Big Brother is watching.

It's time I had a rant about the state of the world we're living in. Every day the news depresses me. It's a constant barrage of misery and ways we're having our freedom of choice trampled on and privacy invaded. Charlie Brookers 'Black Mirror' that was on recently, for me, is like the new 1984. It's predicting a world that we all know is coming, of which we can't do a damn thing about. It's like standing in the middle of a road with a car coming at you, and just closing your eyes waiting for it to hit you. You could always move aside, but only for an even bigger car to hit you from the other side.

We're being indoctrinated with exactly what we should eat, drink, watch, listen to by constant advertisements, warnings, threats that our lives must be led in a certain way. We live in a democratic state, yet our vote is essentially choosing what colour tie we want the guy to wear. We're told to sand up for what we believe in, but told to sit down and shut up if what we believe in doesn't conform to the predisposed morals by which we should all live. We're told to march to the beat of someone else's drum, for fear of being cast aside like disobedient offspring being made to sit in the naughty corner.

The line between good and bad has become blurred, believing that what's bad is good for us. We have become obsessed with consumerism, and as a result, with get rich quick ideals. Why graft to earn when you can blame someone else for your idiocy?  Or just go on some moronic 'talent' show to achieve fame and fortune. At least until 6 months later when your puppet strings are severed and the clapping seals move on to the next laughing stock of pre approved 'contestants'. It's a sad state of affairs and seemingly getting worse.

What does the future hold? I don't know. I'm not Marty McFly...
But at a guess, I'd say we're headed the same way as the dinosaurs (or not, depending on what god your parents told you to believe in), we keep walking blindly towards our own capitulation, obvlivion disguised under a veil of 5 pence bag levvies and 'eco' initives that are no more than a means to make the rich, richer, and keep the poor where they belong.

Anyway, I have to go, I need to go to McDonald's before Britains Got Talent comes on...

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25 Cromwell

I started watching a few crime documentaries a while back, and got quite interested in the ones on serial killers. Over time I've developed a bit of a fascination with these people.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not developing a blood lust, looking for hints on how to best dispose of my first victim. I just find it incredible and disturbing in equal measure how, no matter what bizarre, twisted and horrific scenes you might see in a film, someone has almost invariably done the same thing to another human being. Ranging from the seemingly normal, well educated, well groomed Ted Bundy, who went undetected for a while simply for not looking like a serial killer, to Ed Gein who, let's face it, does.

The one, or ones, who have stuck with me is the story of the West family. I don't know why, maybe because it wasn't that long ago so wounds are still fresh in peoples minds. Walking around Gloucester and Cromwell Street especially, it feels like there's still an eerie air of mourning over the barbaric events of 17 years ago. Maybe it's the fact that this all happened just an hour or so up the road. That  this kind of atrocity isn't something confined to those crazy Americans, or Victorian London.

Until recently, I knew what most know about Fred and Rose West, that they'd killed loads of people and buried them under the patio. I didn't realise the extent to which their depravity reached. I also didn't realise at first how recent the case came to light. I'd always heard about it, assuming it was something that went on in the 60's or 70's. Before my lifetime. The more I learn, the more I want to know about these intriguing people. Rose West, for example, was sexually abused as a child by her father, so its not a massive suprise that she felt this was an acceptable practice within her 'family of love', raping and abusing her own children, whom they'd raised for this exact purpose. Fred saw nothing wrong or abnormal about his own incestuous relationship with his mother.

It's no wonder these two went on to produce home made porn, apparently against the will of Rose however, some involving their own kids. They tortured and raped female lodgers. Fred strangled his daughter to death and had to close her eyes as he cut off her limbs so she wasn't 'watching' him and buried her in the garden. Other lodgers were killed and dismembered, and buried in the garden, in the cellar, in shallow graves in fields. Freds 8 year old step daughter from his previous marriage was killed by Rose, wrapped in a sheet and buried in the cellar of their old house.

All of the recordings of Fred West eventually confessing every detail of how he killed, cut up and disposed of the women are told in a matter of fact style, with no apparent emotion in his voice, no remorse, apart from him saying it got out of hand. It's this lack of empathy or emotion that fascinates me about not just the Wests, but most serial killers. For a rational, 'normal' person, taking a life, cutting through their flesh and bones and discarding their remains doesn't bear thinking about. What is lacking? What has snapped? Why are they inclined to kill?

Maybe a few more listens?

