I haven’t written in a while, mostly due to overloading myself with obligations and activities. I was wondering what to write about, and instead of writing any old mundane twaddle about things that irritate me, I thought I’d go beyond irritations and write about something that actually infuriates me.

Capital punishment. In a nutshell, a barbaric, medieval practice that I don’t believe can be justified in our world today. Thankfully, in the UK we abolished the death penalty several decades ago, but astonishingly, capital punishment still occurs in the US.

I have a few thoughts on the subject; I don’t want to turn this into a huge discussion, so I’ll lay my thoughts out simply.

In my eyes, capital punishment is completely and utterly wrong, because it is wrong for a human being to take the life of another human being

• “But they took the life of a human being, so they deserve to die themselves!”

Yes, maybe they are a dispicable human being, and yes, maybe they do deserve to die. But NOBODY has the right to kill them. Just as they did not have the right to commit murder, nobody else has the right to murder them. There is a difference between deserving death, and someone having the right to make that happen.

• “But imagine if it was your child who they did that to!”

Well, of course I would want to throttle them to death! Of course my emotions would be running high, I would be willing someone to do to this bastard what they did to my child. That is why I don’t get to choose what happens. Human rights are human rights.

• “But it will deter others from committing crimes”

Nope. It has been proven not to be a deterrent.

Add to this the fact that it has been proven that there have been many innocent people executed and then exonerated (bit too late now!), and I honestly cannot get my head around why people are in favour of capital punishment.

When I’m not writing about hating various brands of deodorant, looking after my tortoises, or working in an IT office, I do a lot of music-related things in my spare time. I decided to write a bit on here about Televox, a band I cyber-met over a year ago, and who a small portion of my life revolves around.

It started off with Fuzznut. Another music project. Fuzznut is a music website, full of reviews and features…well, we’ve been a bit lax updating it recently, but it’ll pick up again soon enough. We have a fantastic writer, Geoff, who is based in L.A. I can’t say enough nice things about this guy, he is just fantastic. Anyway, Geoff wrote a review of Televox. At the time, I had branched out into club nights, namely Rusty Cage, a grunge rock club night in Manchester, which I DJed and promoted with a friend. Incidentally, Cage is on it’s way to a massive relaunch soon…

SO Televox got to know Geoff, saw I was into music promotion, and asked me to book them gigs. The rest is history. Now Geoff and I take care of gig bookings, online presence and promotion for them.

It can be a lot of work- getting the gigs at the times they can come from Paris (oh yeah, forgot to mention that chestnut) to Manchester can be a nightmare, and getting people to show up for gigs can be even harder.

But I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think they were fantastic. They ARE fantastic. They have so much natural talent and enthusiasm, I WANT to do this stuff for them because I truly believe they deserve to be successful.

I try and get my friends interested. Some of them love Televox, others aren’t really music fans, others just don’t bother even reading gig promotion emails.

The people who come to the gigs are always blown away by the spectacular that is Televox performing live. They wipe the floor with the other bands on all the nights. If people would just come and watch, just once, they’d be hooked…it’s just getting them down there in the first place.

It helps that Televox are the loveliest boys you could ever wish to meet…another reason why I happily spend hours on Facebook and MySpace promoting them.

Well I’ve blathered on about them for a while…why not check out Televox for yourself. Here is a live performance of ‘Foreign Land’, one of my favourites:

Televox – Foreign Land from Televox on Vimeo.

So hey, if you like it and you’re in the area, why not come down to the last gig we’re doing this year. It’s at the Green Windmill in Stretford, South Manchester. Feel free to email me for directions (hazel@televoxmusic.com), and come and say hello on the night…we’re a friendly lot.

I have one other night coming up, also at the Windmill. It’s a band night this time. Metal and rock bands, four each night. The first one is on December 18th…I’ve got my bands sorted but I’m shitting myself that people won’t turn up. In theory, the bands will bring people, and it’s a good venue that might get a decent enough crowd anyway. But I’m still shitting it. It’s called Rockstock by the way.

That’s all of my projects currently. I do all this for free by the way. The way I see it, most rock nights are shit, so instead of complaining…why not try and do a better one?

Oh hey there, I notice you’ve just switched me on but you know, I’m a laid back kind of guy and it takes me a while to wake up in the morning. Oh-oh-ohhhh there we go! Ready for business! So, what can I do for you….what the hell? You want to OPEN OUTLOOK?? Oh ok, since it’s you I’ll give it a go….ohhhh that huuurrrts….the things I do for you. Ok, I’ve done that for y- WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING??

You clicked on an email.

Do not want.

DO NOT WANT.

DOES NOT COMPUTE.

BLLLLLLLLLUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGHHHCRASHCRASHCRASHCRAAAAAAASSSSSSHHHHHHHH

I am 25 years old. Still young, but not as young as I used to be. In the words of Janet from the film Singles, “Somewhere around 25 bizarre becomes…immature”. God, I can’t believe I’m now older than Janet. 

So after much thought and soul-searching, here are 30 things I want to do by the time I reach the big 3-0.

1. NOT get married
2. Own at least one more tortoise
3. See Pearl Jam live at least one more time
4. Actually read all the books I own
5. Learn to ride a motorbike
6. Go on tour with a band on a tour bus
7. See some of my friends get married 
8. Have a birthday party (I haven’t had an actual party since I was under 10)
9. Go to Seattle
10. Finally accept that I’ll never be skinny, and be happy about it
11. See my friends Televox achieve the success they so deserve
12. Be in a job I don’t dread going to every day
13. Live in another country for at least a month
14. Meet more rock stars
15. Successfully breed tortoises
16. Touch Adrien Brody’s nose, just once
17. Have a walk-in shoe storage room 
18. Own property
19. Have Greg Dulli and/or Mark Lanegan write a song about me (OK, so this will never happen but a girl can dream)
20. Complete the game Rock Band with my band The Wooly Motherf*ckers
21. Take two weeks off work for Preston Guild and party harder than I ever have and ever will
22. Meet The Mighty Boosh and not wilt
23. Learn to speak another language enough to at least have a basic conversation
24. Get asked for ID at least 5 more times in my life when buying alcohol
25. Re-pierce my nose, even if it’s just for one night
26. Have a pair of glasses to go with any outfit
27. Stand at least one more time in the DJ booth at Rusty Cage watching a load of pissed grungers dance and be happy
28. Witness The Axel Vicious win the World Air Guitar Championships in Finland
29. Go to Glasto. It has to be done once I suppose.
30. Take 2 weeks of work, shut myself in at home, and live and breathe all the series of 24 in one go.

Since acquiring my two little tortoises, Dandelion and Baxter, my life has become quite weed-oriented. Not the kind of weed you might find in a student’s sock drawer, but the kinds that grow by the roadside and are the bane of those who like to garden.

Not just any weeds though, these have to be weeds that are safe to eat, and that haven’t been sprayed with any chemicals. I do like to aim for those that have not been trodden on or sprayed with dog piss, too.

So quite regularly, I traipse down to my favourite weed patch, behind Withington Hospital. There is a beautiful overgrown patch, full of dandelions and plantain and red clover, which my torts love. Once you own a tortoise, you’ll never look at weeds the same way again. I can’t walk past a patch of grass without eyeballing it in hope of some luscious looking dandy leaves. I practically did a victory dance when I found my first red clover patch. 

It can be somewhat of a chore at times, especially when it’s chucking it down with rain and passers by are shooting strange glances your way as you wade through tall weeds, clutching a carrier bag. But there are little torty mouths that need feeding, so what must be done, must be done.

A few weeks ago, to try and cut down on my weed-picking trips, and to ensure I wasn’t picking anything sprayed with anything nasty, I ordered some mixed weed seeds and plug plants. They were great, but I think I have the touch of death. All of my plug plants died, apart from my dandelions, which seem to be doing ok, but I wouldn’t say they were thriving. These are weeds for god’s sake! They will grow anywhere, against all the odds, they are survivors. But they won’t grow in my pot on my windowsill. 

It’s a massive pot too, so they’ve got lots of room. I nearly broke my back carrying the compost and pots home from the DIY shop, and that was after an embarrassing misunderstanding with the shop assistant. I think after I asked him for ’soil’ it became clear that I am not the kind of person who usually tries to grow things, and he asked what I was going to grow. A minute later and I realised we’d had a bit of a snafu, but before I left the shop I think he was convinced enough that I wasn’t growing anything illegal.

A few weeks on, I have some feeble dandelions, and a couple of promising looking thistle-type-things, but a torty banquet it ain’t.

Weeds: Nom

I’m fairly well known among my friends as having somewhat dodgy taste in men. Dodgy by most people’s standards, yes, but I just don’t think there’s anything attractive about the Ken dolls that adorn our magazine covers, and that seem to appeal to the Average Jane. Give me a big wonky nose, greying hair and an awkward demeanour any day over the likes of Brad Pitt and George Clooney. 

These men, these ‘conventionally attractive’ men; they’re just too perfect. BORING. Flaws make a person, both physically and characteristically. I’m especially fond of big Roman noses, the bumpier the better. I think it gives a very masculine structure to a face, and it makes me think of ancient statues and such. A very classical look. I could never be attracted to a man with a small nose, it’s just too feminine to me. Also, muscly physiques do absolutely nothing for me.  I find that level of vanity not in the slightest bit masculine, and as long as a man is not an unhealthy weight either way, anywhere inbetween is just fine. The only six-pack a man should have is in the fridge.

