The Secret Life of Daleks

Celia had a strange dream the other night, about the scenario where the Daleks are part of a Union.

Yes, bear with us, don't move off to a more sensible website.

It does bear the question, what do the Daleks do when they're not murdering and invading? Do they have down-time? Do they have a home-life? Hmmmmm.... we both had a think...

Scene i:

(Two Daleks come on from stage right: interior crappy Wetherspoons pub)

(Dalek 1) Jeff: Awright Pete?

(Dalek2) Pete: Yeah, awright Jeff.

Jeff: So, how's the missus Pete?

Pete: (wiggles his eye-stalk) Doing awright thanks mate, y'know... typical wife really. She's a lovely piece of kit, but at the end of the day, she's a Cylon, know wot I mean? And you know how they are.... they just give you grief year in year out... especially as she's old-skool Cylon. Should have hung on for one of those sleek new blonde ones!! But she's got a heart of gold. Literally. With wires and everythink.

Jeff: (wiggles plunger in exasperation) You know, my Pauline, a real goer in the that department, know worramean, but gawd, she's a real Cybernightmare when she goes off on one... "Why aren't you hoovering the stairs, blah blah blah". I hate the bastard that wrote it in that we could hover. I could pretend not to make it to the top landing before that.

Pete: Yeah mate you've got the worst of both worlds there mate...emotionless and a woman.

Jeff: Too right. I bought her a gold necklace the other week. She went mental. Coughing & spluttering everywhere. How was I to remember she's allergic?

(Jeff and Pete both take a moment to dip their plungers into a pitcher of Lager)

Pete: Burrrrp. 'scuse me. Always catches me circuits that does.

Jeff: Y'know...I do wonder sometimes why we do this job. That Davros is always goin' on about 'supremacy' and 'extermination' - but where does it get us?

Pete: Nowhere. Some perks would be nice, other than the obvious job satisfaction of exterminatin'.

Jeff: Job satisfaction? What job satisfaction? I go home mentally tortured after a day of murder destruction and mayhem, "Exterminate this", "Exterminate that"... it's always the bleeding same, century in, century out. I got home the other day and exterminated the cat by accident. It doesn't make socialising any easier either- I always end up killin' potential mates. Remember the Orion curryhouse incident?

Pete: hmm gotta point there son. I do think that Sontaran asked for it though.

Jeff: Yeah. Bloody rugby crowd. Anyway (hushed dalek tone) I think, right, we, that's us two, should form a Union.

Pete: WHHHAAATT??

Jeff: Shhhhhhhhh... yeah mate...a union!

Pete Why would I want to be in a Union?

Jeff: Well... errrr, look at your working hours for a start. For me, after 12 hrs, me laser starts to short circuit due to overuse. Surely its against UEC regulations?

Pete: Hmmmm...

Jeff: AND what about pay?

Pete: Pay would be nice.

Jeff: EXACTLY mate. Davros is there, lording it about, fancy buttons to push and everything, prawn sandwiches, Rigellan wine and what do we get? Not even Luncheon vouchers.

Pete: Errmm...

Jeff: AND it's very well for the fat Emperor to sit on his backside in his fancy spaceship orderin' us about, giving it all that about worshipping him, but who's gonna tell my missus that our two week holiday on the Costa Skaro is cancelled due to another ill prepared "invasion of the planet Earth"??!!

Pete: (sips more lager through his plunger) That'll be you Jeff.

Jeff: Exactly - muggins 'ere. Another wasted two week invasion of Earth, only to be sent packin' by that bloke in that blue box and his latest bit of skirt, when I could be sunning it up by a pool with my Pauline.

Pete: (Pause) I did like the curly haired one though, him with the scarf. He was alright- he gave me a few jelly babies once. Nice bloke.

Jeff: Yeah yeah, I'll give you that. Better than that psycho from Salford last year. He wouldn't give you the time of day.

Pete: Yeah. he just had a hissy fit and started flappin'. His bird had to sort that out.

Pete and Jeff (together): Northern poof.

Pete: She was a bit of awright though.

Jeff: You shouldn't be looking. You newly married and all. But this brings me back to my point. Our working conditions are the worst in the galaxy.

Pete: Such as?

Jeff: Well as I said - no pay, no contracted working hours - and no sick leave. Davros makes you commit hari-kari if you have a sniffle.

Pete: Yeah look at Mike last year. Poor sod.

Jeff: PLUS... plus... (sips more lager, getting more and more loud and drunk) plus...no contract, no bonus pay. No overtime. In fact... no pay at all - supposed to do it for the greater "Supremacy Of The Daleks". Tell that to my bank manager. Didn't help me get that bank loan from him.

Pete: No way... and after you fixed his sink as well. Did you....?

Jeff (burps loudly) Exterminate him? Yeah.

Pete: Fair do's.

Jeff: AND we have to put that stupid voice on. "DO NOT MOOOVE" and so on. Bloody daft in this day and age.

Pete: Yeah. In the 70's, they made me sound like Zippy from Rainbow.

