Lookalikes! Porn Star, Ron Jeremy, and Supernanny, Jo Frost!
Posted by Jacko | Filed under Lookalikees, ManChat
This is a really short blog to tell you that I think that Ron Jeremy, famous, now fat and old, porn star, looks like Britain’s favourite TV Supernanny, Jo Frost. If you don’t believe me:
To quote the missus. “Seeeeee. I told you so.”
Anyone who doesn’t agree! BRING IT ON!
Jacko
p.s. Anyone got any good lookalikes that other people can’t see?
* * * *
This is a couple of weeks after I posted the original blog, but an artist mate of mine, Jeremy Lewis-Cope, has just sent me a pic proving the point. It’s bloody brilliant.
Can’t stop laughing at it!
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Tags: 9.5 inches, great yarmouth, jeremy lewis cope, Jo Frost, lookalike, Loughborough, mark jackman, Ron Jeremy, Supernanny, York
Jacko’s First Ever Book Signing
Posted by Jacko | Filed under Jacko: Author
August 23rd saw my first ever book signing in Borders, Gateshead. Book signing, huh? It took a while for it to sink in that I was actually going to do one. Those who have the displeasure of being one of my buddies will know that I started writing to stop playing Playstation. I was putting too many hours into Pro Evolution Soccer 3, and decided to plough my spare time into something a little more constructive, and gave writing a go. Those days are a distant memory: waking up on a Sunday morning with mild alcohol poisoning, vomiting through to four p.m., playing Master League on my PS2, flicking through the copy of Razzle that had mysteriously appeared by my bed, vomiting a bit more until the Chinese opened at six and I could put in my order for chicken fried rice, curry sauce and chips, flick through Razzle once more, and then pass out. When Queen sung the words “Those Were the Days of Our Lives,” I will remember those happy times, and I like to think that Roger Taylor penned those words whilst pulling a quick one to Reader’s Wives, hungover, waiting for his Chinese to turn up.
Writing has turned into something more than a past-time, and I have not played Playstation since, and not just because I bought an Xbox (although that is probably the main reason). What I am trying to say is that I never thought that I would get this far and it all hit home with the book signing. A book signing…that’s what authors do! It was a very surreal moment indeed and I would like to thank everyone who has helped make this possible.
To the book signing! I am still in the infancy of my writing career, with The Great Right Hope only being released asa paperback about four weeks only, so I was certainly not expecting to be greeted with a queue like this:
And I wasn’t.
Nope, I was much luckier than that.
The first two people I met were Jim Brown and Zetta Brown, the husband and wife team behind LL-Publications, the publishing house who are behind big Sid Tillsley and The Great Right Hope, may he bring them lots of money and little hate mail. It was the first time that we had met in person and a great moment. I was lucky enough to be part of a double act, and Ellen Dean was also signing her book, Beautiful Stranger. I’d like to say a big thanks to Ellen who made me feel very much at home sat in front of a store full of people. Ellen gave me loads of hints and tips on marketing as she has been promoting Beautiful Stranger for the last two years and her and her partner Gloria are book promoting gurus! It was very enlightening, and so much fun as they are both as mad as a box of frogs! Thanks to Ellen, Gloria, Zetta and Jim for making it such a fantastic day, and cheers to Peelo for keeping me company in the car.
From left to right, Peelo (the missus), me, Jim (publisher), Ellen, Gloria (Ellen’s partner), Zetta (on camera-LOL)
So what you are all gagging to know is whether I sold any books or not? And the answer is, thankfully, yes. Seven to be precise. Not a huge number, but it was never going to be. It was a great learning experience, and I think it is something that I can build on. Writing really is the easy part. It is the promotions that are the hard work, and I am now learning the craft.
Let me tell you about the first person I signed a book for. His name was Alan, or at least I think it was.
Alan didn’t really want to come and see me, but, like a lioness picking out a sick gazelle, Gloria sensed weakness. She attacked him when he wasn’t expecting it and made him approach me at the desk. I shook Alan by the hand, he asked me about my book and I told him all he wanted to know. No pressure was added by myself, and young Alan asked for a copy to be signed. “Do you want me to sign it to you, Alan?” asked I. “Erm….actually…..no,” he said, shiftily. “I see,” said I, narrowing my eyes, smelling something fishy. I gave Alan the book and he was on his way. I watched him take it down to the tills, and then, he slyly changed direction, and came back towards me. He walked confidently to the bottom of the stairs, just near where I was stationed, and pretended to look upstairs, as if he was trying to find someone. Up he went…and never came down.
