:: Do Svidanya, bitches ::

Only an hour to go before leaving this hole for a week - St Petersburg ahoy! Needless to say, I'm excited at the prospect of seeing old friends and knocking back some excellent vodka.

Since I'll be out there with my Dad, his wife and Blondinka Butchovna, I'll be acting as translator on the tourist trail. I'll get to see the wonderful Hermitage again, and certainly won't be spending every hour god sends pissing my money up the wall with Pashik and Co. Of course, at this time of year, St P is famous for the "White Nights", when you can still walk around in twilight at 3am. So I'll be treated once more to sights like this:

In my absence, I exepct you all to have memorised the Russian national anthem to serenade my return. Vodka will be the reward for successful students. Click on Vladimir Vladimirovich (Putin) to hear a quick blast:

Hmm, that seems familiar, you cry. Well of course it is! After a half-hearted attempt to resurrect the old Imperial Russian Anthem (o which no-one seemed able to fit any decent words), the authorities reverted to the rousing Soviet anthem, with altered words. Click on Vladimir Ilyich (Lenin) to read all about this inspiring piece of aural propaganda. Some people have even been known to have the tune on their mobile phone...

...and if you're still bored, learn how to swear in Russian. I'll leave you now with my favourite Slavic obscenity (it translates roughly as "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush"):

"Luchshe hui v ruki chem pizda na gorizonte"

:: Bleeders' Digest ::

Another week, another two-day hiatus in Devukha posts...

Frantic line-learning and purchasing of last minute items (such as a new suitcase) have all but sapped my free moments at work, which has been busy to say the least. Nonetheless I return to the fray this afternoon with a bevy of "news" snippets and inconsequential shite. So in chronological order:

• Tuesday's glum newsworld was lit up by the news that a spillage of mushy peas had closed the A1. Not to be outdone in the silly story stakes, Ann Summers must have booby-trapped a couple of dildos, as yesterday it emerged that the M6 was closed. This time a lorry full of sex toys and burning paper (jazz mags?!) was to blame.

• Also on Tuesday, Steve Bell provided an exquisite visual critique of the Press Complaints Commission. Nothing more need be said, other than that the notion of a self-regulating, responsible tabloid media is a dangerous fallacy:

• Continuing the "bollox" theme, I giggled at the announcement on Popbitch that Powergen (UK electricity company), has bought out an italian firm and launched this "racy" website www.powergenitalia.com. Sadly it emerged today that the company is an Italian domestic battery manufacturer and has no connection with the British Powergen. And no knowledge of the amusement caused to English speakers when their name is concatenated in a URL. Also apparently heartless Cameron Diaz wouldn't even tend to the wishes of a dying teenager.

• On to today's headlines. The astonishing news emerged today that US soldiers admitted to shooting innocent Iraqi civilians. This is the supreme example of the US "seen one raghead, seen 'em all" attitude. If you need further proof that America's motives in the recent Iraq war were not entirely altruistic (hah!), you can buy a pack of war profiteers playing cards.

That's me just about caught up with myself. I'm off to pack and ponder vodka related antics. And to commemorate Red Rum's move to the world of freelance sub-editing and my proposed trip to the banya on Sunday with Dyadya Pyotr (and Revd Plumstead Coleman) a publishing-related joke. So old it creaks...

Two fonts walk into a pub
The barman says "Oi - get out! we don't want your type in here..."

Oh - one more thing. Anyone know which bitch broke my cafetière at work?

:: One more time... ::

Not much to report from the weekend, really. Post-barbecue on Saturday night, I fell asleep on the nightbus again. This time I only ended up at Clapham Junction, which is actually not inconvenient. These occurances are becoming so frequent that I can't be bothered to document them. Line learning took up most of the rest of the weekend - no scripts in rehearsal as of tonight. As ever I'm on the verge of cacking my pants.

This one's a bit convoluted, but trust me on this, it's worth reading to the end... Although it's been rumoured that the BBC are to scrap cheesy kidfest, The Saturday Show, not much has been proposed as a replacement. These things are always difficult to predict as the Saturday morning CBBC programming (on BBC1 at least) tends to take a few months off in the summer. Who can forget the pangs of sorrow as Sarah and Philip signed off the last episode of Going Live just as the school hols were about to begin? It's quite possible that the CBBC channel's weekend morning show, In Da Bungalow with Dick 'n' Dom could step into the breach. However, I was a little surprised to read about what happened recently on their show whilst doing the "Creamy Muck-Muck Butt Dance". I'm intrigued not so much by the apparent gratuitous flange-baring, but by the fact that the editors elected to repeat the episode uncut in that evening's reshowing. More to the point, how on earth can they get away with such blatent innuendos? Check out stills from the show here to make up your own mind - director Simon Hepworth's explanation/excuse bears repeating:

'Britney was indeed dressed decently it was an unfortunate effect of lighting, compressed bandwidth pictures and those coloured tights.'