Jeff: He was Davros' brother you know. Still, at least putting that voice on for thirty years helped me lose that Welsh accent. AND that Davros - he ain't so hard & clever y'know. He's crap without wheelchair access. And can he nip into any branch of Halfords for spare parts? Nope.

Pete: He thinks giving us a spray-job of metallic car paint is giving us an upgrade.

Jeff: Exactly mate. Diabolical liberty.

Pete: Although... the missus quite liked it. I was council-house grey before. And I had a kitchen whisk replaced by a proper laser, like. It was a bit of a face lift.

Jeff: I bet she gave you the eye when you came in the house looking like that, eh? Whorrrrrrrr.

Pete: Awww, she loved it- she was bombin' around like KITT off of that Knightrider. Zoom-zoom, zoom-zoom, her little eye went. So romantic.

Jeff: Aww. Lahhhh-vely.

Pete:(looks at watch) Cor blimey, I better get back to her... I only told her I was nipping out to the jetwash for a clean. You know, that old Davvy might think he's the Boss, but we know who the real boss is don't we mate.

Jeff: Bruce Springsteen?

Pete: No you dolt. Her Indoors.

Jeff: Ohhh. Yeah. Do you think the woman behind the bar will let me use the disabled bog?

Exit Left.

No butt yeah butt no

Well, Italy won the World Cup, as I hoped. Funny thing was, that with all the build up to the match, and all the talk of it being Zidane's last match, I stated to lean towards wanting the French to win.

Extra time sorted that one out.


Whatever a player may say to you on the pitch, you don't react, certainly not with your head. Certainly not when you're ten minutes away from penalties, and when you're the man the rest of the team will be looking upto as chief penalty taker.

Zinedine Zidane is a player that, as a neutral, you looked as a class above the norm. I've watched him play at Old Trafford against us in Champions League matches and he was a class act to be admired. Okay, he has that Gallic temperament, like many before him, and he could get a bit naughty. But there's a time and a place for that. And when it's your last ever game for your country and professionally, in the bloody World Cup final, you'd expect more than headbutting an opponent as if it was a common assault in a pub car park.

It may or may not have affected the outcome of the match. After all, the coach made some odd substitutions bearing in mind a penalty shootout was looking very likely. So well done to the Italians for beating that penalty hoodoo. But if you're French, right now you'll be looking for someone to blame, and Zidane has more than filled the role of the World Cup pantomime villain, previously played by Ronaldo earlier in the tournament.

All that experience, all those medals, all that acclaim. Yeah, it'll all be remembered in time, but at the moment, all that will be thought when you mention Zidane is of that headbutt.

Grudge grudge, wink wink

There's still apparently a football tournament going on. Somewhere in Europe I think. Oh yeah, Germany.

Let's face it, since England got knocked out, who gives a toss? It's now not a question of who you want to win, more of the team you'd like to win that you least hate.

Celia & I were supporting the Germans. "Ah, but what about the war? You can't do that" I hear some of you exclaim. Well, that's the past and nothing to do with new Germany, just as the new German side under Klinnsman is nothing like the German sides of old (Rudi Voller's comedy 'tasche haunts me to this day). Celia has family in Germany (Guten tag, Nici!) and I was following them because out of all the sides that have taken part, I think they're probably the ones that have been the most consistent and played within the true spirit of the tournament.

AND they've got a player called Bastian Schweinsteiger, who sounds like a character out of a German 70's sitcom, where every week at the end of the episode he'd get into some godawful predicament with his trousers down, with another character shaking his fist at him shouting "Schweinsteiger!!!" before fading to the credits with a theme tune that is a cross between "Van Der Valk" & "Man About The House".

Ahem.

So often it is the case that the host nation plays well as the pressure is off them to an extent - look at England in Euro 96 for a prime example of this, and what a joy that was, even if the Germans beat us (again!).

So it was a bit of a downer that Italy sneaked a victory against the Germans the other night. If it had gone to penalties, it was a dead cert the Italians would be the ones crying. Realistically, though, the Italians deserved to win that one, and I hope that they beat France in the final, as:

a) we hate the French (must be true -"The Sun" says so), and
b) it would mean that most Italian restaurants up and down the country can replace that tatty picture of the 1982 World Cup winning squad.

It was pleasing that Germany won the meaningless 3rd place play-off final against Big Phil's Portugeuse side. Which brings me to Cristiano Ronaldo. What a
c***. Strong words I know, but hey, I'm a Manchester United fan, and frankly, contrary to the song, he's never been as good as Beckham & he's not welcome back at OT. Yes I know he's a great player but that wink has done it for me. He knew what he was doing when he waded in to nag the referee (after all, that part and parcel for a United player) and yes, Rooney deserved a sending off but slimeball Ronaldo shouldn't have been involved - his little wink to the dug out to say "job done" goes totally against every thing I love about the game. It's nothing to do with England getting knocked out, we were crap and didn't deserve to be there. The boy has so much talent, but his predilection for diving and cheating, whilst the norm for Portuguese teams, has no place in a United team. It was gratifying to see that the football fans really appreciated his talent during the rest of the tournament by booing his every touch of the ball.

