Ulrich.
• They might just save the world.

Seek them out. They're on Spotify, Myspace, Facebook and even exist in real life or through the purchase of something call a "Compact Disk".

JAMES: Musical magic from Elliott J Brown

It's been a while since the last update, saving the world is a pretty hectic affair it seems...

Anyway, what better way to get going again than recommending some super-duper music by TBTSTW buddy Mr Elliott J Brown.

Check his website and his tunes. If you dig it, sign him. If you don't have a record company, start one. And sign him.

elliottjbrown.co.uk

- James

JAMES: Practical Android Apps...

I'm a bit of a geek. I love Star Trek, motorcycles, gadgets; you name it, I dig it. While I can't claim to be even nearly expert at any of these things, I just can't get enough of them. If it's shiny, I want to touch it, if it beeps I want to hold it, if it does more, I want one. Badly.

After feeling slightly envious, but also disdainful of the iPhone crowd (or iDiots as I like to chuckle to myself) I finally succumbed and bought an Android smartphone - namely an HTC Desire, though I prefer the company's codename "Bravo". It sounds marginally more... macho, in my not especially macho opinion.

I've left out certain apps that are useful, because they're almost standard: Social networks like Facebook and Twitter have brilliant apps available, same as YouTube and Google Maps etc.

Here are some of the best practical after-market applications you may not know of that I've downloaded and been using for the past few months. Yeah that's right, lists of things you never knew you needed. A fun and pointless app. list will be coming soon.

1) ShapeWriter / Swype keyboards

I can't say enough about swipe style keyboards. To enter text, for example "hello" you simply put a digit on "H" and drag your finger through the letters of the word until "O". Simply lift your finger or thumb from the screen to start a new word. It takes a few days to get used to but, honestly, it's so fast and intuitive I challenge anyone to get to grips with this style of character input and go back to tap-tapping. The QWERTY keyboard was designed to be used with all your fingers, people, not just thumbs. Get swiping and come join me up here on my pedestal.

Bum thing is, I don't think they're on the Android Market Place any more, but if you Google for the .apk files, they will be floating around the interweb somewhere.

2) Handcent SMS

- The stock HTC/Android SMS app works, but but it's boring to use and look at, and surprisingly limited in its functionality. Handcent SMS really lets you customise your SMS experience (Jesus, did I really just type that?) down to the tiniest detail. Like the iPhone text message set-up? Boom, you can have it on your Android phone. Everything from font to font size and text colour can be altered. You can also choose a notification tone and icon for different contacts, even what vibration pattern a contact might be associated with and how long it vibrates for. Down to a hundredth of a second.

If you're happy just playing around with something that works ok-ish, stick with the stock option. If you don't mind spending time messing around in menus and settings to get it perfect, I can't recommend Handcent enough.

3) HomePipe

This basically allows you to access your computer hard-drive from your phone via WiFi or 3G, so great for when you want to get hold of a photo or music album, or especially if you've forgotten to take documents with you.

It works surprisingly well and with ease. The only downside is that your computer, wherever it is, must be switched on and connected to the internet. There are cloud-based alternatives, such as Dropbox, but you must upload stuff to it, and there is a storage limit, unless you want to pay.

4) Places Directory

The name almost says it all. Type in the name of a place, type of place or business and this little gem brings up the nearest ones to you. It tells you how far away each place is and even provides a tiny arrow pointing in the direction it lies. Not only that, but it provides a button to dial the place directly if available or displays a map of the location. Further still, it provides user uploaded photos and reviews. I'm surprised it's not standard, it's that useful.

5) SpringPad

There are a million and one note-taking apps available, and I've tried a fair few, but SpringPad is the only one I've kept. You can take text notes, photographic notes, shopping lists that you can check-off as you go along, scan barcodes on things from books to wine. Easy peasy and very useful. Also has a couple of widgets to choose from.

6) Astro File Manager

Simply lets you explore and move the files on your phone and SD card, including data and apps, much as you might do on your computer at home. Very straightforward and very, very useful.

7) 3G Watchdog

An app with large and small widgets that keeps a track of how much of your mobile internet allowance you have used. You set your download limit (keep in mind that even "unlimited" data plans have a "fair usage" cap, so it's always worth having) and also the start and end dates of the limit. It'll keep you updated with colour-coded text and exactly how many megabytes or gigabytes your phone has gobbled up this month. Invaluable, unless you have money to burn.

