Come on in, the water's fine

It's summertime once again here on The Blog from a Newplanet. I have more time on my hands to enjoy it than ever before. I say bring on the endless sunshine! I want it so hot this year that it burns my front lawn to a cinder and I never have to mow it ever again. It's okay, I have sunscreen that can withstand a supernova. If I get skin cancer this summer, it'll be from all that lying around on sunbeds I've been doing lately. Oooh, naughty.

So here's to slow walks on not polluted beaches at sunset. Overdosing on Solero ice-lollies but never getting fat. Drinking very many delicious cocktails and not vomiting in swimming pools as a direct result. Driving around with the soft-top down in my flashy new sports car*. Tanned hunks and lovelies in their skimpy beach gear showing off their bodies beautiful. Summer lovin', had me a blast.

Enjoy!

*aka driving around with the sunroof open and the windows down in my ancient Vauxhall. Oh well!

What the PWL is going on?

How are you getting on with downloading what feels like the entire Stock Aitken Waterman back catalogue [but in reality is probably about 5% of it] on iTunes? Isn't it just a cash-zapping marvel of gargantuan proportions?

Seriously, have you *seen* iTunes lately? It has become a veritable smörgåsbord of deliciously delightful powerpop ditties, what with Kylie and Jason's entire PWL back catalogue being released, alongside long lost classics by the likes of Hazell Dean, Carol Hitchcock and er... The Blakeney Twins "out of TV's Neighbours".

And allegedly, this is just the tip of the iceberg, with the promise of much more to come, during the remainder of what is proving to be one heck of a year for The Sound of a Bright Young Britain. Well, it *is* Stock Aitken Waterman's silver anniversary, after all. It's only right.

For now, you can feast your ears on such gems as the Original 12" Mix of Kylie's Made In Heaven, which has been undheard of until now, as well as all the songs on all four of Kylie's PWL albums as wonderfully fun "backing track" versions. Seriously, gay pub karaoke nights are never going to be the same ever again.

Elsewhere, prepare yourself for some long-lost Jason Donovan remixes, including the brilliant No Probs Mix of When You Come Back To Me in digital sound at long last, as well as the equally rare Yuletide Sleigh List Mix of the same song, during which our Jase gets to muse, "I guess it happens all the time, the things we have to do take us miles apart when we should be together". Awww.

Pret-a-Portas

Oh my, how much do I love Mary Portas?

Let me tell you it's waaaaayyyyyy much. I mean, just look at her for pete's sake. She looks like she's just stepped out of an Ab-Fab flashback sequence, where Patsy and Eddie go for a jolly jaunt down Carnaby Street, or something. She is bloody brilliant and well you know it.

The latest series of Mary Queen of Shops, i.e. Mary Queen of Charity Shops has been nothing short of completely awesome. In case you've missed it so far, this year Mary has chosen to abandon the country's run-down high-street fashion boutiques, to focus all her attention on a run-down Save The Children store in Orpington. Out goes the belligerent retail numpties who can't take a telling for fear it'll make them look really really silly and in comes the old dears who've given up half their lives to punt a shop full of crap to geriatrics.

And if you think Mary suddenly adopts an ever so go-lightly approach, given her new subjects, you have another thing coming. No, if anything, she's become even more of a tyrant this year. In one scene she balks when her near-mutinying staff ask her to say "please". Then, after she reduces volunteer manager Graham to tears, she gets a roasting from Save The Children's area manager, only to run rings around him and give him a proper showing up too. Most of the staff, therefore, know exactly what they think of our Mary - and it rhymes with "witch".

But then her bark has always been worse than her bite, has it not? This is like retail marketing bootcamp. She may act like a despicable cow sometimes, jumping on anyone's feelings with her Jimmy Choos whenever she feels like it, but - and I have said this many a time before - you never stop thinking that she only has their best interests at heart. It really is a powerful motivator.

