It’s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas.

Ah, yes, that magical season is almost upon us and as is my custom at this time of year, I’m already finding myself wallowing quite nicely and appreciably in the anti-Spirit of Christmas — grumbling away to myself about the excess and foolishness, and generally having a thoroughly enjoyable time being quite contrary.

Bearing this in mind I thought now might be a good time to issue fair warning. Over the next four weeks or so Gary William Murning Online is very likely to become a place at least in part dedicated to everything that is not Christmas. The festive season will be mentioned frequently, of course, but the attitude will strictly be one of irreverence and hopefully enjoyable complaint.

If Christmas is not for you — or even if you only pretend not to enjoy it — remember to keep calling back. There will be (if I can be arsed) suitably atheistic delights, anti-Christmas quotes, possibly the odd dig at the expense of the various (stolen!) Christmas traditions and maybe even some mulled wine (because, let’s face it, it isn’t all bad, right?)

In leaving, and so that I might suitably set the tone, I’d like to share with you a quote from that wit and all-round good egg Mr Stephen Fry:

“Christmas to a child is the first terrible proof that to travel hopefully is better than to arrive.”

Looking for a last-minute Christmas present? Try If I Never. Available in paperback and for Kindle. See below.

Two sample chapters of If I Never can be read here.

To buy your copy of If I Never, please click here.

Also, UK Kindle users can now buy If I Never here. (US Kindle users here.)

© 2008 Gary William Murning

Sometimes Life Is Just Too Good.

Today I allowed myself a short between-chapters break, happy with what I’ve achieved this week. I therefore spent the morning away from the computer and… oh, okay, I didn’t spend the morning away from the computer. I sorted a few notes and then had my customary look around the web, seeing what was new and hoping to annoy a few people.

Whilst I failed miserably on the latter (I must be getting old), I did find something on YouTube definitely worth sharing.

After being ripped off for three years by YouTubers, the Monty Python team has finally, with fanfare, crapulent mutterings and slightly dazed expressions, dothered into the 21st century and set up their own YouTube channel.

And about time too!

© 2008 Gary William Murning

And Now for Something Completely Different…

Following on from the brawling monks  video of a few days ago, a Monty Python clip that I’m fairly sure all of you will be very familiar with. It’s still one of my favourites — makes me laugh every time.

November.

This wonderfully cheerful and uplifting poem is brought to you courtesy of Stephen Fry, who recommended it on his Twitter feed yesterday. It’s by a gentleman called Thomas Hood and, appropriately, it’s called November.

No sun – no moon!
No morn – no noon –
No dawn – no dusk – no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member –
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! –
               November!

There, now, doesn’t that make you feel better?

© 2008 Gary William Murning

Clothes Maketh the Candidate.

Whilst amusing myself by watching this “explanation” by Sarah Palin of the $150,000 wardrobe issue (I’m tempted to say at this point that maybe she should have gone to IKEA, but that really isn’t very funny, now is it?), I found myself scratching my head. Admittedly, I don’t know a great deal about how the RNC allocates its funds, but when she says…

“[…] they are not my property […]”

… is that really the point? The fact of the matter is, the money was spent by the RNC — probably in an attempt to make this proud hockey mom look less of a hockey mom, or maybe to wreck the Saturday Night Live budget — to improve her image. Okay, if it had all gone according to plan, they all would have benefited, but the bottom line is, she got to dress up and she loved every minute of it.

$150,000. And to think they could have improved her image at no cost whatsoever, and to greater effect… by simply telling her to keep her bloody mouth shut.

Sheesh. These guys could really do with a thrifty Yorkshireman on their team. If anyone from the RNC is reading this and wishes me to share my expertise with them, by all means email me. It goes against the grain, politically, of course, but… let’s call it $150,000 — I’m anyone’s for $150,000.

© 2008 Gary William Murning

The Mind of a Writer.

I found the following frighteningly realistic account here, and I have to admit it made me smile:

A screenwriter comes home to a burned down house. His sobbing and slightly-singed wife is standing outside. “What happened, honey?” the man asks.

“Oh, John, it was terrible,” she weeps. “I was cooking, the phone rang. It was your agent. Because I was on the phone, I didn’t notice the stove was on fire. It went up in second. Everything is gone. I nearly didn’t make it out of the house. Poor Fluffy is…”

“Wait, wait. Back up a minute,” The man says. “My agent called?”

As a novelist rather than a screenwriter, my reaction would have been very different; my first thought would have been, Is there enough material for two novels here?

© 2008 Gary William Murning

Till Death Us Do Part.

At a loss for something to blog about today, I thought, instead of simply rambling on about absolutely nothing, I would instead share with you one of my favourite British comedy classics. (It was this clip or the “Jesus was English” clip — but I thought I’d save that one for Christmas! 😉 )

Alf Garnett’s going to Bournemouth…

Part Two.

Part Three.

© 2008 Gary William Murning

The Pooh Also Rises by Alan Coren.

Pooh à la Ernest Hemingway. I bloody love this.

Boris and the Bobby.

My favourite recent Peter Brookes cartoon.

Good old Boris…

Famous Last Words.

Death comes to us all. There’s a cheery thought for a Sunday afternoon. The Grim Reaper gives a swing of his sythe and before we know it, that’s that. It’s little use bemoaning or denying the fact, one day — hopefully far into the future — we are all destined to cop it.

So what can we do in the meantime but laugh at the possibility? After all, if you don’t laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, what else is there to do but hope for an afterlife? (And you all know my views on that!)

With this in mind — and in an attempt to lift your spirits after such a depressing opening — I thought I’d share some of my favourite famous last words with you. I’m not sure just how genuine they are and, frankly, I can’t be arsed verifying them (it’s not like they’re going to sue me, now, is it?) So take them with a pinch of salt and bear in mind that I’m sharing them because I believe that if they aren’t true, they bloody well should be!

• “I’ve never felt better.” — Douglas Fairbanks Sr.
• “I’ve had eighteen straight whiskies, I think that’s the record…” — Dylan Thomas.
• “Woe is me. Methinks I’m turning into a god.” — Vespasian, Roman Emperor. (I always find such ambition impressive!)
• “I’d hate to die twice. It’s so boring.” — Richard Feynman. (I couldn’t leave Richard out now, could I?)
• “Damn it . . . Don’t you dare ask God to help me.” — Joan Crawford. (Once a bitch, always a bitch — good luck, God!)
• “I do not have to forgive my enemies. I have had them all shot.” — Ramon Narvaez, 18th-century Spanish politician and general.
• “Tomorrow, I shall no longer be here.” — Nostradamus. (Now why couldn’t he be as clear and concise with the rest of his sodding prophesies!)

And finally…

• “Do you know where I can get any shit?” — Lenny Bruce.

© 2008 Gary William Murning