It's the Bronx Warriors versus Blade Runner!

Bronx Executioner

D: Vanio Amici 1989

What can I say?  This is quite possibly one of the worst films I’ve ever seen and consequently also one of the best!!!  Does that make any sense?  A b-grade extravaganza of bad dubbing, poor acting, inane lines and re-used footage this post-apocalyptic journey through the badlands of a New York that consists of quarries, beaches and a European castle (?!) is in a class all its own.  Our ‘story’ starts with new sheriff James (Gabriele Gori) being sent to the Bronx for his final test – we know this because a voice over explains it all to us during the stock footage opening.  After a strange sequence where a sniper is eyeing off James as he struggles through the jungles (?) of the Bronx only to be picked off at the last second, James meets the “black man” Warren played by b- grade luminary Woody Strode (Kingdom Of The Spiders, Django Rides Again, The Quick And The Dead) except the footage of Woody comes from a 1984 movie called The Final Executioner!! Why? Why not? Hell, it’s so disjointed a movie anyway, if I hadn’t looked it up I wouldn’t have known.  Anyway, Warren (Woody) is a mentor of sorts to James as he prepares to take on the android gangs – you see the Bronx has become a dumping ground for replicants and humanoids who have technical faults – they have feelings. These gangs have split into two though they all look human anyway so really I think it was a gang flick that was cashing in on The Bronx Warriors idea but then went replicant ala Blade Runner or something during the dubbing!  But the gangs are battling each other – one group (the androids) led by leather clad Margie (Margit Evelyn Newton – Night Of The Zombies and Final Executioner!), the other gang (the humanoids) led by man mountain Dakar (Alex Vitale).  This we learn from Warren as he teaches James before kicking some humanoid arse for no apparent reason other than because he can. (or because they had the footage left over from the previous film).  

The androids meanwhile have staged a massacre, killing off a stack of humanoids while Dakar was pfaffing about in their lab but one girl got away, the girl that Dakar has – gasp, shock, horror – feelings for.  See, he is almost human after all.  The girl gets raped by a bad android while Margie and her hot to trot boyfriend Shark watch on.  Now how an android can rape someone is neither here nor there, nor should we ask how he can rape without taking his or her pants off. The deed is done, the girl is dead and Dakar wants revenge.  It’s called plot development people, keep up with the programme. The man mountain goes to the black man only to find that he’s gone (or they ran out of suitable footage) after putting James through bootcamp and proclaiming him ready (in a letter no less!).  So, after dubbing James “white man” (hey I’m not making this up) the humanoid man mountain with the dress sense of a rejected village person and the sheriff with the charisma of a wet sock join up to take on Margie and her gang of post-apocalyptic Bronx Warrior rejects.  Margie and Shark meanwhile have been sitting securely in their European  castle (of course, it’s the Bronx after all!) watching footage of the rape scene and getting themselves hot and bothered. Again you may ask how androids can have these sorts of feelings but don’t – it won’t make it any easier to follow.  Shark does a little spying as Margie strips off and then interrupts for a little long awaited rumpy pumpy.  Unfortunately Dakar and the gang choose this moment to break into the castle and ruin everything.  Hilarity ensues as guard dogs are set loose, people run up and down the same stairs over and over, Margie’s breasts shrink!!!! (the curse of stock footage maybe?) and Shark gets his comeuppance. Oh and Dakar and James bond in a final touching moment.

Seriously this is a terrible movie. Stock film, repeated footage, bad acting, atrocious dubbing, long drives in the country, plot holes galore – the list goes on. BUT I can’t help but recommend it.  It is in a class of its own.  Fans of bad movies will worship at the altar of Dakar and Margie, it will provide hours of entertainment for drunken parties, it will make your friends and family question your very sanity and you may well find your name being whispered in certain ‘circles’ but it is all worth it.  Once in your life comes a movie that will change the way you see things – Bronx Executioner could well be that movie because after watching this, trust me, nothing will be the same! 

can a machine love a human being?

She Freak - movie of the week

She Freak

Directed by: Byron Mabe 

Year: 1967

 “Filmed on actual locations where it COULD have happened!”   