Another item from today's extremely mixed bag is courtesy of the latest b3ta competition:

If cats ruling the world isn't enough for you, then there are plenty of Americans out there saying Dubya should be doing it. I'm not so sure (spot the understatement), but enjoy cocking a snook at those who unquestioningly offer their support to such a flagrantly anti-democratic and short-sighted régime. This is all a preamble really to introduce a guy who has buried his clapped out van in a moment of patriotic fervour. Read it and weep.

And finally, before I leave work to tread the boards in trepidation, a linguistic curiosity. Someone has invented an artificial pan-Slavic language called Slovio. It's a bit like Esperanto, with less Spanish and more Russian. I don't think it'll catch on, somehow.

:: Bloody Nora, It Ain't 'Alf A Swelterer ::

I'm stuck in the stuffy office as usual on a sultry workday afternoon. Sometimes this weather makes me want to be a windowcleaner - at least I'd get a chance to appreciate the sun a bit. I took a full hour at lunchtime to savour a couple of shandies in the park and soak up those rays. The inevitable consequence is that I've felt a little woozy all afternoon, especially as I stayed up till after 3 chatting to Pikelet last night... I couldn't half do with one of these though:

The proposed cocktail crawl with La Gribouilleuse has been postponed in favour a light supper and sipping Kir in the garden. And then I've got another fucking barbecue to put up with tomorrow. I'm sure all this recent charcoal ingestion must be doing wonders for my bowels.

So, on the day when Dubya proved he he couldn't stay upright on a silly scooter, you may ask what worthy morsels have come my way? Aside from the usual ananova crap (Chinese zoo stops allowing visitors to shoot animals and Man arrested for putting condoms on a statue of Jesus) not much really. The Guardian has launched an gastro-snob attack on the refuge of many a hung-over Devukha. I feel this should be immediately rectified with this fab guide to London's greasy spoons. My retinue and I have now established favourite greasing-holes (not an innuendo - oh, puh-leeeease!) in many far-flung corners of the metropolis. I don't need the Grauniad to tell me that I should be eating foie gras and truffle oil mash after a night on the sauce, thank you.

That paper did come back into favour when I read today's account of observing the Daily Mail "referendum" on having a referendum about the new European Constitution. I await the results from the readership of the most eurosceptic UK tabloid with bated breath. I'm sure it will prove to be a "defining moment in the history of democracy" or some other such high-flown guff. Talking of spinning (round poles at any rate) - look at the entertainment provided for Phoney Tony and Georgie Porgie at the recent G8 summit:

I can't leave for the weekend without mentioning another website. Have you ever received a dodgy spam email about poor Mr Ngwacamole in Nigeria who desperately needs you to send him $20,000 so he can release large sums from a foreign bank account? Most of us are happy to press the delete button, but these guys have taken decided to play the spammmers/scammers at their own game. The level of devotion to the cause is astounding (some of the site authors even flew to Dubai to meet one of them), but the results are hilarious in the extreme.

Get outta here!

:: Lets get Farked ::

The only news of note today is that my nearest tube station to work has been closed most of the day due to a brutal attack/murder. The despite the obvious inconvenience to most of the staff here (I had to walk from the previous station), I was most amused to see a car from this insalubrious establishment (probably NSFW) parked directly outside our office, where one of the directors sometimes parks.