Except that, for some, change is hard. And, of course, monumental change is what Mary is proposing. The Portas approach is two-pronged, not without its merits but not without its mountains to climb. The first prong involves convincing the nation's charity shops to junk the junk and, as a consequence the shopfloors that look like a village hall jumble sale, instead choosing to focus on selling designer garb at fairly decent prices. Of course, in order to sell fabulous stock she needs to convince people to donate it in the first place, which is problem number two. What's most enlightening is the utter bilge the UK is keen to give away to charity [trousers with no arse in them and babies nappies, anyone?] and - on the opposite end of the scale - the absolute gems that appear to be languishing in wardrobes nationwide, ultimately unworn.

Just as enlightening was when the cameras followed Mary to chez Portas to peek surreptitiously at her own potential donations. Needless to say, Mary's wardrobe was several leagues beyond fabulous, seriously giving Karen Walker's walk-in wardrobe in Will & Grace a run for its money. Remember the episode when Karen practically collapses when forced to donate clothes to the poor? Mary's much the same, as it happens. It's not that she's against the whole concept per se. It's just that she'd be mortified seeing her designer clobber in your average Oxfam store on sale for 50p. She's got a point.

Will Mary succeed? We'll find out when the final part of Mary Queen of Charity Shops airs tomorrow at 9pm on BBC2 but, given that Mary is launching her very own charity shop - complete with celebrity donations - right now as we speak, the chances look pretty good indeed.

I also see that Mary's consultancy firm is inviting job applications from creative types who think they're hard enough. I've thought about sending her my CV to look at but I know she'd look at it and just go "pah". Besides, what if I got the chance to work for her? I'd be the most star-struck employee on the payroll, incapable of giving the boss any type of report without gushing "I love you" at her. It really would not work.

My neighbour is a twat

Neighbours, eh? Everybody needs good ones, so they say. Look closely at the above picture and you'll see several great ones. Holy shit, there's plain Jane super brain! Helen blinkin' Daniels! Jason-Scott Robinson-freakin' Donovan! Bouncer the dog! Plus several people whose names I forget!

There is one person who is completely absent from this photograph of great neighbours, however. That is the guy who lives upstairs from me. He really is not a great neighbour. He is, in fact, a twat.

I've lived at my current abode for nearly two and a half years and, admittedly, I still don't even know this guy's name. But I came to the conclusion pretty much within about ten minutes of moving in that he was a moron and that I should have as little to do with him as possible. I honestly do try not to make snap judgements about people based on first impressions, but there really was something lacking about this fellow. He's short and he's surly and - I am sorry - really quite ugly with it. There really was no way him and I were ever going to be the best of friends, nipping off to the pub for a few beers to talk about tits, cars and football.

Anyway, for a few months we would exchange half-pleasant hellos but that was about it. In the meantime, he repeatedly dropped his rubbish in whatever wheelie bin was closest, which annoyed me, but I thought it would be a bit petty if I were to dig my heels in about it. I would take both bins out to get collected by the friendly dustmen and sometimes he would take both back in. Taking the bins in and out was more difficult than you might think since often there would be car batteries and exhaust parts littering the pathway, thanks to his mechanic hobby/business on the side. Later I found out that the landlord had earlier complained to the council about this, calling it "anti-social behaviour".

Relations degenerated when he started banging on my ceiling when I would play music past 10pm. The thing is, I sometimes have music playing at my computer when I am working in the evening or whatever. It's *not* loud, although I imagine it would be a little annoying to hear it if you were trying to get to sleep. But 10pm is not 3am and it doesn't happen often enough to really warrant my ceiling getting done in. I hear him crashing around after midnight sometimes. I don't *know* when he's trying to sleep and, most of all, I am a really nice guy and don't mean to cause a disturbance. If you want me to turn the sound down, all you have to do is ask me equally nicely. Banging on ceilings simply confirms that you are a fucking idiot, in my book.