8) Remote for iTunes / VLC Remote / Gmote

Lazy? Like the idea of turning the music on and off with your phone? Ditto, get a remote. I've put these into the same category as they're all media player remote controls for your laptop or desktop.

Remote for iTunes connects to your iTunes via the wireless network, just like an iPhone or iPod Touch does. It's very smooth, connects easily and works instantly and easily, providing access to go forward, backward, play, pause, shuffle, loop and change volume. My only minor beef is that you can't scroll down through all the songs individually - rather albums, artists, Playlists and iTunes DJ. You can shuffle them all though.

VLC Remote, as its name suggests, allows you to control VLC Player on your computer. You can't open the program remotely though, and you have to click View > Interface > Web Interface each time you open it, but it works so well beside that, I can't moan. Maybe there's a way around it that I've not found yet...

Gmote is not specific to a particular media player, it lets you browse folders on your computer that you've set up, stream media to your handset, and control players. It also has the ability to make your phone act as a touch-pad mouse / cursor control and keyboard. Awesome.

9) Quick Battery Indicator

A good looking widget, particularly when you compare it to some of the nasty looking battery indicators available, that's easy to read at a glance and can be set to display various power-related bits of information at a tap.

10) GDocs

Not useful to everyone, but it allows you to sync with Google Documents from the cloud, download files and even edit and create them. If you have, say, a blog that saved the world, it's a goodie for jotting down ideas and lengthier files you can then continue on your computer at home.

11) Google Maps

Simply brilliant. Mega. Brilli... oh. You get it. It's Maps as you'd find on most smartphones worth their salt, but with some really nice touches, the biggest of which is probably Google Navigator (apps within apps? Holy mackerel!) which is satnav for free. The lady talks to you and the road comes at you on the screen just as with TomTom et al.

Street View is good fun, as is Latitude if the idea of low-jacking your buddies floats your boat. There are lots of little features that you'll find a use for, one for me is being able to tap points on the map and the app will tell you how far the points are apart. You could measure stuff, or anything.

12) Barcode Scanner

It's so simple, you don't even have to press any buttons, just point the camera at a barcode and boom, you've scanned it. It'll perform searches for scanned items and also scan QR codes for other apps you find on your computer and take you to the Market Place. Everyone needs one.

- James

PEASLEY: Well, I laughed...

What did the zero say to the eight?

Nice belt!

- Austin Peasley

GEORGE ST: The Maladjusted Tourist's Guide To How To Behave In Cornwall Part 2

Apologies for lack of timely follow up to part one. I've been busy. And lovesick. And unable to focus on anything other than my lovesickness. But mostly busy.

ANYWAY

The Maladjusted Tourist's Guide To How To Behave In Cornwall (Part 2 wasn't mean to be more than one part but I rambled on so much about the driving)

Second up, of sorts, The community & how to not annoy it. Keep up!

1. "Ah, isn't this a twee little place!" NO! "Oh, it's like it's been preserved in history" NO IT HASN'T! "It's a shame that man in his van is spoiling the beautiful view of the bay in front of my holiday house" HE'S FIXING THE BLOODY WALL YOU DROVE THROUGH IN YOUR CHELSEA TRACTOR! These are not model villages, they have not been put together for purely your enjoyment, people live here, work here, exist here. Yes, we are lucky enough to live in what is a comparatively attractive area when placed against your concrete stained, gang-warfare strewn hellholes, but it cannot fit every picture postcard you've ever sent to Aunt Freda in Scunthorpe.

So if you stand in the middle of the street bemoaning to your tear-stained family the new development being built on an old disused allotment in the middle of the village (to house the displaced locals having to live with their parents, in skanky bedsits or on the street thanks to all the village housing stock lying empty all bar 2 weeks of the year as its owners, YOU, swank about in your chinos and loafers) don't be surprised if you are shot dead by furious local bystanders' stares.

2. Ok, this is a biggie. We know you don't live here all the time. But, by being financially able to buy property in our villages & towns, you are immediately demonstrating your financial viability to pay tax. Cornwall's a poor area, despite appearances maybe, and needs investment, so surely your social conscience can allow you to at least pay full amounts of council tax on your second homes (yes we know you may have 'switched' your primary residence, politician style, to your seaside retreat, that's even worse - you're not contributing enough to your own locale), and thus make a tangible and discernible contribution to the local economy and council.