Blink 182 - Neighbourhoods twitter breakdown

Ghost on the Dancefloor. A mix of Everythings Magic and There Is. No hint of a blink song yet

Natives - a bit better. Disjointed, but hints of the old blink energy

Up All Night - another AVA/Boxcar soundalike. Catchy chorus but very little Hoppus influence

After Midnight - Not bad. Not great. Slow song that sounds a bit like leftovers from a +44 session

Snake Charmer - still waiting for Mark Hoppus to have a vocal more than a chorus. Again, not a bad song, just nothing to remind me of blink

Hearts All Gone - THERE IT IS!! marks first song and its a belter! Raging drums, great build up, all round tune. More please

 Wishing Well - more of toms whiny 'artistic' voice on this one. Another AVA comparison but hard to distinguish between the 2 projects

Kaleidoscope - Travis is awesome as always, shame the rest doesn't quite match up. It's ok, nothing special.

This is Home - sounds like tom delonge has listened to a lot of we are scientists. Always loved his riffs up to toypaj, they've all but gone

MH 4.18.2011 - Mark gets hold of the mic for another pop punk blast. A bit run of the mill but energetic and catchy

Love Is Dangerous - Boring. Double vocal a la Violence, but a bit dreary and poncy.

Fighting The Gravity - Another chugging, dreary song. Trying too hard to sound grown up and artistic.

Even If She Falls - Glad this is the last song cos I'm out of things to say for 'boring', same as AVA, nothing remaining of old blink.

Didn't expect a masterpiece but totally dissapointed by Neighbourhoods. There's glimmers of goodness. Heart's all gone easily the best...
...on offer, and a few decent catchy tunes, but for the most part it fails at being blink. Its obvious it was recorded in separate places...
...and cobbled together in the studio. Not a shining comeback. Maybe it'll get better with time. The lyrics aren't bad, just musically lacking. 4/10

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Apathy and exhaustion

Bit of a personal issue this one. I read old school reports the other day from when I was in infants and junior school in Cambridge and it opened my eyes to a few things about my personal traits I'd never realised, or had associated with other factors.

About my work they wrote that while capable, I needed constant encouragement to finish tasks. I frustrated teachers because they knew I was bright, but was seemingly apathetic towards work.

I never realised this. I knew that throughout secondary school I was rubbish with homework, often doing it the morning it was due, or coming up with numerous 'my dog ate it' type excuses. I have always thought it was just a teenage phase of subconscious rebellion. Not doing what I was told to, you can't make me etc.

The other thing that suprised me was the bit about my social skills. They wrote that while I talked to lots of different people, I didn't seem to have proper 'friends' as such, choosing to wander from person to person instead, without forming relationships. It says that I didn't respond well to group activities. I offered very little in the way of communication.

Again, I've known that I was and still am, very introvert. I keep myself to myself. I don't feel very comfortable in group situations of more than a couple of people. But I've only thought this was from the time when we moved back to Wales. That it was a product of my environment. Having moved several years before, here I was again in a new place, being stuck in a school with strangers who'd already formed their own friendships. I was the outsider so just disappeared into my shell and found it hard to bond. I've had friends, but have never been confident in talking to new people.

Finding out that these traits go back further than I thought scares me a bit. Why am I like this? Why do I struggle so much with socialising? Why am I all over the place with apparently simple problems? I know I'm not stupid, so why do I have these issues?

One for the psych boffins I think...

The times they are a changin'

My recollection of my time going up the Abbey Stadium to watch Cambridge United play, is somewhat patchy. At the time, we lived by the river, about a mile away from the stadium. I remember being excited as my dad and I walked across the riverside towards Newmarket Road on a Saturday afternoon for the first time, wearing my spanking new Marvin the Moose baseball cap and virtually running to keep up with his grown up paces.

When we got there, the atmosphere was unbelievable. I'd never experienced a crowd of that size before. It was probably only around 5000 or so, but to me, it was millions. Sat about halfway up the family enclosure in the main stand, I looked over to see the Newmarket Road end bouncing, the noise electrifying. At the other end, the open air away supporters terrace, which looked more like a holding area for prisoners who dared to try and enter the fortress. Towering above us, the huge floodlights, which my dad took pleasure in telling me were of Premier League standard, because that's where we were headed! Opposite, the Habbin Stand, where it seemed the proper grown ups were, hands in pockets, presumably offering tactics advice to their friends.

The players emerged from the tunnel, and the noise went up another notch, the seats rumbling, the whole stand shaking as people welcomed their gladiators to the arena. The amber and black stripes serving as the warriors uniform....