But of course it didn’t.  This 1960s B-grade carny flick from the twisted mind of legendary producer David F Friedman is a poor attempt at remaking Todd Browning’s classic Freaks but it does have its own charm. The story follows the trials and tribulations of smalltown waitress Jade (Claire Brennen) who wants more out of life than working in a diner and fighting off her sleazy boss. When a carnival comes through town she decides to join up, seeing it as the only way out.  Of course she also has her eye on her future too with the moneyed up Steve St. John, owner of the Freakshow tent, right in her line of vision. Trouble is Jade don’t actually like the freaks themselves and she’s also partial to a bit of the rough stuff with carnie tough nut Blackie Fleming.   

Steve might be naïve to what is going on but his offsider Shorty (Felix Silla – Cousin Itt!) is keeping an eye on things and doesn’t like what he sees.  Not that it matters because Jade soon has her hooks in St. John and once those marriage papers are signed her ugly side comes out.  Blackie and St. John have a knife fight, St. John loses and Jade inherits the freakshow.  Of course if you’ve seen Browning’s film you know where it’s going from here.   In a hilarious scene the freaks come out to get Jade – the only problem being, there are very few “freaks” – ugly does not count!!  Anyway it all culminates in a ‘classick’ ending even if the cover slick does give it away.   

So the movie sounds great right?  Well there’s some stuff I forgot to tell you.  Padding for a start, lots and lots and lots of padding.  The whole romance ‘tween Jade and Steve St. John is just footage of them wandering the carnival with music over top, there’s tons of stock footage of carnival stalls setting up and then pulling down, there’s the actors mingling with real folk wandering the carnival, there’s more footage of Jade and Steve… all that’s lacking sometimes is a corny narrator or you would think you were watching a 60s doco on small town America.  Sure it’s great as a slice of history but hell, this is supposed to be a horror movie not a bloody documentary on what fat people were eating at travelling shows in the mid west! 

The film gets slow, reaaaaallll slow at times but finally picks up again in the second half.  Yes it’s a stinker at times, sure it’s slower than your cousin Tommy who was kept back in grade three and yes there are better things to do with your time but I can’t deny it, there is a certain charm about this film and the era it has preserved.  And anyway that’s what your thumb is for – the fast forward button.  Neither Friedman nor Cheezy Flicks ever promised you a classic film – you know what you’re getting here so just remember  - it could have happened! 

http://cheezyflicks.com/shop/ 

shopping old school style

The local video ezy is getting rid of a shitload of old vhs videos for $2 each (would have been less if the boss wasn’t there!) and what man can resist such bargains. There will be a slew of reviews when I find time to actually watch these babies (oh my aching liver) but here’s the list of treats I picked up.

Thunderground starring Jesse Ventura! Streetfighting men.

Hired To Kill simply because it was directed by Nico Mastorakis and Oliver Reed is in it. You know it will be bad.

Fat City – classic boxing movie with Stacy Keach. Maybe just about the best boxing movie ever made.

Semi Tough – Burt Reynolds, $2 why not?

Action Jackson – Oh yeah! Carl Weathers, Vanity – come on what more could you need?

Booby Trap – it’s 1998 and LA is a lawless quarantine zone!

Moonshine County Express – New World Pictures, John Saxon, moonshine, gals!!! Would have paid $3 for this

Circle Man – Vernon Wells. More street fightin’

Penitentiary – come on $2 I had to.

Cherry Hustlers – sure its cut down to R rating but its Vanessa Del Rio. I had to rescue her.

Shakes The Clown –Christ I nearly came in my pants when I saw this on the shelf.

Over the last few months I picked up a coupla other treats too – it seems no one wants their videos anymore. Well, that’s fine by me.

Death Ship – no not the wanky new flick this is the one with George Kennedy. Sleazy grimy and a dollar.

The Thing – John Carpenter’s greatest movie? Anyway, it’s a corker and again it was a lousy dollar.

Confessional Murders – directed by Pete Walker so its gonna be good.

Savage Streets – yeah I know its censored but hell it still kicks arse.

Young Warriors – some dumb 80s vigilante flick but hell it was three movies for ten bucks and I needed a third.

Boulevard Nights – classic and underrated gang movie that wasn’t as colorful as The Warriors or the Wanderers and so has been forgotten. There were three copies of this on the shelf. Does no one have any taste anymore?

why do i watch so much CMC?

well here's a couple of good reasons!

