Before we sing Auld Lang Syne...

   I know I'd said I wouldn't be on before the New Year but I've decided that annually I will now gift you fuckers with a present. So enjoy 2010's Fan... Brilliant Wordle Poster.

Click to enlarge and use as a desktop background.

   See you all in 2011.

-Nous.

Early Christmas presents from uncle Nous.

   After only a week and a day of blog-neglection I already feel bad. To say that is somewhat reactionary though, as the last of those eight days, at time of typing, has only been for thirty three minutes. The point of this publication however is that for thirty three minutes now, it has been Christmas Eve'.

   My good friend Toby, of Not Tonight Dear, whom I met over a fortnight in departement de Vendée, Pays-de-la-Loire, la France recently posted his first blog in over a month and included a selection of goodies which he has discovered over the last twelve, citing the season of giving as a bloody good reason to do so. Taking into account this and my guilt I have decided to break my fast of blogging with an late night Christmas-themed publishing of a similar manner, I can also use it as an opportunity to look back over the year's events.

   Things I have discovered this year then? Well, to keep in theme with the afore mentioned; blogging. I have started blogging and I'm bloody glad I did. I've always been frustrated by my lack of ability to use conventional social media to portray my beliefs, views and whimsical musings to a wider audience yet already armed with the excuse "the revolution will not be televised but somebody will bootleg it onto Youtube" to do so. Not only have I become consumed by my typing frenzy but I've also engaged two new friends in the art too; Hamandpeasepudding (a Northern joke, you wouldn't understand) and Jenni, two fellow English students have been updating, though, admittedly not regularly, and I thought plugging them here would both gift to them and to you.

   Similarly, my good friend Rude Rabbit has recently returned to Blighty from four years of living in dawdlingly-interneted Indonesia (only to end up in Swanage, Dorset) and my intense blogging has also spurred him to update more -ahem- regularly, his blog The Blog With A Memorable Name is, when freshly plackered, a hilarious read, knowing his voice personally, it is clear that his writing tone mimics his speech and I highly recommend not only his blog, but all the others mentioned.

"Worryingly, he's not far off with his analysis of bureaucracy" (click to enlarge)

   To skip back for a moment, I'd also like to introduce you to my new favourite cultures; firstly, France. France is brilliant, I love France, I would go as far to say that j'adore la France. France has never appealed to me before but is the most appealing country in Europe now. I speak a basic level of French, its not too far away and things aren't too expensive. The countryside is beautiful, the bierre-Picon is tasty and intoxicating and, as is the general rule in any country, if you've tried to learn some of the language, people are more than hospitable; be that giving you and your drunk mates a lift back to the camp-site twice, saying only "if he iz seeck on my car my 'oosband weel keel 'im" in English whilst playing loud Spanish music or letting you know that "c'est bon" and you needed bother apologising for "le sud d'Angleterre" because they already know northerners are brilliant.
   While in France we literally stumbled across a the band Vaguement La Jungle (literally meaning "maybe the jungle?") both at a gig in St-Gilles-croix-de-vie and in the pub on the way back in le Fenouiller. On the subject of le Fenouiller, who fancies sending a barman, Fafa, from Algeria, a shit load of post? I have his address.

   I've also become increasingly nerdy with Arabic culture and language, hoping to study for a degree in Arabic and Middle Eastern Studies at the University of Leeds. This comes down to Soren learning a bit of arabi' on the side in PDR Lewisham and my increasing involvement in bits and pieces to do with Palestinian solidarity but mainly that the cultures of the Middle and Near East are f'kin' beautiful. Wide in range and vast in their differences, for thousands of years from the Med' to the sub-continent nations and empires have been exchanging scientific developments and religious traditions and have formed some of the greatest and most wondrous societies on the planet. At least give it a Google.

   I'd also like the gift you Glasgow, Leeds, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Aylesbury and Lewisham as places to add to your list of places to visit and/or get drunk in before you die.

   Something I've learned this year is that despite continuously underestimating the greed and cruelty of the human race, there are some bloody fantastic people about whose generosity and kindness I could not live without. Not least that of my many Aylesbury mums.

   Karen has always been happy to put me up (or should that be put up with me?) around the house so long as whenever I rouse from the mattress in the spare room, I put the kettle on and help with the dishes. I have been only under-crackered in her daughter's bedroom with other men she hasn't met and she's simply turned a blind eye and said good-morning, the charity she holds in unbelievable and I suppose I'd like to extend my thanks not only to her but also to Jane who's constant offers of a place to stay and a hot meal were comforting at times of hardship at home. Jane is also single-handedly responsible for my korma addiction.