100s if not 1000s of Cornwall County Council employees are currently being made redundant. You have that on your conscience.

3. Most local village shops have little capacity and at busy times of day there is likely to be a queue, especially in the peak months. During our packed days of, you know, leading our daily lives, we may pop in to quickly grab a pint of milk for cribtime, a pasty for lunch or a packet of rizlas for all other times, and we still have to queue for hours, thus wasting valuable man hours. So imagine our gall, our outrage, when we are, say, 5th in the queue, have been waiting for around 5 minutes, and you're at the checkout with your basket of caviare and starfruit, and realise you've forgotten the cinnamon sticks. "Tarquin!" you scream to the 10 year old brat currently getting under our feet, "can you run to the back of the shop and find mummy some cinnamon sticks?".

Now, instead of making us all wait for the blazered little idiot to search high and low for 5 more minutes for something he doesn't even understand (we're with him there) whilst you get angrier and angrier holding up the entire shop - why don't you LET US THROUGH, FIND THE BLOODY THINGS YOURSELF (as well as the satin bog roll you'll realise you forgot by the time he gets back, sobbing into the cinnamon) AND GET TO THE BACK OF THE QUEUE. We are not here to watch the gradual dismantling of your parental confidence over something used in some parts of the world to cure diarrhoea. We have things to do, like earning a paltry living.


Ok, so maybe my lovesickness busy nature of late has made me yet more ranty, if it were possible. Essentially, this basically boils to one thing. It's this simple. Next week (or possibly month...), I should get around to "How to ingratiate yourself to local hospitality providers" and possibly some other topics as they occur to me. In the meantime - Happy Holidays!

- George ST

DEADWARD THE DEVIANT: Stagger On

I was blind drunk. Embarrassingly, retardedly drunk.

Technically, I was a year older than I was two days before and, as a consequence, had been forcefully plied with deadly amounts of gin and champagne by my so-called friends; three grown men who should, frankly, have known better.

I awoke in a vortex of psychosis and hyperventilation with my undies around my knees; I think, in my stupor, I'd tried (and failed) to have a wank. I couldn’t have told you my own name, let alone my whereabouts.

"Oh God, I need to go home. I can't die here, I can't."

Wiping away the snot and dribble, I rolled heavily onto the floor and tried to find my clothes. I couldn't find my own fucking face.

“Christ, it's dark. I'm just gonna have to jet and explain the situation tomorrow when I come back for my things."

OK. Homeward bound. I reasoned that if I could just get to the nearest shop, I'd know where I was and how to get to my own bed.

So, on the cusp of delirium, I tried to stand and instantly recognised the (worryingly familiar) effects of alcohol-induced paraplegia. Oh no, now what? Of course: WWRBD (what would Rocky Balboa do)? Man up and stagger on, that's what. And when that inevitably fails, crawl...

Pulling myself along with my arms, my useless spaghetti legs dragging behind me, I wriggled my way to the door like a caterpillar, and out onto wet gravel.

EUGH! RAAARRR! BLUUURRRF!

I opened my eyes a short while later, sobbing and shaking violently with cold, the taste of stomach acid in my mouth and a reeking swamp of vomit beside me.

"Fuck this," I thought, "I'm staying here.” They'll surely understand, after all, you can‘t let a wreck-head into a party and expect anything else. And so I crawled back inside and onto a laundry pile in the corner of the room and fell into a twitching, fevered sleep.

That afternoon I woke up again and realised it was my own pile of laundry.

Shit.

- Deadward

GIVERÉ: The Expendables film review

The Expendables prove to be just that!

There has been an undercurrent of excitement building up, mostly among men of a certain age, anticipating the arrival of Sylvester Stallone’s new movie. The Expendables promised to be an unapologetic homage to 80s action beefcakes; low on plot, simple in concept and high in machismo.

It teams Sly with an ensemble of contemporary action heroes: Jet Li and Jason Statham, and cultish lunk-heads of past and present including Dolph Lundgren, Terry Crews, Steve Austin and Randy Couture. The real prize though was the prospect of an on screen partnership to rival De Niro and Pacino in Heat as Stallone shared the screen for the first time with other action super-alumni and Plant Hollywooders Bruce Willis and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Surely this should be the greatest action movie of all time?! I think not! It should have been the greatest action movie of all time but for the clusterfuck of improbability that has been left in its wake.