Cassette Culture Part II

Ok so I’ve loaded up my genuine, original K-Tel Cassette Selector for the easy flick thru, high rotation twenty cassette pick of redneck lounging goodness, all scientific of course - some I play all the time anyway, some cos they just look right and feel right as I flick thru lookin’ for that heart starter pick em up that will get my head cleared, my day started and the neighbour’s dogs howling…

RADIO BIRDMAN – RADIOS APPEAR. Yeah Hup, that’s right… original cassette copy bought back in the day when I was like 15 and discovered this band and a whole new world opened up. Me and my mate Ganders would play this on my pissy little tape deck as we trekked out of town to the caves up in the pines. We had a little cubby hole with posters on the wall, dirty mags to read and this tape echoing off the cave walls and thru the pines. It still holds up pretty damn good in the shed too.

MANITOBA’S WILD KINGDOM – AND YOU? Handsome Dick, Andy Shernoff, Ross the Boss… it’s the Dictators in all but name! Attitude, balls and rock’n’roll. Just a dumb shit party album that gets yr heart raising and yr pecker rising. What more could ya want?

fEEDTIME – SHOVEL. The greatest band Australia ever produced? I can’t think of anyone else who comes near them, except maybe early Tatts and X. Solid blues grunt, gospel beast funneled thru this thumping rhythm section that takes no prisoners. Cant say I lounge to it cos it always makes me get up and howl.

CREEDENCE CLEARWATER REVIVAL – 20 GOLDEN GREATS. Sure, we’re all sick of Proud Mary and Grapevine but shit this stuff still sounds great and I can listen to em anytime. One of the first rock bands (per se) that I discovered as a kid via my old’s record collection. I think I’ve still got the Proud Mary single in its picky sleeve rolling around in a box somewhere.

ROLLING STONES – STICKY FINGERS. Cost me a buck secondhand and worth it jut for “Cant You Hear Me Knocking” . I read somewhere that Gram Parsons and Keefy were very chummy around this period and it shows. Some real country pickin’ style filtered thru the stones art skool/ rich kid slummin’ it blues.

VARIOUS – DYNAMITE I had to have at least one genuine K-Tel release in the damn thing. This ‘un is as obscure as they come though and I found it at one of them bootslaes somewhere. Wizzard, Suzi Q, Nazareth, Mud – early glam, rock and Pommy one hit wonders. Clifford T. Ward? Who the hell is he?

T.REX – THE SLIDER Bolan was one of my first rock heroes. He still is. An original all the way even when he was a coked up fat prick. I still remember the day I bought this album, paid for with my own pocket money. It’s still arguably his best work and I play it all the damn time.

SLADE – WHATEVER HAPPENED TO? The album no one remembers. Heavier than previous efforts, the band had just come back from Amerikka, soaked up the vibe, came home and found that no one cared anymore. Pity, cos this is a lost straight out knees up rock and roll classic.

VARIOUS – LITTLE IMP An NME giveaway back in the 80s? that I found at a record fair so I didn’t even have to buy the shitty mag. 22 trax of solid R&B (the real shit not the kiddie porn they produce today and dare to call R&B), blues and early rock from the likes of Fats Domino, Louis Jordan, Amos Milburn, Patti Anne… not a dud amongst em and plenty of beer drinking songs strangely enough.

ALICE COOPER/BOB SEGER Picked this up for 20c at the scout hall junk sale. Someone’s home recording job with Welcome To My Nightmare on one side and mid era Seger on t’other. Cheap shitty brand o’ tape but its hanging in there even if Bob don’t get that much of a play.

CHARLIE DANIELS/ VARIOUS Same sale, same price. Best of Charlie, with all the good shit plus a pile of fifties rock like Hey Little Cobra and The Crusher. Decent brand of tape too. Love them sales.

HELIX – AIN’T NO REST FOR THE WICKED 80’s canuck heavy metal band who knew how to knock out a coupla sub ac/dc riffs, add some fine hooks and then fade back into obscurity. (‘cept at the redneck lounge where they’re a staple diet. I even got this on vinyl)

NEIL YOUNG – WELD This was a double but I taped this myself off a mate’s rekkid. It’s the Hey Hey sides up to Cortez The Killer. Didn’t think much of the other sides. I just can’t listen to Powderfinger knowing what it inspired

MOTLEY CRUE – DOCTOR FEELGOOD The band might have been straight when they recorded this but I rarely am when I listen to it!