   This year saw an end called on my musical expeditions with The Electro-Possums, a band I saw grow up, a band I joined and a band I left having spent many great years with all the members past and present. In the New Year I hope to continue performing and spread joy and happiness with my new-found knack for writing songs about drunk nights out. Tonight's pint-fuelled in-joke is tomorrow's download-fuelled platinum album, or some shit.

   The internet is a lovely place full of things that do your job for you, if you've been finding keeping an eye on important news somewhat strenuous, you've been looking for new ingenious spam topics and if you've been trying to find a blog about nerdy stuff that doesn't appear too nerdy but still is quite nerdy, I suggest checking out Super Punch on recommendation of Connor James. 

   In TV, not much this year has really grabbed my eye, the last series of The Inbetweeners of course and watching boxsets of The X-Files and 24 with Ed and Shaunagh but the BBC has just started showing a new drama of Douglas Adams's Dirk Gently which I enthusiastically encourage you to watch on the iPlayer.

   The Aylesbury Brewery Co.'s second and probably last attempt at successfully brewing cider in a bedroom is currently in Max's and hasn't been touched for a good seven weeks. Last New Year's Eve's christening of ThwackMooThud saw one vomiting into a bath and one pass out so let's hope that 2010's a good year and ThudSplashFlap goes down just as well, like it's namesake, the sound two pigeons make in a well when you throw a bit of castle at them. Food poisoning; the gift that keeps on giving. 

   Lastly, moving hasn't really taught me anything, I know I can make friends just as well as I make enemies and that geography has never been a big issue for me in any sense. I just hope I keep in touch with the many I've loved over the last seven years and indeed those who I love in the next seven.

   So here's to 2011, a year of hopes of happiness and dreams of drink. Enjoy it.

   I hope you all have a fantastic Christmas, I'll probably be taking a few weeks off this to concentrate on my sociology exam in January so take care and I'll speak to you all later.

   Seasons greetings,

- Nous.

I've found smog at the end.

   Six weeks is it? Can't be much more. I moved back up to Washington (local: "woshi'n'un") on November the first, handy date to count from though it is, I can't be arsed. I thought I'd write a few words about how bloody brilliant everything's going so far.

   College is great, its not falling apart and it doesn't smell anywhere. I've fitted in fine, the guys I hang about like a fart in a phone box are swanky characters who I reckon don't think I'm too much of a cock which is comforting.

   Politically, I am holding back for the next eighteen months or so, I do want to get myself right into it eventually but not having those three A-levels that'll get me into either Leeds, Exeter, Edinburgh or St Andrews to learn Arabic will greatly hinder my chances of succeeding in... Whatever it is I'll do with my life in the end. This is hard of course, needless to say, had I not moved I would have been smashing windows at Millbank, storming Parliament and hoying missiles in London instead of only attending a few of the many marches in Newcastle. This move has been positive in so many ways for my education and prospects, I even got a bloody A this week!

How many times have I walked that tunnel? Not enough.

   Of course, I still miss Aylesbury like a hole in the head, I even dreamt about the cobbles shining white in the lamppost lights under rain and cherry blossom in the Market Square the other night but then again, I have been listening to a lot of Marillion like I said. I was considering having "Market Square Heroes" across my shoulders, I owe the town that much, I loved it in many ways.

   Washington is a brilliant place, few places I end up have ever been bad but right now it seems almost soulless. Not as soulless as the day I arrived in Aylesbury though, I saw things as bleak for quite some time then and yet the outcome was truly magnificent. I'll grow to love my home town again.

   My darling David, weather permitting - fuck you snow, - is coming up this weekend to visit his folks in Sunderland. Understandably, he'd rather be seeing me so his 'rents are kindly bringing my ukulele and a bag of clothes up for 'is. My fingers have gone all soft and girly, I haven't played my guitar in pretty much two months. I'm reservedly excited, concerning the weather but I look forward to it nonetheless.

   My EMA contract has arrived finally so I'll get it in tomorrow, signed and pick up a camera from James, wor media tutor to borrow for the holidays. Of course, I'll be primarily studying for my sociology exam (14th January), re-drafting my English coursework, filming media material and getting pyuwa mortal but I might have time to film bits and pieces of things what happen and get them up on Youtube, if so I'll use it as an opportunity to report, in a journalistic sense, of course.