The book was found later, dumped on an information stand.
My first ever signing…dumped.
I don’t know where Alan went. Like Keyser Söze, he disappeared without a trace. “The greatest trick that Alan ever pulled, was convincing Borders the book didn’t exist.” There was one exit! He must have leapt out of the window of Starbucks or escaped through the ventilation system. Why did he ask me to sign it?
Alan, if you are reading this, please explain your actions on the bottom of this blog and I’ll send you the book for free!
As an author at a book signing, you also develop another special power: Superman, The Man Of Steel’s heat vision.
People refuse to make eye contact with you, as if you have leprosy or work for N-Power. This old fella was reading my banners and then he slowly raised his line of sight to see me looking at him, and he cowered as if I was a Nazi stormtrooper, and not one of the nice ones. He had to walk past me to get to his interest section, and every time I looked up he wilted, and moved away from me. I think I could have driven him into the sea, like in 300, just with the power of the “Author’s Eye.”
It was a good day though. Book signings are not big business in terms of sales, even for the big boys, but are ways of gaining exposure. People see your name, see your work and then can go back into the book shop later. Borders, Gateshead is the first non-web bookshop to store my book, and that’s a cool feeling, knowing a kind educated Geordie can walk in, pick it up and steal it.
The next book signing for me will be in Waterstones in Loughborough, and hopefully more will come as a result. I’m hoping to visit Borders in Leicester, York and Norwich. Hopefully, I’ll see you at one, and you too, Alan.
Jackman and Dean converse with a fan, a small child and a gothic person.
Jackman signs a book which is not dumped.
“Honestly, the toilets were like that when I got here.”
Special thanks to Ryan, Jane, Norm and Ruth the Goth, for popping in and saying hello! I’m glad you have met my girlfriend, and I hope you’ll finally believe that I am straight.
Tags: Beautiful Strange, Book Signing, Borders, comedy, Ellen Dean, Gateshead, goth, horror, humour, Jacko, Jim Brown, Leicester, Loughborough, mark jackman, Norwich, Playstation, Pro Evolution Soccer, Queen, Reader's wives, Roger Taylor, Sid Tillsley, Team Valley Retail Park, The Great Right Hope, Vampire, Waterstone, Xbox, York, Zetta Brown
TRAINHOP
Posted by Jacko | Filed under ManChat, The Great British Pub
I’ve been asked a lot recently, “What is Trainhop?” and it is time for me to explain.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO TRAINHOP!
Trainhop is a very simple concept: Biannually, once in summer, once in winter, a group of men (only men!) turn up at a chosen station, on a chosen day, at 11A.M. They then travel on a random train to a distance no more than one hour away, with a tariff no greater than ten English Pounds. Whilst on the train the “Trainhoppers” or “Hoppers,” as they are known, enjoy a swift libation before embarking on a fourteen-hour killer bender in the chosen town, which usually ends up with 25 % of the group having a “dodgy pint” and, through no fault of their own, they vomit in public.
Trainhop is a magical event and there are a certain number of traditions that accompany the fun and frolics. Every Trainhop has a special drink. In summer this is a “Hoptail,” a light and fruity number designed to refresh the Hopper on a warm summer’s day. In winter, a “Winter Warmer” is the order of the day, designed to protect the Hopper against the cold winter air.
Unfortunately, no Trainhopper has ever attended bar-tender school, most have not attended school, for that matter. However, creativity is rife within the group and this often leads to something quite hideous, that usually curdles, and which led to the earliest Trainhop vomit, 11.45 A.M.
Above is this summer’s hoptail, “Stawberries and Cream,” a combination of Aldi imitation Balileys, 40% strawberry vodka, and a strawberry. It curdled and looked like a fish that had been tortured in a blender. It didn’t taste much better. The worst ever was “Alcoholic Cuppasoup.” That consisted of: hot water, two scoops of budget instant soup mix, one large slug of vodka and three croutons. Bad days, people.