I should tell you that the first time it happened was after a weekend where he'd taken delivery of a new puppy - and promptly left it in by itself from 5pm Friday until 8am Saturday. It howled and yelped the whole time, of course, kept me awake all night and nearly forced me to ring the RSPCA. Grrr.

But the banging on ceiling thing is becoming more and more frequent. The other week he did it at two in the afternoon and, stupidly, I drove myself to distraction by instantly being compliant and turning the sound down! I gather that he's working shifts and, believe me, I have some sympathy when I really shouldn't give a monkeys. However, banging on my ceiling on a Saturday afternoon is just, er... bang out of order.

Naturally, there are no longer any exchanges of pleasantries when we see each other and, what's more, I wouldn't be too surprised if he's heard me moaning about him to my friends who come to visit and hear him screaming bloody murder at the dog which, which, by the way, is called er... Trixie. ::snigger::

Which leads me to the events of this week. The problem is that the lovely Trixie likes to bark whenever I come home from work and put the key in the door. This causes Mister Ingrate to go ballistic and to start all sorts of unpleasant shoutyness. After I overheard a particularly nasty shouting match on Sunday during which I was forced to think, "no... he surely didn't just shout out loud what I think he did", he did the same yesterday and removed any and all doubt. You see, he's started shouting this to anyone who will listen, i.e. me.

"Trixie, it's just the fucking gay boy, shut the fuck up."

Yes, read it again. Trixie, it's the gay boy. Trixie. Gay boy. Oh the irony! Seriously though, I am not pleased about this delightful little development in our relationship. Tonight, and I am god-damn serious, if he does it again, he will be getting treated to non-stop gay anthems all night long. I am talking back-to-back YMCA versus It's Raining Men versus I Am What I Am. Bring it on!

Failing that, I will just get my brother in law to beat him up and be done with it.

New Music Crack

Oh it's been at least a year since I did one of these, so this should be fun. My inspiration for this one came from the absolute marvel that is BT Vision and its bountiful bank of brand new and vintage music videos which you can salivate over to your heart's content. And, if this pick of the new music crop is anything to go by, the charts haven't been as interesting as this in donkey's years.

Hot on the heels of smiley Miley Cyrus, here is the rather lovely Demi Lovato. I'd never heard of her until a couple of weeks ago, but allegedly she's the star of the movie Camp Rock [never seen it] and Disney's TV show Sonny with a Chance [never seen it]. And now she has her own album out, Don't Forget which, after a fly listen, it would seem is damn fine to boot.

Anyway, I have decided that I ADORE her and I completely love this song. And if this amazingly entertaining video is anything to go by, she's a little cooler than the rest of the Disney crowd, don't you reckon? Don't get me wrong, she's still suitably perky - I am digging the constant head shaking, hair ruffling thing she does - but I get the impression she has a bit more of a laid-back grown-up attitude. If you liked Pink's Stupid Girls video, you'll probably enjoy this too.

Out today.

And we go pretty much from one extreme to another with the debut single from Paloma Faith. Was it just me, or were you just a little frightened when you watched this one? Well, I guess that was the whole point. It seems Ms Faith is delighted for us all to know that she's a bit of a live wire, what with all that prancing about in a mirror dress, swinging from chandeliers and generally acting like she's escaped from a travelling circus. "I can be wilder than the wind," she sings, "... I'm in a whole other dimension, dancing doubles on the floor... you think I'm crazy, a little bit hazy but I'm stone cold sober". She's worth the watching, this one, certainly.

With one dash Duffy, one dash Winehouse plus two dashes PJ Harvey, I was really surprised to love this pretty much instantly.

Out 15th June.

Let's ignore the blatant disregard for proper use of apostrophes, shall we? It's the Yeah You's! I can't decide whether these guys are ripping off Alphabeat, The Feeling or Take That, but it doesn't really matter when they're making songs which are as fun and make you smile as much as this one.