   Just to go back to politics mind, can I implore you all to make a formal complaint about the behaviour of Ben Brown, BBC journalist for his utter lack of professionalism in this interview with Jody McIntyre after he was pulled from his wheelchair at the student demonstrations in London twice by the same Polis. There's a link and details on the Youtube page linked on how to complain. Mine is on the Beeb blog by a Mr Bakhurst on the subject under this name. Thanks.

   So I'll be in Aylesbury after Christmas, latest date of arrival looks to be about the 28th and many exciting things are afoot, one of which is a closely guarded secret but I hope you can all make it. I look forward to seeing the town again and everybody in it, book in advance to avoid disappointment. Catch ye's after.

   Oh, and Courney said to say she says "hi"... Courtney says "hi."

-Nous.

Alcohol, n. A catalyst for the surreal.

   Saturdays aren't often a time of enjoyment during the day when your social circle is still quite small. Kyle reported severe chunderchunks by text and so I ventured in the Toon on me ones to sit in Costa, revise like a mad 'un and enjoy some coffee.

   A hard day's sociology revision and song writing later and it was five to six, Newcastle have kicked off some twenty five minutes ago, "where's the harm in having a wander up to the ground and listening to the crowd for five minutes?" I thought "I'll just have the one in the The Strawb' and go back at half time." Now, at this point it is important to note two things. Firstly, that nobody, in the history of beer, pubs and the number one has ever successfully "gone in for one" and secondly, something my dad said on his time at university in Belfast during the troubles, "alcohol is a catalyst for the surreal Richard, impromptu drinking only ever results in strange happenings."

   "Bottle a broon ale, ta flower." Lovely I thought, one-nil up against the Scouse at home, maybe this Alan Partridge bloke's alright. "Who scored mate?" "Nolan, three yards, tapped it in from Carroll's header across, we're all over them man!" I love how such a simple question can result in such an in depth analysis. 

   The Strawberry is the pub nearest St James' Park, it is a watering hole obsessed with Newcastle United, the walls are adorned with the city's adored from the last hundred or so years and nobody in there right mind goes in there to cheer on the away team on match day. Nobody that is, except one Scouser.

The Strawberry's the smaller of the two buildings, the other one is a football stadium.

   Anyway, the bloke I asked who'd scored, his name was Paddy and he was pished, like, right pished, and he kept buying the rounds. As a student, northerner and general small-time begger I've been known to check phone boxes for lunch money, busk for pints and scour the floors of bus stations for me fare. In short, I wasn't going to say no and eight pints later, we've won three-one, the Scouse bloke is wrestling Paddy and I, to put it lightly, am pissed.

   After being called Jamie Oliver in the bogs and kissing the match ball on me way out all I could think about was food. Walking through China Toon I'm amazed I made it to the bus without stopping for a Chinese, well I'm amazed I made it to the bus let alone without getting a take away. The X1 was packed and I decided that MaccyDee's was a good pit stop point for munch on the way though the Gall's and it was there that, pissed and full of chicken, I started posting on Facebook again, breaking my vow of a Facebook-abstinent fortnight.

   Stumbling in at half nine, over the moon as it were, I watched Match of the Day and logged on again where I discovered that wor Dave's coming up on Saturday! Gerr' in, I thought, should be a good crack in Newcastle and me day just got a whole lot better.

   Three or four hours of Facebook and ChatRoulette later I passed out and woke up with the most excruciating hangover I have ever experienced. Never mind though, that was the best Saturday I've had in a long time.

- Nous

Hanx! a f'kin' bunch.

   Parliament today passed the green paper to raise tuition fees to up to £9,000.

   Obviously, as a socialist student, this makes me sad. So much so, I've taken a few moments from typing out my English coursework (don't worry, I've not spent hours writing this) to have a radge. The BBC had their typical mention of "poor polis mans getting hurted!" and "nasty students making fings to throw at the polis" and then the awkward "so... Anyway!" when a sensible, straight-talking bloke has a go on camera about the intensification of the class divide.

"Here, Samantha's right, he has been working out, nice arse Dave,
 hands off Osbourne!"