The hop drink is always accompanied by train beers, and then it is tradition that we visit the first pub in the town. It’s only early, and sometimes Hoppers do not get the warmest of receptions.
Because we are not always sure how far we are going to travel on the train, we usually have a surplus of beers which looks like a hamper for tramps, hence: “The Tramper.” We then find our first warrior of the road and give them tins and tins of warm cheap beer and any remaining trainhop drink. The alcoholic cuppasoup saved lives.
Noticed the hunk in the tweed? Yes, course you did. That’s me. Notice the little Tweed number, I’m wearing? Yes, course you did. The last Trainhop was Trainhop 10, and that is a very special number. There is a ranking system in Trainhop, and after a Hopper’s third Hop, they earn their sergeant stripes and are entitled to vote on Hop business, and are also rewarded with a medallion. On the tenth, a Hopper is knighted and loses all say in Hop business, thus allowing new blood to come through the ranks, and take the Hop to the next level. Myself and Lee Mallard earned blazers for our service. Lee had a snazzy little red number, whilst I got the tweed, which looked shit, so I am going to get a new one. True story.
So, in a witty nutshell, that’s Trainhop, and we drink until we get the last train back home, drink on the train, and then drink when we get home. For the tenth, and with my retirement from official business, we had something a little special and organised some ad hoc team games, captained by Lee and myself. It is quite surreal to watch a “Shoe Duel” at 12.30 in the afternoon.
Wheel barrow races to pubs are more conventional, but fun, nonetheless.
Something that never helps with the vomiting is team-eating events. I haven’t got a picture of the ice-cream eating contest that took place in Nuneaton market place, that actually drew a crowd, but I watched a man eat a two quid ice-cream in 41.3 seconds. That has to be some sort of record after eight pints of lager.
We even had a “Hunk-Off” where each team had ten pounds to dress their chosen hunk, and then ladies picked their favourite superstud. See the red-hot Nuneaton sluts at the bottom of the picture? They liked the stud with the beard. Who wouldn’t?
That said, in 10 hops, which roughly equates to 1800 man-hours, no-one has ever pulled a girl, or obtained a number. With that many red-blooded sex-stallions, ten pints into a session, it is really difficult to fathom out why. Frigid women is the only answer.
Trainhops are pretty crazy, but they do provide good boosters to local pubs, as we try to frequent good old-fashioned locals, and fifty pints sold in an hour really do bump up the pub’s profits. OK, sometimes things get a little out of hand, and there are always a few casualties, and a few pub toilets devastated, but that’s par for the course.
Trainhops builds relationships, man-time, cameraderie, beer-tolerance, and body mass indicies. It is a time to forget the woes of the world and explore new places, meet new people, experience different cultures (Stoke-on-Trent), taste different ales and throw up a little. I’m passing on the baton, but I believe that the spirit of trainhop will be around as long as there are trains, or until boozing and drunks are banned from them (possibly from a Trainhop related incident). I would love to see Trainhops starting from other towns, so that mass trainhops can take place on the same day.
If you are reading this, and you would like to get involved in the franchise, drop me a mail and I’ll put you on to the new organiser. If you fancy starting your own Trainhop, drop us a line, too. You can’t lose, because when all is said and done, and when all shoes have been thrown, it’s just an all-dayer. But what an all-dayer!
I’d like to say a big thank you to everyone who has ever made an event. I’d also like to thank Wellingborough, Newark and Lincoln, Chesterfield, Stamford, Birmingham, Kettering, Stoke, Melton Mowbray, Uttoxeter and Nuneaton for their hospitality.
The road goes ever on and on, and now I can only watch as Trainhop 11 wakes to a new world, with a new organiser.
THE KING IS DEAD!
LONG LIVE THE MAGGOT!
Feel free to add to any Trainhop stories to the bottom of the comments.