To briefly summarise, Stallone and his crew are a group of mercenaries sent to a tiny Island in the Gulf of Mexico to silence a rogue CIA agent (Eric Roberts) and his army of faceless uzi-fodder.

So what went wrong? Concept is simple and the cast is a fanboy’s wet dream. Script and direction! The film spends so much time finding new ways to mame, murder and humiliate that it loses its grip on reality even for the action genre. Couple this with sub-plots that, although comedic, are out of place or just full blown ridiculous and you have a film that just doesn't make sense.

There are entertaining moments and the scene between the big-three winks towards their personal relationship with each other. There is also a WWE/UFC faceoff between Austin and Couture which will appeal to the wrestling crowd. However, great moments don’t make a great movie if all the parts do not gel. Cohesion is unfortunately lacking and, despite being one of the stars, Jet Li is severely underused and undervalued. Stallone’s use of the camera is claustrophobic castrating the power of the big hand-to-hand battles, mainly involving Statham and the balletic Li.

All in all this could be a million times better, and while it does have some entertainment value you will leave the cinema angry that it wasn’t the greatest action movie ever. Stallone’s boast that they were “gonna smoke the A-Team” may prove to be regretful as modern cinema goers really do require their action heroes to be made of a different stuff, even in an homage flick.

- Giveré

PEASLEY'S Restaurant Review: Nathan Outlaw Seafood & Grill at Rock

You need a car if you live in L.A. It’s big and hard to get around. For good food, you need a car in Cornwall. Forty minute drives for meals are not uncommon and thanklessly our current government’s stance on drinking and driving leaves little room for fun.

A trek to North Cornwall (Rock) feels like a continent away from my Falmouth Bay HQ so I had to be sure it would be worth the visit. The colour of Nathan Outlaw’s sideburns do not match his hair, this was surely reason enough.

My girlfriend at the time enjoyed a delicious cocktail of gin, elderflower and fresh rosemary while I, the designated driver, huffed and puffed over a glass of water – brilliant. The sting of sobriety was, however, lessened as we both enjoyed a very unhealthy bowl of pork scratchings and perused the menu.

Each course was expertly executed with the stand out dish being Sea Bream on cocoa bean casoulet. The precise pan frying resulted in delicate fillets of bream showcasing crisp, crisp skin that ate like seaside-crackling, all set upon powdery pulses and tomato sauce.

Far and away the best dish of the night was my custard tart. Lady friend’s coffee and chocolate mousse was also good but I was smug with my out-ordering. My smugness soon faded as I noticed an air of drunkenness about her and smugness turned to envy.

The food is well worth the drive and the service is full of character. It was nice to get a sense of personality from the waiting staff who collaborated with my, now former, girlfriend in hiding my dessert during a toilet stop. Save for a misleading name – Nathan Outlaw cooks at his flagship restaurant also housed at St. Enodoc – this was one of my favourite dining experiences in Cornwall , a must.

To have enjoyed the wine list fully would have been a treat and perhaps next time a stay in the hotel could facilitate this, just need to find a new companion. Please apply herein.

- Austin Peasley

(You might also fancy a nosey at Peasley's review of Viners at Summercourt)

ANDY: Notes on Cinephiliacs and Fanbois

A man walks into a bar and asks “So who is Bib Fortuna?”

It’s an oft asked (in certain circles) question - no, no not who or what is a Bib Fortuna - but the question of whether the high-brow of the cinephile and low-brow of the fanboy are still part of the same face.

As the internet has given a voice to everyone and their dog - check out hismastersvoice.com - and the popularity of that which we call film shows no sign of waning, the question arises when does one stop being a mere film buff or fanboy and transcends to the lofty echelons of cinephile (der-der-der, here comes Cineman and Silverscreen Boy!)

Is there anything wrong with being a bit of a film-buff? Does cinephilia suddenly make you irresistible to the opposite sex? All these questions and more will NOT be answered but feel free to make your own assumptions (you know you will)

Well if you would, could you please get down from your high horse (it’s not a high horse, it’s a CG Pegasus and it took ILM almost two years to render the hair for the mane…LOOK AT THE MANE IT’S ALMOST LIKE ITS REAL!) Mister Film Man and take a seat: not the premium seats you find at the local Showcase or Cineworld, the ones with cup holders decorated with gold leaf, and not on your Ikea-purchased sofa in front of you bigger than God-o-Vision HD Television, with a home cinema 7.1 sound system that’s louder than war (and twice as costly) no, no, no. Come, make yourself comfortable, sit quietly by my side and listen.