There seems to be a trend among young men at the moment that involves a lot more preening than is necessary. Suddenly, every bloke under 30 has a Tony and Guy structured haircut, that they mould to perfection with wax or gel. Again, not masculine. 

Intelligence is seriously underrated too. No matter how ‘attractive’ a man is, if he grunts like a caveman, then he is no good. And it’s not just stupidity being an unattractive quality; I become considerably more attracted to a man if they demonstrate that they are intelligent.  Cleverness is sexy. So is geekiness actually. Football apes not so much.

Age too, is important. I happen to think that a man’s peak age is roughly between the ages of 35 and 45. Men in their twenties often haven’t grown into themselves. They may still look a bit teenage, or not have a clue what suits them, or not yet have much confidence. A few lines and a bit of grey does wonders.

To illustrate a few of the things I’ve mentioned, here are a few of my perfectly imperfect favourites.

Louis Theroux: Total fox.

1. Louis Theroux

Very intelligent, and incredibly witty, Louis is also somewhat gentle and let’s face it, a little bit geeky. He’s tall, and lovely in every way.

Adrien Brody- Glass-shatteringly beautiful

2. Adrien Brody

Once described by a Guardian journalist as a ‘cross between Ross from Friends and a disappointed sundial’, it’s Adrien’s massive nose that does it for me. I have no idea what he’s like as a person, but I love his sorrowful eyes, and delicate face that is rudely interrupted by his huge conk.

Hey, we look quite good together, no?

3. Greg Dulli

Now, I don’t even think Greg is particularly unusual looking. A lot of women find him attractive, understandably so. The man is gorgeous. It doesn’t come across as much in pictures as it does seeing him live on stage. The guy just has ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ may be. But there are a lot of people who mock me for fancying him. Maybe it’s because he’s a little older than me (early 40s, the perfect age), or whatever. I don’t give a crap. For some reason I am quite taken by his side parting…and his nose of course.

Gene Hunt: I wish I was Bolly Knickers.

4. Gene Hunt (ok, Philip Glenister)

I’m sure Phil’s a top bloke, but it’s his alter ego Gene I’m more interested in. He’s disgusting and sexist and loud; but so ridiculously sexy. By the end of Life on Mars I had a raging crush on him. During Ashes to Ashes I wished I was Alex (partially for the outfits of course), and quite wished I would go into a coma and have ‘Property of Metropolitan Police’ stamped on my arse. I don’t normally go for blonds, but this guy is the exception. 

Theo Paphitis: The one thing to look forward to on Mondays

5. Theo Paphitis

This has to be one of my weirder crushes, but I have had the hots for Theo from the first time I saw him on Dragons’ Den. I occasionally like balding men, but only if they have a big nose. Theo’s nose is a nice shape, and he has the Meditteranean look that I go for. Ok, so you might think, ‘what does she see in MILLIONAIRE Theo Paphitis?’, but in all honesty, I’d fancy him despite his riches, and think that Mrs P is a very lucky lady.

Air guitar has, believe it or not, really taken off in the last couple of years. I went down to London both in 2007 and this year to watch my friend The Axel Vicious (in case you hadn’t guessed, this is his stage name) compete for a chance to go to Finland for the World Air Guitar Championships.

If, like me, you’ve watched Bill and Ted more times than is healthy, you’ll know that air guitar reduces air pollution, and therefore MUST be a good thing. If only we all spent a few minutes stood outside rocking out with our various brands of air guitar, we’d live in a world with a cleaner atmosphere.

I could go on about air guitar, but I think I’ll leave that to Axel. He’ll also tell you a little bit about himself.

And here are two of his stellar performances:

Right now, in the UK, there is a serious problem with women’s anti-perspirant deodorants. There has been what I can only describe as a backlash against using alcohol, with all brands now proudly emblazoned with ‘0% alcohol’ stickers, like it’s the greatest thing in the world.