   I got so angry I put The King Blues on. I haven't had a good rant about the fees yet, but here's my point of view: This isn't our mess, this isn't our fault, we haven't voted, we don't get to vote or voice an opinion but we are aloud to die in Afghanistan, we are aloud to pay taxes if we don't go into A-levels and we are aloud to accumulate £40,000 in debt for trying to better ourselves.

   The ConDem coalition formulated a web page this week declaring several "myths" about the fees. The answers to said myths are revealed when you click on the little angry placards in yet another attempt to belittle the student population. Funnily enough mind, I couldn't for the life of me find the placard reading "Scrapping Trident, ceasing the funding of the Israel Defence Force, pulling out of Afghanistan and generally not being the international relations equivalent of a complete cock would allow the state to completely subsidise higher education and give the working class a chance to educate themselves, achieve class conciousness and revolt."

   Maybe that's not a myth though?

   Anyway, that's not very in depth but it is my view. Have it, share it - sharing is caring after all.

   Me and Ms Peterson have been listening to the SLF album Hanx! for this evening's entertainment between bouts of Tory-aimed rage. The album was recorded almost entirely at Friars in Aylesbury, where I saw them last year and Fish of Marillion wrote the song Market Square Heroes about that night apparently, which is rather bloody wonderful. Check it out and listen to the interview with Jake Burns at the end.

   Have a lovely time without me,

-Nous

MyoldbloggothackedbytheFBI.ch

   Right then blog fans! (Sorry, I did try for five minutes solid to try and merge the word "blog" with the word "groupies" to make you all sound much more interesting than you actually are, unfortunately "bloopies" sounds like a six year-old describing breasts and "grouggers" sounds like a Medieval disease)

   So I've been comparably neglecting Fan... Brilliant since I went blog-crazy a week or so ago and a lot's happened in the world of NousAvonsLaRage and current affairs.

   Julian Assange, founder of journalistic light house Wikileaks, has been arrested and refused bail in London on account that he might well buggar off having handed himself in in the first place. The charges against him are of varying degrees of sexual assault from "unlawful coercion" to rape. He is wanted for those offences in Sweden and his details had earlier appeared on InterPol's most wanted list.

... And she pushed me away like this but I forced myself
 down, and then I woke up because it wasn't real!

   Now, considering his website has embarrassed most major world leaders and politicians over the last few weeks, his website first had Amazon pull out as a host and after the EveryDNS.net infrastructure was put at risk by the huge amount of hacking going on Wikileaks has had to move to a Swiss domain name (wikileaks.ch, if you're struggling). I'm not pointing the finger of blame, but if there was one, it would be pointing sternly at the US.

   Its fairly obvious to all that the charges against Assange are entirely unfounded, he will be extradited to Stokholm where they will find him not guilty. Unfortunately they'll then say "but you are wanted in the US, we'll just keep those handcuffs on you for a wee while longer." The man is being held for politically motivated reasons and all and sundry have turned up to support his cause.

   In other news, I had a terrible case of writers block this week, a bitch considering I had to write two drafts for English coursework. I've nearly completed the longer, more boring of the two now and the shorter creative writing task is in hand so-to-speak, in that I haven't actually started it but many ideas are written down on various scraps of paper, receipts, bus tickets, used tissues and the backs of my hands.

   In terms of media I am now the only student attempting a film introduction for coursework. The bright side of course is that I now have complete control (even over this song!)... Over the outcome of the piece, so long as I find people who can act, or even just one, its only the first two minutes and characterisation is a large part of it in terms of following a style model. 

   I have a new laptop called Clarence Peterson the Compaq Presario, Ms Peterson to you. She's lovely and nice.

   In other technological news, I have started a fortnight of social network abstinence and so I wont be on Facebook for two weeks, in short. This is intended to help me concentrate as I have all but been diagnosed with ADHD. I stress that's not a medical opinion, just my own and that of anyone who's ever had to speak to me. What's happened is I've spent a lot more time laughing at penises on Omegle.

   And on that note I will love and leave you all, have a superb time between now and the next time I bother publishing, take care, bye, bye, bye... Bye... Bye! xxx

-Nous

International relationship status.

   By the way, I tried to go all Hunter S. Thompson in the last blog, I started it in the morning, went out, came back twelve hours later, got drunk finished it badly and posted it. It was shit to start with, mind. So I'm sorry.

   I thought it was about time I gave you a rant about Korea, the UK media's quaint view of the situation is humouring me of late.