So, when looking at the subjects of cinephilia and fandom, it soon becomes apparent that each term could be simply described as the flip sides of the same coin.

The very term “cinephilia” conjures more than just the love of cinema, it encompasses almost an entire attitude towards life. Since the 1960s and Andrew Sarris’ “importing” of the Andre Bazin politics du auteur, the term has come in and out of fashion. The term has its detractors which comes from the almost cosmopolitan snobbery that the it implies (see the scene outside of Waverly Cinema in Woody Allen’s Annie Hall, 1977) but at the same time it’s a term that can is also seen by many as a badge of honour; a statement of one’s love and appreciation for the finer points of film and cinema…which leads us to the other side of the coin…fandom.

Whilst cinephilia deals with, what could be said to be, the more “high culture idea” of the film world, the term fandom - used originally to describe fans of sport or celebrity) is seen to represent the lower end of the spectrum. It’s a word that has had as many ups-and-downs as cinephilia, but that has really come into the forefront in the past decade.

With the boom of the internet, fandom has reached almost biblical proportions. Those who stand under the banner of fandom have found the perfect outlet for freely discussing their obsessions; one only has to look at the millions of forums and fan sites devoted to even the most obscure films, and the popularity of fan sites such as Aintitcool.com - a site said to have so much influence on the box-office performance of films in recent years, that it has been said to have sunk some of the biggest of Hollywood’s offerings and boosted some of the smallest films into the realm of sleeper-hit.

Yet, in the immortal words of Ben Afleck (he was rather good in Phantoms, apparently…): “Fuck Jay and Silent Bob. Fuck them up their stupid asses.”

...to be continued!

- Andy

ASHLI: History Lessons from a Valley Girl #1

Okay, so… right, like, there was this guy once and he was totally, like, a king and stuff. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, Henry VIII? And nowadays he’s remembered as being a total badass player, so much so that he even was like, “No way Jesus, I’m making my own church”, or whatever. So, like, I’m wondering, was he really badass or actually a bit of a douche? I know, right, totally ace!

So, okay, Henry totally became King of England when his brother, Arthur, died. And Henry, totally being a good brother, was like, “Yeah, sure, I’ll marry your totally hot Spanish bride, who you promise you didn’t have sex with, cause you’re sick and shit.” Nice guy, right?

So, he marries Katherine of Aragon and they hang out and have babies and shit and it’s all good in England, and Katharine doesn’t care that Henry is boning like, everyone else with a pair of tits in England and France, cause he’s the King and that shit was totally cool then.

Then, like 15 years later Henry is like, “Um, Katharine, how come we only have one surviving child and you haven’t given me a son yet that can look after all the cool stuff I’ve been doing to England when I die?” and Katharine is like “God has decided to take our children away” or something like that, 'cause she’s like, total religious and stuff.

So, then these bitches come to court and Henry’s like “I’mma have me some of that” and starts having sex with this chick Mary Boelyn, who the King of France called his English Mare ‘cause she was like, totally a slut and sexed everyone, and Henry wasn’t one to worry about sloppy seconds. But then, he was like, actually, your sister's better.

Sucks, right? Apparantly, Henry was all for keeping it in the family. So, he starts trying to bone Anne Boelyn, but she’s like, “Nope, you’re married.” She wasn’t so religious, just totally knew how to play men, and also 'cause her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, was telling her what to do. And this went on for like, 8 years, while Henry was trying to figure out how to get rid of his now not so hot and totally all dried up wife, Katharine.

Luckily for Henry, this dude in Germany, Martin Luther, made up a new religion that was like Catholicism, but was more liberal, Lutheranism. And Anne Boelyn dug it, so Henry did too. Also, it meant Henry could get a divorce, 'cause Martin Luther thought that being a player was pretty nifty.

Henry thought “Boom, if this guy can make a religion, so can I” and decided to call himself the head of it, 'cause he was super modest, and then England separated from Rome and Catholicism.

He chucked the old wife, Katharine, to hang out in Wales, saying that she had lied the whole time and had actually boned his brother which was why God was like “No way you guys are having totally awesome sons.” Success.