Tags: Birmingham, Caravan of Love, Chesterfield, hoptail, Kettering, Lincoln, Loughborough, Melton Mowbray, minge, Newark, Nuneaton, Real ale, Stamford, Stoke-On-Trent, Trainhop, Uttoxeter, vomit, Wellingborough, winter warmer
Competition Time! Ladies and Gentlemen, LET’S PLAY DDDDAAAARRTTTSSSSSS
Posted by Jacko | Filed under Albion Arras, Competition Time, ManChat, The Great British Pub
I am very conscious of the fact that my last two posts have had elongated words in the title, but come on guys, this is darts, or DAAARRTTTTS we are talking about, here.
In last week’s post, I told you all that I will be saving the British pub, and I am a man of my word. I told you about a local dart’s team, and how The Great Right Hope is planning to sponsor them, all true, I shit you not.
Look, it’s all here: http://mark-jackman.com/blog/2009/04/29/iiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn-one/
Therefore, www.mark-jackman.com and www.ll-publications proudly present….
THE ALBION ARRAS
From left to right: Doylie, Matt, Jimmy, Al, Keith (Landlord), Big Ron and Graham. Player bios coming to the website soon.
The official launch party of the Arras was a bit late, but what a crackerjack it still turned out to be. The Arras played the Tap and Mallet, and, in dramatic fashion, the winner of this clash of titans was decided by the last leg, the beer leg, where the whole team plays down from 1001, winner-takes-all, shit-or-bust. The standard of darts was electrifying, which meant it all came down to Madhouse: both teams aiming at double-one, the epitome of accuracy. Between them, both teams managed to miss approximately thirty darts at the desired double until Ian Doyle of the Albion Arras, unleashed hell with a dart that actually went where he was aiming it. The Albion, Loughborough, England, erupted.
It was a fantastic evening. The Albion sells some wonderful beer, and the fans, as well as both teams, took advantage. The atmosphere… words cannot describe the intensity. Well, they probably could, but I don’t know many words. The emotions a man can experience after a night of ale, darts, uncomfortably hot chilli, pool, karaoke and all male company… wow. A picture speaks a thousand words.
Pubs will make you fell, breathe and live:
Passion
Euphoria
Irrational Anger
Constipation
Partial Nudity
Acceptable Manlove
Double-One Finishes
OK, so “acceptable manlove” isn’t an emotion, and nor are a few others, and double-one finishes are just a result of shit darts, but you get the point. One night of darts and a few sociable ales can take you on an emotional rollercoaster through a modern-day gladiatorial arena. I am not advocating binge-drinking here. True, one of the Albion Arras had downed six pints before the start of the match, but that was just to settle his nerves, so was technically a medical necessity
Support your local pub. You don’t have to drink, although it helps - still yet to find an activity that isn’t as fun without beer. That’s a good topic of conversation, actually. Can anyone think of anything that is more enjoyable to do sober (except shaving a ball sack, especially your own)?
Brainwave!
I have been planning to run a competition for a while, now.
CHALLENGE: Apart from shaving pubic areas, can anyone think of something that is more fun to do sober?
PRIZE: The funniest answer will win themselves a genuine set of GREAT RIGHT HOPE DART FLIGHTS! It doesn’t get much better than that! Note: I said funniest answer. Emergency surgery on your faithful dog is not funny, but best done sober. I just upset myself. A death of a dog is the only justification for male tears.
You have until Thursday the 14th, 6pm UK time to enter! Just pop your answer on the bottom of this post.
Back to the blog. So yeah, you don’t have to drink to enjoy darts, pool, etc. They are great social games, unless playing in a rough-arsed pub where every item used to play barsports also doubles up as an exceptionally versatile, violent weapon.
You are going to hear a lot more from me about how much fun pubs are and about the positive aspects of drinking. Together, we can save the British Pub. Calling out to the USA! How are pubs doing over there?
There will be a page devoted to the Albion Arras, on my website. I’ll let you know when it is up and running, so you can meet the team. Ladies, don’t you worry; there WILL be full frontal nudity. Anyone in the Loughborough area, the Albion Arras are at home to the Dew Drop next Thursday. Would be great to see you all there.
H’oway the Arras!
Tags: 180, Albion Arras, ale, CAMRA, Competition, dart slags, darts, dog death tragedy, England, Loughborough, mark jackman, Save the Pub, Steven Segal's Stinkbridge, The Great Right Hope