MOLLY HATCHET – FLIRTING WITH DISASTER. Molly gets (unfairly) blamed for killing Southern Rock but hell I still like this album. A stew of boogie, metal and southern boy roots. It’s just dumb enough to be fun. And it gets plenty of play in the lounge, plenty of play.

GLEN CAMPBELL – GLEN CAMPBELL COUNTRY Galveston, Phoenix, Where’s The Playground… all that’s missing is Wichita Lineman. I make no apologies for likin’ old shiny face’s great takes on Jim Webb’s classic songs. I’ll put up with his shiny happy people schtick any day to listen to Jimmy’s songs. And most of you do too, its just I’m the only one with the balls to admit it.

CHARLES MANSON – WHITE RASTA Prison blues from an old hippy who shoulda known better. At least he don’t play no beatles on this! There’s an ambience about this tape, it’s dubbed down so many times now and you can hear the prisoners going about there business as chuckles strums his geetar and tries to spread some kind of message. Last I heard they took away his rights to have a guitar cos it’s not good for him or it’s a weapon or some shit like that.

NAZARETH – HAIR OF THE DOG 1975 release that still kicks rock and roll arse. AC/DC and Motorhead are rightly revered for their rock and roll stance but what about Nazareth? No bleached hair shit, no fancy boy Jet retro bullshit, no metal dweebs who don’t even scare their mothers – this is straight ahead sweaty beerhalls and years of touring type rock and fucking whiskey drinking roll!! Took me years to find a decent copy of this cos they’ve all been flogged to death and then I found the tape and the record in the same week! Now that’s rock and roll karma.

VARIOUS – KINGS OF CAJUN VOL II Suds suckin’ dance hall, toe tappin’ party music. Boozoo Chavis, Rockin’ Dopsie, Clifton Chenier… When I’m in the lounge pissed and can barely stand they’re ain’t nothin’ I like better than two steppin’ to Boozoo.

METALLICA – MASTER OF PUPPETS The last good album these fuckers ever did! Bought this back in the late 80s and it’s still hangin’ on despite the years of constant play. I can’t listen to these songs without throwing that waver in when the tape tightens up and then lets go again. Bow to the Leper Messiah!

Cassette Culture

So we took beezlebubby down home to the country for a week so nanna could spoil her rotten and I could relax a bit. After the tree pruning, taking down the goddamn xmas lights and spider proofing the place. Which is still better than last time when I had to get up on the roof and clean five years worth o’ shit out of the gutters. (I thought that’s what the grandson was for – hell he’s eighteen now he’s gotta be good for something besides feeding)

The first day we hit town though, the goodwife, beezlebubby and I went out to my mate Gander’s property for a bbq. Ganders and his goodwife have got a coupla acres of rock and dirt, a house, a big shed, a calf and an old ram in the paddock out back of the homestead, chooks, possums, crows and a coupla teenage kids of their own and Ganders and I have been best mates since the first day of primary school and that was a long, long, long time ago now. First thing they had to do was show us the new John Deere. No not a tractor, a ride on mower. He was proud of that baby, showed us all the bits, talked us thru the purchasing process, haven’t seen him this proud since he was a kid and came round to tell me he had colour tv, the first in town in fact. I used to go over there to watch The Goodies cos all we had was a shitty old b&w that couldn’t even get the abc and the other channel rolled anyway.

Anyway after we cooked up some dead animal and sawdust (sausages) and ate of the salads that they’d prepared cos we were totally unprepared, Ganders wanted to show us what else he’d been buying. Seems his boy has left home, moved to the big town some 50k’s up the road for work reasons, though he was still home every weekend to fill up on food anyway, and Ganders well he’s been out at the garage sales looking for furniture and cutlery and what not for the boy. Though he seems to be really just buying more shit to put in his bigass shed. Knives and bowls and shit he don’t even know what it is (like the world’s smallest juicer?) but he did pick up an old Phillips radio for me cos I collect shit like that and it can sit in my tiny shitty ass shed (size does count when it comes to sheds!) and then he pulled out the piece d’resistance!