Except, Anne Boelyn was a bit of a let down. Even though she had been totally like, “Yeah, I’ll give you badass sons that will fight and not even be a little bit gay”, she had a daughter, who you may have heard of, Elizabeth. Bummer for Mr. I-want-lots-of-sons, another girl. So, Anne got pregnant again, and it died, lamesville. Henry started to dislike her, and thinking that she had tricked him, like witch craft and shit, to keep him all into her for super long without putting out.

Henry started having sex with other chicks, especially Jane Seymour. And he started thinking Anne was probably sleeping around too, 'cause he was a nice guy and trusted people. And also, he wanted a new wife, 'cause he was like that. Easier killing someone that starting a new religion, he figured.

So, he investigated Anne Boelyn and decided she was guilty of adultery, incest and witchcraft, and killed her along with her brother and pretty much every guy she’s ever looked at. They all lost their heads, and Anne now hangs out in an unmarked grave in the Tower of London grounds. Super, duper.

Next time: (in case you haven’t decided if Henry really is a player or a douche) the other four wives! I know, it’s like… better than Eastenders.

- Ashli x

PEASLEY'S Restaurant Review: Viners at Summercourt

I’ve worked in restaurants and fully understand that things go wrong, the good restaurants know how to account for these instances and apply due reason. Viners is not one of these, it started bad, got worse and by the end I felt like I was sitting in an episode of Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares...

“Table booked for four under AP”

“We don’t have a reservation under that name”

“OK, I called a few weeks ago but nevermind, can I have a table for four please”

[Pause, long pause] “OK, take a seat in the bar”.

We sat, and were ignored. The required sharpener – a gin and tonic – took twenty minutes to arrive was served without ice, in a warm glass, tonic from a can and disheveled lemon with more pip than lemon – was this, Ryan Air?

What followed was a crash-course in how not to run a restaurant, waiters spilt my wine without apology, dirty plates remained on tables for eternities, guests walked out halfway through meals and chefs dressed down staff at the bar.

I have managed to all but erase the memory of the food from my mind but a confit duck leg still hangs heavy and would have been more at home in a KFC.

Kevin Viner seems to lord about the fact he was the first chef in Cornwall to achieve a Michelin star. Needless to say he no longer has it and his decade old awards hang around the restaurant like obituaries.

My mother always said that if you don’t have anything nice to say then say nothing at all.

- Austin Peasley

(Viners at Summercourt can be found in Newquay, Cornwall. Assuming you still want to go there, which we don't.)

DEADWARD THE DEVIANT: Simple Physics

I hadn't noticed before but it's most certainly alive - just. How incredibly fortunate I ventured down here so it could feed on the energy from my feet. How long would it have lasted otherwise, I wonder?

I know it's me imbuing it with life as I can see and feel the spirit of each strand moving in sync with my pulse. I'm the heart to this vast red coral reef. The weight of that responsibility slaloms through my organs and lands with a thump in my stomach.

Dare I detach myself? What is the sentence for magical genocide?

Smoke escapes the nostrils and provides a brief distraction from the more pressing issue of how I can get out of this pickle.

Man, I wish I'd never come down here.

I push my right palm into the gently wriggling fronds. It's deeper than it looks. And infinitely soft. Woah. Dry liquid is what it is. Gnarly.

It seems I'm significantly lighter than I ever thought, as I'm, somehow, still on the surface. But if I sink I don't think I'll have the energy, or maybe even inclination, to kick to the surface.

Right, thinking-hat on. I spread myself out face down, distributing my weight like a leaf. I'm safe. Simple physics. Babytown frolics.

Ooh, hello! I can feel the fronds in their thousands caressing my skin and effortlessly taking the weight of my entire body, every pore and line on my face filled. No part of me has any more pressure upon it than another and it's magnificent.

Man alive this is comfortable. Disarmingly comfortable. I should've done this an age ago.

The reef begins to roll and swell and I dissolve into it, deaf to the world. Why did I ever want to leave and shirk the honour of keeping this sentient, organic, gathering of tiny, yet enormous souls alive? I don't know.

At that point I realised most of what I know isn't worth knowing.

And that is how I spent an hour lying on the carpet, off my face on acid.