As you will see, the video is also really clever, what with the live action constantly intercutting the music. And it just goes to show how hot geeks in glasses really can be, don't you think? Once again, I liked this far more than I expected I would.

Out today.

Little Boots has been simmering under the surface of pop for months now and at last she has a hit on her hands. Sure, she's like several other acts in the charts at the moment - wonderfully retro with heaps of synthy electro à la Visage - but that's not exactly a bad thing. I also so happen to love this because it sounds like something off Kim Wilde's awesome album from 1984 Teases & Dares.

And don't you just love this video? The pixie-esque Miss Boots skips daintily through America's homeless boulevard and gang central whilst they dance around like something out of Michael Jackson's Thriller. On seeing this I asked my ex, who's been whittering on about her for ages, whether she was American. I was wrong. It turns out she's from, er... Blackpool. Blimey.

Out now.

Oh flip, it's the new one from Cascada! If you're like me, you'll have spent the past few years looking down your nose at Cascada and writing them off as pap. Dance music for the Bonkers generation, they're just too cheap and nasty to be taken at all seriously. I noticed recently that someone on a message board had called them "German Chavs". Oh dear.

Well it turns out that Cascada are back with a new sound for their new single, Evacuate The Dancefloor. They are already getting a total kicking for ripping off Lady Gaga's Just Dance but that doesn't stop it easily being the best thing Cascada have ever released before. Seriously, it's light years ahead of anything they've ever done, which not only makes it rather listenable* but actually rather damn good!

Out 29th June.

All hail the Freemasons and Sophie Ellis-Bextor for saving the world of dance and pop from eternal mediocrity! The buzz continues to build surrounding Heartbreak (Make Me A Dancer) (now with brackety things), which is taken from the follow-up to the Freemasons debut LP Shakedown, i.e. the cleverly titled er... Shakedown 2.

And no wonder. This is epic, in-your-face, hyper melodic, sophisticated superdance music at its very best. And if you think this edited down version is something else, wait until you hear the 9plus minute Freemasons Full Length Club Mix, with its anthemic arms aloft section two-thirds along which, mark my words, will go off like the proverbial frog in a sock this summer.

Out 21st June.

* Okay, not the rubbish rap towards the end. Oh well.

Change Will Come

What a week this has been. A week where a major decision has been made. It was a difficult decision to make, but it's added a little certainty into my life which perversely feels very welcome. Even if the certainty is about something that I *won't* be doing very shortly.

Actually, my life has been pretty uncertain for a while now. A few months back, I wrote on a web profile that my future was a country that had never been so undiscovered. I said I would ride out the next few months to see whether or not I was on the right track. It's a good job I like rolleroasters, I concluded 'comically'.

The past six to nine months have, no doubt about it, seen me going through a period of transition. In November, I ended a 9 and a quarter year romantic relationship with a partner. It was tough but the good news is that we're still friends. Most of the time we cope admirably with the new set-up, with the odd little hiccup along the way of course. I am extremely glad he's still in my life. I have told him that I will always care about him - regardless of how often we see each other from now on or where both of us end up living - and I mean it.

I started seeing someone else for a while. His particular situation was complicated, like something out of a soap opera if truth be told. Even with the acknowledgement that it was happening way faster than was safe and sensible, I fell for him deeply and quickly. This was always going to involve some heartache, sooner or later, and I can't really say I didn't see it coming. He was in the midst of a period of transition himself when I met him and he eventually moved to the South East to start a new job. In spite of some reassurances of how he felt about me, his actions have never really spoken louder than those words since then. Thus, even though he too is still in my life, I'm slowly reaching the hurtful realisation that this man will never be able/willing to offer me what it is I'm now left desperately hoping he would. Circumstances change. People, by and large, never do. I will simply have to adjust.

Oh dear.

