I need noise . . . any noise

. . . whilst playing darts. Otherwise Sid Waddell enters my thoughts* whilst throwing.

 

For background news, I threw on the pilot episode of ER from 1994 'cos I'm jonesing for new episodes of The Pitt, and at the end of every episode of The Pitt, HBO is telling us to watch ER for our medical drama fix. I never bite - every episode of The Pitt has too much to chew on - but they've finally worn me down and I have a new go to for background noise whilst throwing my 26s, 83s and the occasional 180. (See below, folks.)

42/50

 

*I'm lying about Sid Waddell's voice in my head. It's Sid Little's voice.

"I have a severe dose . . . "

I really should have a new label on the blog. Something along the lines of 'Beloved British films half-watched for the seventeenth time whilst practising darts. It just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

I'm kind of annoyed with myself because you really shouldn't half-watch films. It's a modern disease and I have a severe dose. Stick to listening to podcasts or some music. Don't sell the films short.

Apologies to Armando Iannucci, Steve Coogan, Colm Meaney, Paul Whitehouse and countless others. You deserved better.  

The Death of Stalin (2017)

 

No words . . .

The morning after the night before. Yeah, I've got nothing . . . and I have a backlog of 180s to put on the blog.

 

 

 

41/50

Alan Partridge: Alpha Papa (2013)

 

"I like to watch the trucks go by."

Posting this on the Monday morning after the weekend.

It would have been 7.32 pm in the UK when I hit this 180. Celtic just squeaked over the line with a 1-0 win against St Mirren two hours before, Hearts came back from a potential banana skin to beat Motherwell 3-1, and I woke up Sunday morning to see that R*ngers came back from 2-0 down to beat Falkirk 6-3.

Two things arise from that previous paragraph. Celtic aren't going to win the title this year. They don't deserve to. It's a toss up between the Huns or the Diet Huns . . . oh, such joy. And I'm really running out of things to write when seeking to add colourful blurb to the blog alongside the 180s. 

Back to trawling through that Gregory Girl film script. That was one of my better ideas, poor executed.

39/40

The Daytrippers (1996)

 

How to Get to Heaven from Belfast (2026)

 

It got a shit review from Roger Ebert

Posted Monday morning, April 13th.

I'd paused this movie. Not because I wasn't enjoying it. I just needed a cup of tea and a late night snack. 

And, as is my habit, I decided to throw some darts whilst waiting for the kettle to boil. The anorak in me means that I can't just throw random darts at the board. They have to mean something. So I fire up the First to 100 game against the Level 9 Bot, which is getting too used to turning into Peak Phil 'Fucking' Taylor when shooting at doubles, and I snag my highest ever outshot/checkout/two fucking fingers to the digital Phil 'Fucking' Taylor wannabe. A 167 for the Darts blockers amongst you: T20, T19, Bullseye. ('Double Cork' if you're reading this in French Lick, Indiana.)

It's the second highest checkout in darts. Only the *cough* Big Fish tops it.

Now, this is where it gets confusing. I was  . . . I am . . . convinced that my previous best was a 158 checkout (T20, T20, D19) but, at this moment in time, I can't find any record/picture of that particular outshot (mix and match, peeps). Did I just imagine it? Is it just like that (probably imaginary) 180 from 1982? Am I imagining things related to darts? Is that a silhouette of Sid Waddell at the window beckoning me to walk towards the light?

Until I find my version of the Zapruder film, we'll never know. 

For 10 minutes I was abolutely on fire . . .

. . . and it doesn't happen that often, so I thought I'd mention it.