Elf questionnaire


An elf towards the end of the Third Age yesterday.

Jen and I watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy on Blu-ray over the weekend. Half-way into The Fellowship of the Ring, I thought of a pretty crap joke, viz:

Q: What's the main cause of death for elves?
A: Blowing out the candles on their birthday cakes.

…Elves are immortal, you see. Thousands of candles. Over-exhaustion.

Please yourself. I told you it was a crap joke. But I didn't let that put me off trying to tell it to Jen…

Me: Do you know what the main cause of death is for elves?
Jen: Pixie-matosis.

Damn! That is so much better than my joke.

Later, as the Fellowship of the Ring were being attacked by thousands of goblins in the Mines of Moria, Jen wondered what in Middle Earth they all ate.

Orc luncheon meat, I suggested.

Still not as good as pixie-matosis, though. Dammit!

I'm sorry, I have a kazoo

On Friday evening, Jen and I went to St George's Hall in Bradford to watch two recordings of the long-running comedy radio panel game, I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue. Sandi Toksvig stood in for regular chairman Jack Dee. The panel comprised Jeremy Hardy, Graeme Garden, Tim Brooke-Taylor, and Barry Cryer. I couldn't help noticing that, at 49, I was almost certainly the youngest person in the building. Furthermore, despite being in the centre of Bradford, there wasn't a single non-white face in the house.

In the second half of the show, we, the audience, were asked to play a number of tunes on the kazoos provided, which the panel had to try to identify.


A pair of kazoos on Friday.

A theatre full of white, middle-aged people playing the theme from The Archers to Sandi Toksvig on kazoos. You don't get more Radio 4 than that.

The Carter Resemblance

When I spotted the following headline last night, I let out a little wee in excitement:

E! Online: Matt Damon Confirms He's Reprising His Role as Jason Bourne

Jen and I are massive fans of the Bourne films. We re-watch them several times a year. They're fantastic. If you haven't seen them yet, you should. (Yes, Bill, I'm talking to you!)

[Warning: Potential minor spoilers follow.]

One of the reasons I like the Bourne films so much (other than the fact that they're totally bloody fantastic, I mean), is that certain elements of the ongoing tale of an amnesiac CIA assassin trying to re-discover his past were clearly based on events in my own life.

In the first film, The Bourne Identity, for example, our hero discovers an electronic device buried in his hip that reveals to him the details of his Swiss bank account. He also takes part in a spectacular car-chase through the streets of Paris in a battered old mini. Well, I also have a bank account, and have driven a battered old mini.

In the second film, The Bourne Supremacy, Bourne arrives in Naples by ship. He also takes part in a spectacular car-chase through a tunnel in Moscow. I have also arrived in Naples by ship, and used to commute daily through one of the Mersey road tunnels.

In the third film, The Bourne Ultimatum, Bourne travels to St Pancras Station via the Channel Tunnel. He also takes part in a spectacular roof-top chase in Tangier. I have also travelled to St Pancras Station via the Channel Tunnel, and am rather partial to a tangerine.

As to the fourth film, The Bourne Legacy, Jason Bourne isn't in it—and neither am I.

Oh, yes, and while I'm at it, compare and contrast:


Yours Truly (L) and Jason Bourne (R).

I could probably sue—or, at the very least, insist on a mention in the opening credits of the next movie—but I don't care. The Bourne films are fab, and it looks as if they're finally going to make another one.

I am one happy bunny.

Buy the Bourne box set from Amazon uk | .com

1.5×-scale mechanical Roger Moore

On Tuesday night, I dreamt that Jen and I were in a seaside penny arcade. I don't know why, but I believe the penny arcade was in Whitley Bay on the north-east coast of England. One of the arcade's main attractions was a 1.5×-scale mechanical Roger Moore.

I should, perhaps, explain that the larger-than-life, although otherwise extremely life-like simulacrum of the former James Bond was dressed in a double-breasted khaki safari suit, complete with buttoned pockets, and was poised in mid-backhand-throw. Initially, I assumed that the famous actor's facsimile was about to throw a shaken—a Japanese throwing-star martial weapon. On closer inspection, however, I realised that it was about to launch a toupée.

Roger Moore

The real Roger Moore.

Before I could stop her, Jen inserted a coin in the slot alongside the likeness of the erstwhile Simon Templar and, with a whirring of wheels and a clicking of cogs, the mechanism began to advance towards her, karate-chopping and kicking in an extremely robotic, though disconcertingly life-like manner. Fortunately, Jen acquitted herself extremely well, fending off the likeness of the one-time Persuader's blows with ease.

And then I woke up.

Most dreams are pure nonsense, but it is often claimed that great ideas can also come to people in their sleep. Which was this, I wonder? Is the world ready for a coin-operated 1.5×-scale mechanical rendition of Sir Roger Moore, or is it an idea ahead of its time?