United fans defended Beckham to the hilt following France 98 when everybody was gunning for him - yes he was petulant and he got sent off but there was nothing in his behaviour which could make you call him a cheat. We'll do the same for Rooney next season - he's a genius but he's got that red mist he can't control yet, but only because he loves the game and wants to play, and those who stop him get a kicking.

However, Ronaldo can cock off to Real Madrid as far as I'm concerned. He seems to be burning his bridges with the club anyway, saying he's had no support from the management. Fine, put your own spin on it, son. We've only nurtured you through some difficult times for you, and so this is how the fans who've tolerated your wingeing and crappy stepovers in lieu of actual goals are repaid is it? If you stay don't be surprised to get a frosty reception, son.

Pet Shop Boys, obviously

Liverpool. Never my favourite place in the UK but when one of your favourite bands is playing there on their first tour dates in 4 years, you have to bite the bullet and make the effort to travel to land of bindippers. And so we did.

Summer Pops is a month long series of concerts set each year in a very large tent in the middle of Liverpool docklands, usually featuring MOR/Radio 2 fodder doing their old hits, so to non-fans PSB would seem like the ideal choice for this sort of show. However, Messrs Tennant & Lowe have never been ones to trade on their past and as they were back on form with the superb new “Fundamental” album, it was a no-brainer to head the wrong way down the East Lancs Road to see them.

Bearing in mind I’m an experienced gig-goer, Summer Pops was a bit of an eye-opener. Firstly I was shocked at how easy it was to get to the venue, and how many gigs have you been to where you could safely park opposite the entrance 50 yards away? Not being the most glamourous locale (lovely view of some gravel there) but who cares? It was so civilised! No queues, no aggression, everybody was just chilled. Plus! Plenty of clean toilets!. Great. Not many young fans there, but it wasn’t full of screaming queens as the media would have you believe make up the fan base of PSB (but that’s a rant for another day).

Avoiding the out of tune begging bagpiper on the way in, myself & Celia took advantage of the hot summer evening to potter outside the tent having a quick drinkie, whilst listening to the din of the support act, Client, who were a bit generic electro pop and not really worth bothering with. One tray of chips and a couple of t-shirts later we entered the main arena, to find that our seats were really rather good, with a fine view of the stage (though I did have the obligatory 6ft bloke sat in front of me).This wasn’t going to be a problem though as there was no way anybody would be sitting. Although there were a few thousand people there, it was really quite intimate and personal.

The last PSB show we saw was in 2002, when they were going through their “real band” phase, with no theatrics and musicians on stage. It soon became apparent that this was more like the old “Performance” days, when the two dancers appeared dressed as Neil & Chris, before the real duo wandered onstage opening with the compulsively repetitive “Psychological” from the new album.

What initially looked like a dull stage set soon inventively transformed when they kicked into “Left To My Own Devices” & “I’m With Stupid”, with video projections, lights, and bizarre props (giant cowboy hat? Check. Man dressed as a top hat? Check. Bush & Blair? Check) turning what was a good gig into the best personal party you’ve ever had. Celia had turned into a teenager next to me and was frugging away like it was 1990.

This was PSB having fun. Neil strode the stage all night, giving his all and sounding better than ever whilst Chris stood stage right clad in trademark hat & coat, tinkling away at the synth & probably surfing the net on his Mac, occasionally grinning. Merging new track “Minimal” to the old forgotten classic “Shopping” was an inspired move. For the first time in years they played “Rent” in its original form, and it sounded fresh.

The dancers gave their all, dressing up as gold lame cowboys for “Streets”, wearing flowers on their head whilst popping up from behind gigantic Pythonesque cardboard Chris & Neil heads during “Always On My Mind”. Old hand Sylvia Mason-James complemented the two male backing vocalists fantastically throughout.

Not all fun though. We had the obligatory sit-down where us oldies could rest our dancing feet. “Dreaming Of The Queen” was quite sombre and moving, with video footage of the Diana Funeral procession projected onto the movable stage backdrop. Surprise of the night for me was the album snoozefest “Numb” which came alive on stage, especially poignant as it was used the night before on BBC’s World Cup coverage to accompany the montage of another England failure.

The show ended with possibly the best track off the album, “Integral”, which has instantly become a singalong fave, with Neil enjoying himself dressed as some military dictator. Cue the encore with a Tennant-less version of “So Hard” enabling him to have a costume change in time for the final salvo of “It’s A Sin” & the inevitable “Go West”, which caused an outbreak of chanting and pointing west. And that was just Celia.

The icing on the cake was when we left, sat in the car minding our own business, when a steward knocks on the window, and offers to guide us safely away from the venue through the traffic cones. How nice. I can recommend the Summer Pops to anybody (though anybody who went to watch “Whitesnake” the next night needs help).

Whilst I guess nothing is going to top their “Performance” tour, this was in a league of it's own.


Setlist:
Psychological / Left to my own devices / I’m with Stupid / Suburbia / Minimal / Shopping / Rent / Always on my mind / Where the streets have no name / Home and dry / Numb / Dreaming of the Queen / West End girls / The Sodom and Gomorrah Show / Opportunities (Let's make lots of money) / Integral

Encore:
So Hard (Morales mix) / It’s a sin / Go West