- Deadward

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JAMES: Jake the Snake

I was reminded recently of a conversation I had with fellow blogger-that-saved-the-world and all round good-egg Jake that made me chuckle a lot. I've more than a sneaking suspicion that you won't find this nearly as amusing as I did/do, if at all, but hey, this particular piece of cyber real estate costs nothing, so why not.


Jake: "... I'm loving angels instead!"

James: "You know Robbie Williams lyrics dude?"

Jake: "Yeah, I'm, er, a bit of a closet Robbie Williams fan"

James: "..."

Jake: "..."

James: "..."

Jake: "Met him once"

James: "Where?"

Jake: "...backstage at a Robbie Williams concert"

James: "..."

- James

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GEORGE ST: The Maladjusted Tourist's Guide To How To Behave In Cornwall Part 1

The first thing I should point out is that my name is not George. However, it seems to be the name I blog with, most frequently, if such a term can be used for it, at the aforementioned-on-this-blog Rock Myths
alongside my co-collaborator Virgil (maybe also not his real name). I thank James for his nod in that direction and apologise to the inevitable masses that have been offended by it. Anyway the point of this is to say I think I'll probably just keep George as my moniker, partly for legal reasons, partly due to my own tedious enigma.

So, this post and its successor (Part 2) are meant to be part rant, part instruction manual. I generally feel that most instruction manuals are ordered rants anyway. As a native of these Cornish lands I have grown up with the tourist industry around me. Indeed, I am quite fond of it, if only due to the fact that after a combination of modern machinery and politics our only other industries have been royally badgered in the behind. I even 'read' Tourism Management when I attended a university, albeit once I'd finished it quite frankly I didn't fancy managing any tourists, or tourism. However I'd like to now redress that balance through the proxy of The Blog That Saved The World.

As someone who has had to exist shoulder to shoulder with the tourist folks who visit these shores for around 3 quarters of my lifetime I've come across those who have pleased, nay delighted my senses with their culture, wit, consideration and generosity at the bar. I have also met those to whom I feel indifferent - blurry, inoffensive creatures who dwell on the edge of reality. But the ones who this is targeted towards are different. They stick out, for bad reasons, not necessarily by their own means or mean-heartedness, but as a result of their terminal maladjustment to their surroundings for 2 weeks a year.

So here, at The Blog That Saved The World, is presented

The Maladjusted Tourist's Guide To How To Behave In Cornwall (Part 1 wasn't mean to be more than 1 part but I rambled on so much about the driving)

First up - driving. Now pay attention:

1. Hours of driving - please understand that sadly some of us have to drive quite some way to get to work in the morning on crap on occasion one track roads where we can't overtake or find a quick short cut. I'm also, in common with many others, quite irritable in the mornings, and tired & teasy in the late afternoons. Therefore if you can stay out of our way on the roads between 8am and 10am, and 3pm and 6pm especially those around town centres, ferry crossings and Starbucks outlets, that would be grand. We promise to be nicer outside of those hours if everyone does it.
2. I actually had the very guilty pleasure of driving a Chelsea tractor recently for a long family trip to Wales. It was fun, I can see the attraction. The major drawback? When on the single carriageway which is in many places bumpy with a dodgy camber I struggled to maintain this 4x4 wideboy fully on the left hand side of the road (obviously my driving is perfect). It's also very difficult to go slowly in one, especially when you've become used to hammering at 95 down the outside lane of the M5 & A30. My point is this: Unless you have a valid excuse or are extremely skilled at doing so, the Chelsea tractor is not suitable Cornish holiday transportation, especially when you don't know the roads. Get an Astra, preferably an old one that you don't mind denting a bit as you squeeze through bus-sized gaps on an unmarked road. And make sure you stay off the roads at peak times...
3. Practice Reversing! And, to back up the above point, it's probably easier in a smaller car anyway.
4. Be polite. It's stressful for all of us driving around Cornwall in the summer. But most of us try and find that little bit of kindness inside of us to put our hands up to thank a waiting car or some other generous soul. It spreads positivity, and so road rage incidents are less forthcoming.
5. If you're incapable of driving more than 50 miles an hour definitely stay off the roads at peak times. And all other times. Get the bloody train.

That's Part 1, so I'll step off my high horse for a bit. I'll throw together Part 2 (The community & how to not annoy it and How to ingratiate yourself to local hospitality providers) next week sometime.

Peace

- GST