Some Sort Of Delicious Biscuit

I love Dylan Moran. As far as comedically-inebriated Irish drunks go, he's up there with Shane MacGowan and Terry Wogan, but less musically talented than either. Still - to steal a whole show from under the nose of Bill Bailey is some feat, as Moran did in Black Books as Bernard, the comedically-inebriated Irish drunk. So, I guess not much of a stretch of the imagination, but he does it so nicely. Interesting Fact #1: In America, they emphasise the first part of his surname rather than the latter. We may never know why.

The heyday of the British sitcom is probably not, as most would have it, past: as it was put recently, nobody was actually falling over laughing in the street at the wonder of this golden era of comedy, the days of, um, Are You Being Served, and the like. No, even recently we've had The Office, we've got In The Thick Of It with the wonderful Chris Langham (cf. Help), and we had Black Books not so long ago. Even the finest of them all, Spaced, was not too long ago.

But! This week I found myself curiously drawn to Google image search for a real classic of my youth. Desmonds was just ace, wasn't it? Some phrases to stir the mind:

"There is an oooold African saying..."
"Matchoo!"
"Gloooria!"
"Shiiiirley!"

And the like. I loved it. It was in Peckham at the same time Only Fools And Horses was, but in so many ways more palatable. I love all things Jamaican (a feeling propogated originally in my palate and stomach), and this was probably my introduction to the culture: a safe, friendly version maybe, and lacking the various violences and robberies of Jamaica itself, but an inviting, tantalising thing all the same. Living in North London, I can indulge myself in all the rice and peas that I like, and make no mistake, I do.

In something of a streamofconsciousness fashion, I make my way to the point I originally intended to write about: comedy. Specifically the NME awards. After the bar-raising All-Time Greats list of recent weeks, you expected the ridiculous and got the mundane. This is at least my third post about the NME, and I think I should make it the last, as each time I say that it has exhausted it's relevance. Ah me.

Highlight: Harry Potter for best film, says alot about the punters that read the rag. Also, Interesting Fact #2: Wella employ a publicist specifically to make sure people refer to the things as the Shockwaves NME Awards. Emphasis on the hair product. I chuckled at the advert on TV recently: Shockwaves - don't let the hair get in the way of the music. Sweet irony.

I conclude. A band can be forgiven much for covering Girls Aloud, as they do here: Love Machine is still better when performed by the talent-show skanks (we love them for it), but it can't hurt to try your cheek Northern chappy hand at it right? T'Arctic Monkeys still suck, but a little less.