Acting, it's a piece of piss.

Admittedly, I need to stop giving the whole subject of the article away in the title. Or, as my wife would put it, to stop coming so early.

How difficult can acting really be? I spend evenings in the pub, as I just have, and when I look at some of the people there I realise that they are playing a role - they're trying to be funny, they're trying to be ingratiating, they're trying to be more attractive to the opposite sex - whichever way you look at it, they're certainly not being themselves.

They do this for free, in the vain hope of acceptance, or, in rarefied circumstances, getting laid. The most important thing is that they're usually not very good. The key is to find a role in which you can develop, one which you can meld yourself with. I have been given this opportunity.

I will be attending a murder mystery party this New Years, in which all the participants must assume a role. My role is that of "a wine critic and a wine snob. Sneering, patronising and often downright rude, you don't care whether people like you or not. Which is just as well, because most people don't". Shouldn't be too much of a stretch.

Acting - it's a piece of piss.

Viva la resolution!

I admit it's a little early, but having spoken to someone today about some old posts on the blog, I took the time to read up on some of them. You know what I realised? I actually used to be funny.

So, and I think you know where this is probably going, dear readers (an aside - if there are still any readers here from the old days, for fucks sake stop checking this site), I have decided to give the Ribshack a final roll of the dice. It won't be as good as the old times, but at least thanks to the advent of Facebook - a modern phonomenon that didn't really exist before, at least more people will read it. Which means what? More people will call me a cock, I suppose. No bad thing, I always wanted a world record.

Let's kick off with an easy one for now. This sign:



















I saw this on a number of occasions while driving to France the other day. Mostly I saw it whilst driving on a motorway, which, as some say, is an activity that requires a fair level of concentration. Fortunately the Highways Agency don't agree, which meant that periodically I had to squint through the fog whilst in the fast lane to read a flashing sign.

"What the fuck does that say? I can't see shit for the fog. It's flashing, but the fog is reflecting the orange lights. Ohh it would be so much easier to read if the car in front didn't have their fog lights on. Ohhhh, it says 'fog'. Well, thanks for the heads up you bunch of fucking ret-BANG!!"

Always keep your eyes on the prize.