And there, unfortunately, is where my memory gets hazy. I have no idea who we played that day, the score, the scorers (if there were any).

But I was hooked from that day. I was a quiet boy, still am to an extent. I didn't sing, only cheering when the ball hit the back of the net (at their end). All the while feeling the adrenaline coursing through me, the hairs standing up on my neck as the crowd roared.

A few months after that first game, my father came home with a plain beige coloured bag. He handed it to me and when I looked inside, it appeared to be a pack of yellowish dusting cloths. What did I want with these?! But when I pulled it out, and I saw the black stripes running through it, I realised what it was. My very first United shirt! I tore open the plastic bag and threw the shirt on over my t-shirt, a beaming grin across my face.

I continued to go to every game for the next year or so. Then came some bittersweet news; We were moving back to Wales. I was happy that I was going home, but what about school? My friends? The U's?!

After moving back, with the excitement/nerves/panic of being in a 'new' place, having to make new friends, CUFC took a back seat. Eventually my teen years took hold and I totally forgot about the great times I'd had at the Abbey, apart from checking ceefax now and again to see how we were getting on. I immersed myself in a new love, music. Not a moment went by when I wasn't listening to something, through headphones or on my cd player. Everything else was forgotten...

Fast forward to 2005, I happened to be checking through teletext and noticed that Cambridge were rock bottom of league 2. My heart sank. The team I'd followed devoutly all those years ago who were on the verge of greatness, were now out of the football league, relegated to the barren wasteland of non league football. I wanted to see where it all went wrong, and read all about promotions, relegations, the Abbey Stadium being sold, the club almost going out of business. It was a grim read. But one that sparked emotion. The next few years I started to get more and more interested in how we were doing, being genuinely chuffed when we won, gutted when we lost.

Then, for some reason, it just clicked back into place, like a dislocated joint that you've learned to put up with and forgotten about for years. I'm a Cambridge United fan. Regardless of where I live, who I 'should' follow. It means nothing. I seemed to pick the right (some would say wrong) time to get involved, just as Jimmy Quinn took over, and steered us to safety from yet another relegation. The next two seasons  were amazing and devastating in equal measure. Two play off finals and two defeats.

Over the next couple of seasons we had a few more scares, more turbulent times, hopes dashed, beliefs shattered.

But here we are today, lying in wait for a new season to get underway, with expectations uncharacteristicly, but realistically low, hoping to be suprised at just how far the Jezolution can take us. Is it to be another year of flirting with the bottom four? Or can our young, famished squad shock everyone and do the unthinkable?

Watch this space...

My First Blog (3rd time lucky!)

Hi, I'm Rob and this is my blog. It's my first attempt so apologies if its crap (probably).

The news at the moment is, well, the news. Or more specifically, the News of the World and the whole phone hacking scandal. I know she comes across as slippery vermin, and probably is: and yes she looks like Carrot Top, but I can't help but feel the tiniest bit sorry for Rebekah Brooks. No wait, come back. Hear me out! I don't know how much she actually knows, but it seems like the entire weight of this situation is on her shoulders. Whilst under the surface it may actually be true, on the face of it, It seems that the press have just formed a lynch mob against the first person who might be remotely responsible. She's the editor after all, she should know everything. To an extent, yes. But to a certain extent, no.

If I'm on a job 20 miles away from my supervisor, and I'm putting foundations in for a new wall. It's meant to be a certain depth etc, and contain reinforced steel. I don't put the steel in and only a shallow foundation. Two days later my supervisor comes to see how things are going. On the surface it looks like any other foundation, but only I and my colleague who I've told to keep quiet knows how we really did it. I did this on a lot of jobs and never got caught. If one wall suddenly comes crashing down, and in the resulting investigation its revealed that I did this many times and far more walls were at risk of collapse, the majority of blame would be with me. I did it after all! You COULD argue that as my superior, he should have known what I was doing, but in reality, if he was never told, and never caught me in the act, how is he to blame?
I know this is a slightly obscure example and not particularly parallel with the hacking scandal, but the basic principles are the same.

Anyway, that's my opinion.

In other news, Dizzy Rascal. I hate the guy. His music is total trash. Meaningless, anger inducing shite. I hate the fact that he's had a ton of morally void women launching themselves at him despite looking like an e-fit. I know Im no oil painting but the guy looks like a picasso!

In other other news, Strung Out's new best of album Top Contenders is out now, go buy it!


Thanks for reading my blog. Sorry for wasting your time.