I had been using Sure deodorants (the ones with alcohol in them) for years, since I was 12 and first started to wear deodorant. No deodorant ever came close to the performance level of Sure, and I was blissfully plodding through life with sweet-smelling underarms and no sweat patches. A couple of years ago, I was in Boots, and -Hello, what’s this?- next to the traditional Sure deodorants stood some weird milky looking ones with the ‘O% alcohol’ label. Gradually, the deodorants with alcohol were phased out until they were no longer available. I tried the no-alcohol ones, and here are the results of my comparison test:

Sure with alcohol ::::::::::::::::::::: Sure sans alcohol

Dries quickly                               Feels like you’ve put yoghurt in your armpits and won’t dry

Prevents sweating                       Puts up a feeble fight against the enemy that is sweat

Keeps you dry                             Feels unnervingly moist in the pit area all day

No smell after 12 hours              Smells as if you’d gone au natural, i.e. unpleasant

Do they not perform tests on these products? With the new deodorants, I can barely do anything, let alone cycle or do any exercise. They don’t dry, get all over your clothes, and do pretty much nothing to stop you from sweating. If you go to their website, all they go on about is ‘your delicate underarms’, which seems damn presumptuous to me. How do you know that all women have delicate underarms? Mine are perfectly fine thank you! Years of shaving and alcohol deodorants have built up quite a tolerance! What about women that don’t simply flit about all day being delicate, what about normal women, who have to get on boiling hot buses, who have to exercise, who have to cope with the tendencies of certain fabrics to absorb sweat like a bloody Weetabix absorbs milk??

I’ve tried other deodorants, and while better than the milky sweat-fest that is the new Sure, they are still 0% alcohol and are still not up to scratch. I’m not freakishly sweaty, but it gets damn humid in England sometimes, and I’d like to be able to cycle and occasionally get flustered without having to constantly check for sweat patches. Women wear tighter clothes than men, yet men still get alcohol in their deodorants. Where’s the justice in that?

Thankfully I just found some old Sures on ebay, so I bought 5 of them. But then what? How much more money can I spend trying out crap deodorants?

The Old Sure: I miss you, friend

The New Sure: my mortal enemy

I'd like to be the filling in that sandwich...

The Gutter Twins. What a band. Last night I once again had the pleasure of watching these gentlemen do what they do best. As they didn’t play Manchester (boooooo!), I went to the Liverpool gig with my sister.

As usual, I positioned myself mid-right during the support act (crazy singing chick Carina Round) and then when people rushed to the bar/loos, I made my beeline to the front. By the time the Twins came on, I was on the second row with a great view. Mwa ha ha haa! My front-of-gig plan never fails.

If you’ve ever seen Mark Lanegan or Greg Dulli live, you’ll know that Mark clings on to his mic stand for dear life, while Greg is much more active and wiggles himself around to an adoring crowd. I’ve honestly never met a casual fan of either Dulli or Lanegan, it’s always devotion and adoration. Perhaps they are not that well-known in the mainstream, but they have a lot of fans nonetheless.

They might not be your conventionally attractive Brad Pitts or George Clooneys, but I’ve never gone in for that anyway. Don’t get me wrong, the music always comes first for me. The fact that they’re both incredibly sexy is just a bonus. And their sex appeal has probably doubled for me based on my admiration of them musically.

Lanegan is just so brooding and mysterious…and that voice; when he opens his mouth and sings, it sends shivers down your spine. It’s both soothing and unnerving, and is one of the richest, deepest voices you’ll ever hear. Dulli has just got it, and I think he knows he has. His hair and nose do it for me, but that’s another story.

The Gutter Twins’ sound is dark and bluesy and rocky and beautiful in a sort of twisted way. You can see their admiration for each other on stage, I like that a lot.

I’ve met both of them at various points after gigs, Mark a few times and Greg just once. Mark is quiet, polite and a gentleman. Greg is friendly and maybe a little flirty. They were both very obliging with autographs and photos.

It makes me so genuinely happy to watch them live, they’re just one of those special few bands whose music really does it for me. Devotion always has a price though, and I must have lost several pints of fluid via my overwhelming sweatiness in that venue. I had to go and beg the bar at the train station (which was just closing) for some tap water as I was so damn dehydrated. Then I sat on a train for an hour. My poor ears, after an evening of aural delights, now suffering through various out-of-tune Scouse football chants.

All worth it though, of course

[Go here and you'll never look back]

I’ll miss you Computer. You might have noticed today that I spent a long time going through documents, deleting a lot, copying a lot. I changed your desktop pattern from a very toothy donkey back to Apple blue. Got rid of the Garfield picture and replaced it with the default HD image.

I picked you out of the catalogue, I set you up, I downloaded all sorts of software on to you that probably shouldn’t be allowed at work. I’ll miss using your little built in camera to take stupid pictures of myself to email to my friends.

I’ve been putting off telling you, but today, computer, today we must part ways. After today, I no longer work here. I’ll be going to a job where instead of 20 glorious white Apple inches I’ll be stuck with a midget Dell. Sad times.

Fear not, you’ll be going to a good home. You might even be glad that you’re no longer full of pictures of big nosed men and tortoises. Who knows. I hope looking at my face for the last two years hasn’t been too awful. I hope you’ll forgive me for those times I was impatient and click-happy and crashed you.

So, I guess I’ll see you around Computer. Thanks for everything.