A genuine, original K-Tel Cassette Selector.!! You ‘member them don’t ya? They used to advertise them back in the 70s on the back of all the K-Tel compilations. The Record Selector and The Cassette Selector – finds your favourite music in seconds! I had a record selector but it was a piece of shit really, it didn’t hold gatefold sleeves properly and you had to get the weight just right for the damn thing to work or it wouldn’t flick forward properly but the cassette selector it looks the goods. After all, cassettes all pretty much weight the same right? Of course it doesn’t hold double cassettes but when did you last see a decent one of them? It’s always Pink Floyd or Frampton Comes Alive or some hokey 80s thing with a bonus remix tape. The last decent double cassette I owned was Osibisa - Black Magic Night and that has long since disappeared into some other bastard’s pocket. So now, I gotta select twenty tapes and get this baby set up in the music half of the shed on top of the family radiogram which sits in the corner waiting for me to fix it up, next to the stereo with the block under the back corner to keep the $20 record player balanced. Between the two stereos in the place there’s four tape players plus my old double deck unit that plays two tapes at once cos I left the damn thing in the tiny ass shed for about three years and the cockroaches chewed through something but hell that can be fun too but anyway there’s plenty of places to play the old cassettes and since the scout hall across the road has these regular like shitty ass garage sales where Ganders would think he’d died and gone to heaven, full of mismatched china and three legged tables and lots of clothes no one, not even the poor, would wear but most importantly cassettes, boxes of shitty tapes and dubbed stuff and religious rubbish and all for twenty/ twenty five cents each, well I got lots of tapes floating around. Some I grab to play some I grab cos at twenty cents that’s cheaper than new for a blank tape and some well… I just feel sorry for em sitting there looking like they need a new home. But anyway, I’m gonna sort through them tapes and slap 20 of em in the K-Tel cassette selector and then when I’m sitting out in music half of the shed I can just grab one and play it instead of looking through the three drawers of crap or under the stereo or behind the radiogram or wherever else I keep dropping, stashing, throwing the fuckers when I’ve got a sixpack and a coupla shots of Nelson County under my belt and the feet think they can dance even though the rest of me knows they can’t. and when I do you can be sure there’ll be a list here of what’s made the cut.

Back In My Day...

You know I used to hate it when my old man would raise his glass, take a long drink and then say, “Back in my day things were better.” Fuck I hated that, I still do but you know what? When I say, “Back in my day things were better.” I’m fucking right!

Cos that lame arse shit they’re trying to tell you is music right now… it ain’t! Not even close. If y’re lucky it might make a decent ring tone or maybe even a new car jingle that’ll having you humming along for that 45 second attention span all you little shits seem to have these days but it no way could you call that crap they dress up, ink up, slap a video clip to and then churn out to pimp yr dollar for, music.

Hiphop exists just to get dumb ass black kids laid and even dumber ass white kids thinking they might get laid – and it ain’t even threatening anymore, Christ its just sampled r&b popsongs with some bling thrown on top, skinny black boys trying to look gangsta, bitches shakin’ their fake breasts and you’ve forgotten the toon before the two and half minutes is up anyway. Punk, hah, a bunch of rich white boys who won’t come out of the closet, getting tattooed, putting on eyeliner and expensive t-shirts, waiting for that big break with some bleached blonde movie actress who’s fallen off the wagon so they can get their own reality show together, singing generic rebellious teen anthems about being individuals while all wearing the same labels and then trying to tell us they’re rebels!? Oh yeah, I’ll buy that (especially if they endorse it) Shitty singer songwriters who know both chords and are so lame they actually make Ben Lee sound threatening, Pop Divas who can’t hold a note without computerized help, backing tracks and a lot of overdubs, country singers who don’t even look like they shave let alone know what a honky tonk is and who have probably never played a footy cabaret in their lives…

So fuck all this new shit – I’m going back to vinyl (and no I don’t mean that cheap fake biker jacket you bought at the markets to get girls to talk to you) I mean vinyl records – big, black, shiny 12 inch slabs of grooves kinda vinyl, now that will get the girls talking to ya. Redneck glory like ZZ Top, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Joe Walsh before he turned pussy, old school punk like the Dead Boys, Richard Hell, Black Flag, some decent nigga soul and Motown grooves, art grant free noize loops and hell, you wanna hear a singer/songwriter? Pick up Tim Bukley’s Lorca album you limp dicked poseurs. He makes his son sound like the tofu eating, pussy whipped, lame ass 90’s ‘troubled soul troubadour’ wimp he really was.