Given the paucity of other happenings, I've gone for the Fark approach and just come up with a list of moderately topical quirky news links. Without the Boobies. Indeed, the moer observant amongst you might notice that certain appear courtesy of that site: I can assure you that with one obvious exception they all came from other sources. But first, the obligatory slice of pun pie from b3ta:

Now on to the news headlines:

•  Ukrainian man castrates himself - obligatory, vaguely xenophobic "Aren't Vodka-drinking East Europeans Stupid?" story.
•  A-Ha's Morten Harket to produce own line of bread - Pop Idol of yesteryear becomes Nordic Domestic Goddess.
•  Alabama hicks steal road signs - obligatory, vaguely xenophobic "Aren't Redneck Americans Stupid?" story. "That Ain't it Road" and "Booger Hollow Road" (WTF?) are the most popular ones to steal, apparently...
•  Evan Dando to join Cheeky Girls - doncha just love silly headlines in serious newspapers?
•  Dogs take to the catwalk in Tokyo- obligatory, vaguely xenophobic "Aren't Pet-Crazed Japanese Stupid?" story.
•  Shark dies after tank prank - despite refutations that dumbing down at the Beeb, Auntie can't resist the Scum-style rhyme of the week.

Whilst the UK press have been gushing to tell of Posh and Becks "unprecedented media attention" during their recent stateside tour, certain (American) sources don't seem to agree. This backs up Popbitch mailout last week (5th June), which claimed they'd left a rather limp impression:

>> Here lie the Beckhams <<
Overpaid, overhyped and over there

We're getting very used to the British tabloids
being just full of lies, but this week's news
has been extraordinary.

First, the Beckhams' kidnap case was, surprise,
surprise, found to be completely made up by the
News of The World.

Then we've had the thousands of column inches on
how the Beckhams have wowed America through the
MTV movie awards etc.

So we weren't surprised to find out from our
American sources that actually the US greeted
Vic 'n Dave with nothing more than disinterest
and bemusement.

At one Hollywood lunch attended by the
gruesome pair, the host introduced them as
Victoria and Derek...

Time for me to be off, with one final bad taste link.

Toodle-Pip!

:: So that's 316ft is it? ::

Well, it's not exactly freezing in London (about 20ºC), but this picture caught my eye on b3ta:

It was a Cold Day. . .

Two sleb stories of note. First, the news that society pundit Nigel Dumpster has been done for drunk driving - about time, too, if Private Eye is to be believed. Second, Renée Zelleweger has been boasting about the serious amount of pie-age required to reprise her role as Bridget Jones. "Method acting", I ask you...

And finally, a Popbitch rant about everyone's favourite "local" newspaper. Give me the Streatham Guardian any day...

Tonight's Evening Standard.
Am I the only one who finds it a little scary that Mr Beckham Senior's theory that Posh will decide the move is on the front page, while news that America is apparently planning to build an execution room at Camp X-Ray only makes page 2?
lost_in_putney, 16:40 11/6

As the writer of Fraffly Well Spoken would have it, "Egg wetter greh!"

:: Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngh! ::

Following the minor stress of having to complete a project by the end of last week, I took the opportunity to unwind big stylee: dinner with La Gribouilleuse on Friday, dancing with Tigger on Saturday and (another) boozy BBQ to round off the weekend. Dinner was lovely, but involved my walking 3 miles home afterwards at 2am. "My Beautiful City" was the inaugural hip-hop night at Key in Kings Cross (where Bagley's used to be), which promised great things with the likes of DJ Yoda and Cutmaster Swift on the decks. Unfortunately, although we had a good time, the DJing was a bit lacklustre over all (v. disappointing to hear a DMC winner plonk one track on after another without bothering to mix). I liked most of Yoda's set, though, especially when it veered towards the Old Skool or Bootleg ends of the hip-hop spectrum. And there was some silly 80's electro-pop stuff too - if only I could body-pop like this guy... The barbecue was a chance to meet up with everyone from the play I was in last month, which was great until a bottle of vodka was produced from the freezer and the Russian toasts began...

Yesterday started off a bit blurry and grew worse as I realised the lastest project I'm working on is a piece of shit (inconsistent research, not enough time to recommission, technical problems, etc.) However, the Twelfth Night rehearsal I'd been dreading all day went OK and I was cheered at work by the news of a deadly stiletto attack and the latest dumb-arsed BB challenge. Gordon Brown's pontifications regarding the Euro were perfectlly summed up by today's Steve Bell cartoon in the Grauniad:

Elsewhere, things all seem to have gone a little gay. The news that Homo sapiens nearly became extinct was the first sign that all might not be well in the world of breeders. Repeated rumours that the gay mafia controls most of our media might be justified with the high number of related articles in the past day or so. The House of Lords is supporting a Gay Loo Sex Ban and cash-strapped Czech soldiers have resorted to posing for porn to "make ends meet". I giggled when I read that the name of the Head of the Castle Guard quoted in that article was one Mr Pekar, although being a Slavo-glot, I'm aware that his name means "baker" not "throbbing manshaft". I also read about Britain's most famous transsexual (not strictly gay, I know) and revisited Channel 4's excellent Gay-O-Meter. In case you're wondering I ended up with a very respectable 56% Gay, which is probably justified as I'm hardly a screaming Mary. Talking of which... I recently bought a copy of Kenneth Williams' Acid Drops, a fantastic collection of bitchy put-downs. For me, one of his most memorable creations was with Hugh Paddick as one half of Julian & Sandy from Round the Horne. Wickedly rude for their time, these sketches (La Casserole de Bona Gourmet is a good example) made extensive use of Polari, the gay slang of the time, to circumvent the stuffy BBC censors of the day and invoke the most outrageous level of innuendo. A fuller list of terms and their etymologies is available here.

A final faux-mosexual link takes us on to these fake fags stickers. Oh, the punnage! I think I might crawl off and die now. Tomorrow, I'll get back on the straight and narrow...

:: Concorde's Final Flight ::

...so we're at bAsTaRd, right? an' its the hottest one evahhh. might be 'cos this is the most people Tigger's ever dragged down here. an' my Iraqi Info Minister T-shirts wet through in 2 minutes from the sweat an' spilled beer. so we're moshin' down at the front, right? me an' Tigger's mate. an' the DJ wants a lighter, so I chuck mine over, but it's ok, he's got one already. so I swim through the crowd to get it back, cos I want a fag now too. an' there's a fuck-off queue for the pisser and the bar, an' we go outside to get some air. have a bit of a chat with Churchill. so when we get back in, it's like walking in an oven full of writhin' eels and Tigger's chatting/arguing with some bloke, an' a rush of air heralds the arrival of... BARBA REI. an' the crowd's cheering their heads off as a 6-foot model concorde is brought in over our heads, led by a man who's dressed like a fly. an' the Freelance Hellraiser comes on, the fly guy has a snake on a stick, an' he's dangling it in our mouths. an' someon'e waving a flag, but I can't read what's on it, an' people are usin' it to wipe the sweat off their faces. an' then Tigger turns to me an' says...

"Isn't that Red T-Shirt Boy? I'm not sure, he looks really short, though. Do you still think he's cute?"

Mmm, well. I'm not so sure now. I suppose he still is. That was bAsTaRd - a bit of a blur. It rocked as usual - as did we, according to Tigger. We we're both lucky enough to have brought dry clothes to wear on the way home. No doubt the usual embarrassing photos of the gurning throng will soon appear. I hope not to be in too many of them. Other than that, I've been busy trying to complete a project at work (*yawn*) before one of my bosses gets back (*double yawn*). Did this stop me taking the geek test? I hear you cry. No. I'm officially 15.3% geek. Certainly better than my "pikey test" score... I also read that Joel Veitch's fab RatherGood has won an award. Woo! and Yay! to the dancing punk kittens. Red Rum's been keeping an eye on the news and espousing the virtues of the Buzzwordometer. This fiendihly clever tool will assess the relative "buzzwordosity" of different sites (at present: Microsoft scores 999, my company - 448, this site - 277, Taxloss - 219, Hypatia - 157, PopBitch - 150 and the mighty b3ta - 17.

Incidentally, you'll be pleased to hear that there's now an Australian version of b3ta, which dsico might not appreciate too much (I note that this has been contructed by a Kiwi). He did, however, play cropstar's excellent new boot combining Gay Bar and Hey Mickey. This also happens to be a good clip featuring Gay Bar (sound required). If you like spliced clips of dubya then listen to this. Oooh, let's play "spot the tortuous segue"...

Final highlights to round off the week have been the fabulous mosque shaped alarm clock (is this a real product?), some lovely footage of Anthea Turner (again, sound required for full effect) and the world's worst singer.

So it's good night from me, and good night from these nice men with handbags...

