Film Monkey writes stuff

Toby, a friend, and I have a theory that everybody has an inner animal. This is the animal that you're most like and follow similar behavior patterns of. Toby has a tendency to become completely mentally and physically paralysed when faced with any sort of pressure - much like an opossum. His only method of defense is, essentially, to play dead.

I have long laughed at another friend, Cristabel, who is remarkably cat like. She'll sleep for the majority of the day, only waking to eat and wondered about the house. The only other activity she takes part in is grooming, but only between naps.

This is how Toby puts finding your inner animal:

I think that the time it takes to find your inner animal is mainly due to the necessary time it takes for most of us to overcome the obstacle of pride. What I mean to say is that most of us are not lions, although at first many of us undoubtedly fancy the notion that we are. I believe that it takes some time for one's pride to be eroded by the caustic truth. Thus at first you might say "ok, so perhaps I'm no lion, I'm more of a water buffalo", and then "well maybe I'm not a water buffalo, but rather a St Bernards dog". So with time and self-realisation one is gradually stripped, layer by layer, of the pride and self-esteem that once supported your personality. Not to do this though, is to lead a life of ill-comfort and niggling frustration in the knowledge that you are only deceiving yourself.

I have thought about this for a while and the closest thing I resemble is a squirrel, but not a very good one. I have this remarkable habit of keeping things, or rather, hoarding them. I have boxes filled with boxes of things that might be useful one day. I'll find something, then squirrel it away thinking "this will be useful". But, not only do I not go back, on the very odd occasion that I might remember I have something, I'll have no idea where it is and it will probably be one of the few items a year a throw out.

I actually caught myself putting a box of plasters in a half-full box of re-writable CDs this week, thinking that I'll remember that and come back to them later. I am a retarded squirrel.

What animal are you? Think about it.

Soon London will be at the polls to elect our next mayor. The problem is, Boris Johnson is running.

Now, I think Boris is a brilliant, funny man. He makes a great TV presenter and while I may not agree with his views, a good editor. His unique style in politics is refreshing.

However, he's not capable of running a city like London.

Take his idea for the Routemaster buses. He hasn't got a plan – he's going to run a competition if he gets elected. That's the first problem. Secondly, for the designer to be able to make them wheelchair and buggy friendly, the design will have to be radically different. They will not be the classic Routemaster buses that we all know and love. A modern version will not be a Routemaster, just an imitation. They won't be as good and we may as well kept our bendy buses, rather than spending £100 million. Or, as Ken is planning, spending on hybrid buses to make our city cleaner.

One of Boris' main objections is the new £25 Congestion charge. This will apply to so few people it really doens't matter, but, he claims that it effects many family-sized cars and they cannot afford to pay. First of all, if you have to drive into the congestion zone, then you can afford it. Secondly, if my father's 2.2 litre Alfa Romeo doesn't have to pay, then I can think of a great deal many other cars you could buy that are perfectly suitable. If you insist of driving a 4.2 litre Range Rover, then you can afford £25 a day. And you should pay.

Boris says that he will run a proper consoltation over the western extention of the congestion charge zone and if any residents veto it, it will be remove. Of course somebody will! If we ran consoltations where one person objected, the congestion zone would shrink to one house.

Yes Boris is a great guy and I can think of nobody better to do my wedding speech, present Have I Got News For You or have dinner with – but don't let him run a great city.

You've probably read Stuff White People Like, a comic blog, listing the many things that white people like. It's the whitest of white people, also called yuppies, rather than the entire race of white people, that it's aimed at.

An article in The New Republic (no I haven't heard of it before either) prompted much-respected blogger Jason Kottke to summarise the blog: "it's just kinda dumb."

Normally, I agree with most things that Kottke has to say, but on this occasion: uh-uh. I don't think he, or Sternbergh who wrote the article, like the fact they are guilty of falling into many of the topics discussed.

Yes, it's the same joke over and over – but most sitcoms rely on this for entire programmes (The Office, anybody?). It could be seen as racist, but I think we're all old enough to stop the witch-hunt now.

It is funny though, and I enjoy reading it. And so should you.

I've been to the United States of America a few times and really enjoyed my time. I've been skiing in New England, trekking in California, riding trams in San Francisco and discovered my favourite city away from London – New York.

I am aware that whoever the next President of the US is will have a small effect on my life. Not that massive, but if you elect an idiot who believes war is a good thing, then I think I can see where this is going. Hopefully our new PM has the balls to tell the President to go fuc...

But why, oh why should I give a pig's ear about these preliminary elections? Today, Hilary won something – Ohio or some other vegetable – and it is the main headline for all the major newspapers. Why? It doesn't mean anything – she can still loose. She could win this, but loose out to becoming President. It has no effect on the way I feel, the way I act or anything that I could ever possibly care or think about.

Today, MPs will be voting on whether we have a referendum about the EU treaty. This has serious effects on what happens to this country. If they vote to have a referendum, the public will undoubtedly vote against it because they're a bunch of pathetic morons who follow whatever the red-topped tabloids print (i.e. a load of bollocks) and we'll be even further away from Europe. Prices will remain artificially high, it'll push back joining the euro and it just makes look like a load of backwards thinking toffs. And how important a headline is that? The Guardian don't even consider it that, and the Times have it hidden away in the politics section.