On Monday my business partner and I decided that we will shortly be closing the doors on our business. I need to stress that the business is still solvent. We don't even have an overdraft facility. The truth is that we've had three good years and we have some relatively handsome reserves in our bank account. But with the current economic climate being as it is, it does not bode well that there will be money languishing in that bank account for much longer if we continue. In short, it feels like the right time to split our profits and hopefully go get real jobs, real quickly.

For the first time in my life, I am considering relocating. I get homesick on a fortnight's holiday and I cried like a girl when I moved from North Ayrshire to South Ayrshire a few years back, so it's a pretty nerve wracking proposition. But it makes sense that I may have to move to wherever there's a decent job that's perfect for me. It could be a disaster waiting to happen but it might also be a really good career move for me. Let's face it, it might just be the best thing I have ever done. Who knows?

Naturally, the best jobs are in the South East. I'd like to get my feet in the door of a really shit-hot London-based creative/marketing agency. One where I'd get the opportunity to account manage some really brilliant names - as opposed to managing some kinda brilliant names, which is what I have shown to be rather good at for the past seven years. Of course, if a really great opportunity arises on the client side of the marketing fence, I'll snap it up eagerly with both arms.

On the other hand, it feels a bit like I am following a certain someone down south, and that makes me feel a little uneasy. I'm still friends with him and I dare say he cares about me to some degree - but, should I be forced to, I worry it'll be a little harder to get over him if he's in closer proximity, do you know what I mean?

There are other reasons to go, of course, and he shouldn't be a reason for me *not* to go. I have other friends living in the South East to call upon if I need them. More than that, I've never really had an issue with making new friends, so I shouldn't really have too much of a problem there. I know I won't be completely alone.

But, all things said, the future is still so undiscovered. Who knows where I am headed right now for certain? It's still very early days and all I know is that I should expect more changes to happen along the way. More to the point, I should realise the changes are likely to be positive ones and embrace them with open arms.

Who killed Syd?

Oh just how excited was I to see this recently released publicity still from the new Melrose Place? It's Sydney Andrews Mancini Field (Yay!) - and some blonde new bird - very much alive and well and, by the looks of things, living in a souped up version of the classic 4616 apartment building which Kimberly blew up nearly fifteen years ago. I *love* Syd's expression and body language in this photo, which tell me that nothing much has changed since she got deadified on her wedding day in the fifth season finale. She still has that sass and that attitude in spades, which made the character one of the most amazing and memorable. Hurrah!

Except that one or two web sites are chinese whispering a right old horrible spoilery rumour which, if true, is going to make me very unhappy indeed. It seems that new Melrose will be a slightly darker affair, with a murder-mystery theme running through its first season - how very Desperate Housewives - after a body shows up in the courtyard's famous swimming pool. You know the pool I am talking about. Syd and Jane had a cat fight in it (amazing). Brooke drowned in it (amazing). And, would you just god-dang believe it, the dead body now floating in it *could* be Sydney's (not amazing).

Waaaaaahhhhh.

Allegedly, this means Syd's scenes will be relegated to flashback sequences, where we get to find out how she's been landlording over all the new residents and what on earth *did* happen to her on her wedding day back in 1997. Nobody's sure if the rumours are true or not, of course, but it sure sounds plausible and I am pissed about it.

In spite of this and to take our mind off things, those guys at the CW have released three new clips and a teaser trailer from MP2 all over YouTube and it seems promising stuff - blisteringly hot talent [step forward Colin Egglesfield], rubbish acting aplenty [step forward Ashlee Simpson-Wentz] and yessss... Dr. Michael Mancini - very much alive and uhm... with a 20-something year old son? Watch them explain *that* one!


Oh well, if one thing's for certain, on Melrose Place *nothing* is ever certain. Even if Syd does meet her maker in the Season "premeer", and it takes an entire season to find out who made her meet her maker in the first place, I won't be too surprised if an eternally undead Sydney returns in the season finale to wreak bloody murderous revenge.

I say bring it on!