Yeah, that’s what I want – real musicians, real feeling, real soul, real pain – a bunch o’ miscreants who had the choice between jail, pimpin’ their ass or rock and roll and made the right choice. I don’t want some lame arse anonymous producer/geek type sitting behind a desk remixing every fucking decent beat he can find into some generic mishmash of soulless, sexless robotic 3 minutes of fame for some plastic fantastic whose name we’ll have forgotten before the songs even over. Christ, when did I get so jaded?!

Oh yeah, that’s right… every time I turn on the radio, watch the tv or read the music press.

Jeezus, you can’t drink a cold beer with a bourbon chaser to that shit. No siree. When the redneck lounge opens its doors, it’s old school vinyl on my twenty dollar market bargain turntable with the block o’ wood under the back right hand corner to keep it balanced, jacked into the shitty amp/tuner that I’ve had for twenty years now that still works if you let it warm up first. And I’m droppin’ the needle on "Country Stampede" or "Atomizer" opening that first beer, flickin’ through the box of old Ring and Boxing Digest mags I picked up in Melbourne and I’m not even thinking about yr ringtone muzak.

Back in my day… don’t you fucking hate it when your parents are right?

welcome to the lounge

Yeah, I know that redneck ain’t a particularly Aussie slang word and it conjures up American type images and stereotypes but bogan lounge didn’t quite have the same ring to it nor did feral manifesto and hell, I am a fucking redneck, no denying it, just not the racist, dumbass, backwoods, backward stereotype mountain cracker that they portray us as on TV and in the movies. I’m an old school, shaved head, touch o’ grey in the beard, if you don’t dick me around I won’t dick you around, misanthropic, I’ll hate you purely on your lack of intelligence not yr skin colour, creed, religion, sexual preferences or aspirations type o’ redneck. And my neck is always red even when I wear a collar. And until recently I only owned two collars anyway, both polo shirts, both free, a coopers pale ale shirt and a port power shirt. I don’t particularly like the beer or the team but I’ll take ‘em when there’s nothin’ else left. Then I picked up a coupla more collar jobs – my Mt Burr Football Club Polo shirt that I paid money for and the Millicent Country Music Association shirt I picked up form Lifeline for $4. Them babies I wear with pride.

And now, I gotta admit, since the goodwife has continued her climb up the corporate ladder, the one I jumped off of some twenty years ago, well, I’ve had to buy a coupla more shirts, good ones for social occasions when I play the stepford husband and keep my mouth shut while nodding and trying to get some of that free beer in before she notices and warns me not to get too tanked. But only for those occasions you understand.

I’ve spent the second half of my life in the city after the first 21 years were spent in a town of maybe 500 people where every one knew everyone else and the grocery store was the post office, the newsagent, the toyshop and there was a bakery over the road where they baked on the premises and we went to footy every weekend and everyone else called us ‘zooeys’ cos we were animals and the parties continued on at our house until the wee small hours and you could leave the front door unlocked (at least for the first twelve years or so then some jd’s started making their tiny presence known) but when I got to the city I sorta forgot my roots. Hell, I was still proud of being a ‘country boy’ and all that. I mean I was a ‘zooey’ for fucksake but I was living in the big smoke now so I toned down my redneck roots, got rid of the flannelette shirts and the cowboy boots, didn’t listen to Slim Whitman or Johnny Cash (although JC was still cool apparently). I had to find some clean city type jeans and t-shirts that didn’t have crude sayings on em, even polish my damn shoes every now and then. But I still leaked redneck every now and then. I was blunt, up front and loud and I could hold my booze pretty well if not my mind or my mouth. In fact The Publisher, another country boy from the Tuna side of the state, and I have a theory that we did better with the girls than our city brethren and fellow drinkers cos country boys are plain blunt. We say what we think while our nancified city friends are too busy trying to weasel their way into the girl’s affections with lies and deceit or at least just being plain suck up nice to em. We just wanted to get back to the drinkin and partyin’ so we were up front about our dicks and our ambitions and more often than not it worked. We both regularly got women well above our stations, we still do and all we can put it down to is country charm cos it sure as shit ain’t our looks or our wallets, I can tell you that.

Now I’m at an age where I don’t seriously care what other people think though I still gotta be careful at the good wife’s work functions cos she needs to keep climbing that ladder so I don’t have to even think about puttin’ a foot back on it.

And hell why am I making excuse for owning a coupla Ed Harry shirts? I already know I’m better than you, have been for a long time now and the sooner you realise it the better things will be.