Things are out of proportion.

Google makes more revenue from advertising in Britain than Channel 4, one of our leading commercial television channels. The BBC are to announce their iPlayer service this year, a "listen again" system for television programmes. You'll be able to watch whatever you want, whenever you want. Virgin Media is not worried at all about loosing Sky One and the other basic Sky packages. And you shouldn't either. You won't want to wait until 9pm to watch Lost, you can watch it when you want. On demand.

The internet will replace the television, it's as simple as that.

Straight away, you're thinking "I don't want to sit at my computer and watch things".

Nobody said you had to. Your computer is connected to your television, everything you watch is streamed or downloaded, when you want it. See Apple TV for more.

It breaks down existing advertising systems, which are already crumbling. Scheduling will no longer exist, it will simply be a case of getting the most amount of people to watch your programme (and its adverts).

Cinema may survive. As the technology in people's homes gets better, we may prefer to stay there. Would you not rather be sitting on a comfy chair with real food in a pleasent enviroment than sitting in a smelly cinema, with rubbish food and somebody on their phone behind you?

It's easier and cheaper than ever to make a programme now. Most people have a basic webcam or digital video camera. Anybody who's bought a computer in the last 6 years has editing software.

The next five to 10 years will see a radical change in the way we watch films and programmes. I just wish that I was at the top, starting companies like Joost.

I was flicking through Sir Richard Branson's autobiography this week and he makes things seem so damn easy. He would say to this "why don't you just start a company then?" Well right now, I don't really know how with my resources. Joost have the experience of Skype and Kazaa behind them, plus a lot of money. Sir Richard started his airline, Virgin Atlantic, in three months – from finding a plane to the first flight with paying customers. However, he happened to have a record company lying around that he sold for a cool million.

All I've got is some washing up and the remains of a (tasty) bakewell tart.

I was about to get my train back to university on Sunday and I fancied a hot chocolate. It was a little chilly in town and I didn't have my coat (March? spring! warm? lies...), so I decided I deserved one.

Off to Café Nero in Paddington. Could I have a hot chocolate please?

"Medium or large?"

What happened to small?

There seems to have been an ongoing quest to remove small. Whilst trying on shirts in Zara, I was offered the choice of Medium, Large, Extra Large or Extra, Extra Large. The medium one fitted well, but I'd just like to know how small "small" could be. I asked, and was told that Zara don't make small. Medium is small.

Now I'm not that small. Well I am sort of, I have a 29" waist and generally wear small sizes. But I'm not medium.

I don't think men not suppose to be small? Is that what the problem is? Surely any offense that is caused by calling me small is counter balanced by calling reasonably big people "XXL".

So back in Café Nero... "Regular, please" – hoping for something that wasn't the size of my head. And sure enough, quite a small hot chocolate was presented to me.

It wasn't regular, it was small. But they don't get that for some reason.

1. Make sure you're really dead
2. Think about the worms...
   

The original bid for the London 2012 Olympics said the budget would be about £2.4 billion ($4.5bn). Now they've admitted they forgot to include VAT (sales tax) and a few other things, such as higher security risk and a much higher price of steel, the culture sectary admited it may cost £3.3 billion ($6.3bn).

I looked into this. It's still waaaay off. The 2004 Olympics in Athens eventually cost £9.35 billion ($18bn). There is no way that London can be cheaper than that. London is one of the most expensive cities in the world and if Athens had to spend that sum, then London will easily beat it.

So on that basis, and after the cock-up of the Wembley stadium in west London, I am going to set a realistic budget for the games so that in 2013 when they're looking back, they can see how right I was.

My estimated budget for the London 2012 Olympic games: £11 billion ($20bn)

This morning I had a meeting with my course leader, a man I greatly respect. He's done a lot of impressive work that I admire. I have a lot of time for somebody who is so passionate about what they do and how they help. My filming-partner and I sat down to discuss our film with him and all I could ever say was annoying stupid comments.

Before we met with him, we went over all the bits of the film. We know what we're making a film about and hopefully we'll get to meet our star later this week. We've got a great idea and it should be a nice film. Yet somehow, I manage to stumble, say something that really isn't very funny at all and leave my friend to pick up the pieces, explaining how far we've actually got.

What's even more annoying about my comments are that I know, just as I'm saying them, that they're stupid. The device which stops me from saying stupid things breaks whenever I meet somebody I respect.

Even more annoyingly, this also happens with women. I'm the friendliest, most gentle person in the world with everybody I know, but if I admire somebody, somehow all the crap that I save just falls out of my mouth and I look like an idiot.

You'd think, if I know all this, it shouldn't be hard not to make a fool of myself. But somehow, because I know this, it runs around in my head taunting me for a while. I stop myself from saying something, then it jumps out of my head and I make one of those jokes where your buttocks tense up because you're so embarrassed for me.

What's your method for calculating a tip?

Restaurants: 10%, if they have impressed me and made an effort. Taxis: round up to the nearest pound. I don't tip anybody else.

(Yes I'm a stingy bastard)