:: Corporate Whores and Beer-Sodden Fools ::

"I'm sorry to announce that the 21.25 service to Sevenoaks has been delayed due to a drunken passenger"

Lured by the promise of free booze and pork pies, most of my company were herded into the newly refurbished ground floor of the office at 5.30pm yesterday. The sting in the tail was the dreaded company presentation, outlining our progress during the past year. This ideal opportunity to play Bullshit Bingo was mercifully short due to the absence of one of the directors and I managed to consume a goodly few glasses of vino over the 2 hour period. A little merry, but certainly not drunk, I wended my way to the station full of plans for some TV viewing and an early night. Hmmmph. Woke up as the train was pulling into Crofton Park at 8.30pm. Needless to say, I was somewhat peeved at missing my stop due to over-sleeping (would you believe there's a word for this in Russian? It's zaspatsya in case you're interested). No train back the other way for half an hour, but at least I was less far out than last time (Grove Park) and didn't have to rely on a nightbus. At Peckham Rye, I heard the above quotation over the tannoy, accompanied by titters on platform one. Gulping with relief that I wasn't the culprit, I was approached by a rude bwoy in the typical Sarf London mode. I quaked a little in my Onitsuka Tigers, but he was only coming over to ask if I'd heard the same as him...

When I finally did make it home, I spent a while playing text tennis with Pasha, arranging for him to pick us up from the airport when we arrive in St Petersburg. My only error was then to call my Dad with the news. I think he noticed my minor inebriation.

Starting with a quotation is a bit of a Hypatia thing to do, so I thought I might continue this theme into my next item. She and I both have a penchant for Slash Fan Fiction. These usually pander to the (often) sexual desires of the author by letting their idols (footballer, musicians, film stars etc.) act out their fantasies. This can range from the deeply perverted to the simperingly sweet. This article maintains that all Slash should involve two characters of the same sex. Not sure I agree about that, but titles such as "Welcome to Bisexuality, Captain Kirk" give the general idea. A word of warning: SOME OF THESE SITES VERGE ON BEING "NOT SAFE FOR WORK" - certainly some of their banner and pop-up ads are dubious. Imagine my delight, therefore, when I discovered a site dedicated to stories about Roy Orbison Wrapped In Cling Film. This is what the internet was invented for. Even now, I can picture Ulrich Haarbürste sitting at his computer, quoting me old mate, Percy Bysshe Shelley: "Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!". Doubtless, Barry Manilow was so distracted by this wayward genius's work that he walked into a wall and broke his nose.

Finally plug for the month's best club night, tomorrow. Antipodean bootleg whizkid, dsico will be putting in a special appreance:

:: Equine Eruptions ::

After the news yesterday that some old biddy had complained about a pensioner fiddling with horses willies, I was interested to note that today the man was acquitted - apparently he was feeding the beast with a "bag of mints". Alarmingly, this is not the first time equine ejaculation has flitted into the path of my consciousness. In between dozing I saw "highlights" of five's 99 Things To Do Before You're 30. I obviously didn't miss much when these programmes first went out last year. 4 presenters take it in turns to take part in second rate Jackass/Banzai activities. One of these involved intercepting a mounting stallion with a 2-foot faux-horsey-mimsy to collect his sperm. My dinner didn't taste quite the same after watching that.
Elsewhere I read that a lady in Suffolk had complained about her neighbour's noise pollution - the sound of their horse micturating loudly. And before I leave the topic altogether, here's a heartwarming story about a champion horse from today's Grauniad. Exactly the kind of anodyne shit to placate the American populace in the post-Iraqi War era... and to distract them from the fact that peace in the region is still far from a reality.

And now for a brief intermission. A b3ta beater from miaowweb:

Continuing my commentary on the "Land of the Free" and it's idiot-nonsavant president, two recent Guardian articles have caused further disquiet at Devukha Central. First came the news yesterday that freedom of speech is no longer free. It costs $125,000 to make your voice heard in a respectable US newspaper. Whilst veering towards the patently anti-democratic, Bush and most of the pandering right-wing press simply deride any dissenting voce as immoral. (Talking of which, Tucker Max's stories of debauchery are well written, if a little frat-boy for my liking - look at the one about his "most disturbing conversation ever"). Bush's subsequent assault on "old Europe's" resistance to American GM crops flies in the face of any opinion poll that's ever been run in this continent. Not only is GM food unwelcome here, but it should certainly not be foisted upon farmers of the developing world as Bush insinuates. I find it insulting in the extreme that he can stand up and fight the corner of big US business to make profits out of the destitute and hungry in Africa. Not only would these disadvantaged members of the world community have to pay more for their GM seeds, but they would then be obliged to hand back remaining seeds the following year (rather than planting them) due to patent laws. Shame on you, Dubya.

All diatribes must come to an end. This one concludes with happy news from Tigger. She sent me the following to show some people making their own Weebl and Bob characters:

Guess what we're planning to do this weekend. Bags I make Wee Bull!