   The way I see it is; if fifty odd year ago England and Scotland had been a unified country, let's call it "Scengland" and a communist uprising formed in Scotland and then France helped the Scenglish government to fight it back to Carlisle, well then fifty years later France and England testing weapons out and playing war games in Berwick-upon-Tweed would seem a bad idea anyway. But then you're reminded that Alex Salmond is Kim Jong Il, an absolute nutter of titanic proportions.

As a box of frogs.

   Put into context it appears a different situation, eh? A bombardment of Berwick seems measured now.

   Don't get me wrong, North Korea's a weird place and I'm not going all UK Bolshevik Union on you or something but the west knows next to nothing about the country yet feels its necessary to bully it. It seems unjust. 

   North Korea's relationship with it's "communist" nieghbours China is an interesting one, especially in the light of the recent Wikileaks files. To paraphrase comrade Patrick, North Korea is like a younger brother to China. China slags North Korea off to her mates the UK and US and when her boyfriend Russia comes round she has to hide him or ignore him. Occasionally North Korea will do the political equivalent of shaving your big sister's Barbie doll and test nuclear weapons on her border but all in all, China's not threatened, only ever embarrassed or annoyed. When North Korea has a falling out with China's friend the US's little brother South Korea, the big sisters just want them to get along. You can see where I'm going with this.

   Of course, I sympathise with none of them.

   In other news, FIFA have a lot to sort out, a few hours ago the host countries for the 2018 and 2022 World Cups were announced, England's 2018 bid failed and Russia picked it up whereas the small gulf state of Qatar will be hosting the World Cup 2022.

   Now, as the biggest anti-nationalist, anti-patriot you'll meet I don't care that we don't have it, the entire exercise has become a bastardised method of advertising for the same brands every four years. 2010 South Africa was global capitalism on speed, taking advantage of the third world in the most depressing of way and leaving nothing of any benefit to the people at all. The next competition will be held in Brazil, themed swimwear and pictures of Pele will be order of the day and I can imagine the Coca Cola adverts now. But Russia and Qatar? Really? We send a prince and David shitting Cameron to save face over the behaviour of our press and files leaked in recent weeks but I thought the whole thing was about football.

   Interestingly, Cameron has come out as a Villa fan which gives us all another reason to hate both of them.

   No, football is now at the bottom of the list, it now comes down to name calling, face and personal profit. Much in the same way children behave Russia has won 2018 because its becoming the super-power it once was, once again and Qatar will host a competition its people know very little about because the inhabitants of the Arabian peninsular fall just short of being literally made of money. 

   Or to put it another way, Russia's been very liberal with the Farmville invites and Qatar is now friends with The West - Sepp Blatter likes this.

-Nous

Students, students, student.

   Student action day two, Tuesday, 30th of November 2010. Heavy snow across the east coast means Newcastle has eight inches in places and there's something very 1905 about marching in the snow.

   The Monument's surrounded with foreign food outlets for some overpriced Christmas market shite and with no sign of any students yet I head up to Newcastle Uni campus where flags and banners tell me to follow a small crowd who, when we arrive back at the Monument, join a few other small groups and speeches get under way.

   I was thinking, I need my instruments back, live music might liven up the open mic situation.

   I decide I need a sign, so I ask in broken German and French for a box from the guys on the stalls and armed with a empty bratwurst box I return to my spot and ask a passer by for a witty signage idea.

Childish, I know.

   This entertains onlookers all the day through.

   Our march takes us past all the banks and big businesses in the city whose debts we are being asked to pay off and eventually we're kettled by the Uni. Speeches are made. Music is played. We spear head the Polis blockade and try to join the occupation at Newcastle University Fine Arts building.

   A sign emerges reading "please come back later" and some arsey group of anarchists end up ironically leading the group, speeches are made on the campus and we move off. We storm Eldon Square and the security staff get a little bit gun-ho. They decide that sitting down in Fenwicks will xort it out and I walk away. 

   I'm finding this all a bit frustrating, just wandering about, its  mentioned to me that we need to try and occupy a meaningful target so we don't just look like we're causing trouble.

   HSBC by Monument? So we're in, we're making a point, its all going well, the Polis aren't getting too arsey... The children get excited and run upstairs trying to smash a few windows.

   But our point is made.

   Throughout the day there's a few cases of Polis heavy-handedness, the worst of which being a young lass getting a back hand and one of the young Muslim lads being dragged by the neck for hoying a snowball.
   All in all its a good day mind.
-Nous.