The Unbelievable Truth (1989)

 

Give Us A Break (1983)

 

Don't leave old darts lying around . . .

Turns out I hit a 180 with Shot Zen Ki's back in 2022. 

Did I ever hit another one before today? I don't have a scooby.

79/50

'Don't do it !!!!

Another day of life messing with my head. Old darts revisited.

Decided to pick up the Shot Zen Ki 26g darts  just for the sake of it. I hadn't thrown them in three or four years. "A few moments later  . . . "

In fact, it was that long since I'd thrown them that I couldn't even remember what brand or weight they were. I had to look them up.

78/50

Sweets Memory

 

Don't forget those bastard Texan bars. They could extract (not so) precious metals from places where they should never have been extracted. IYKYK . . . fuck that, OIKWH.

'Can someone please explain the reason for this strange behaviour'

Posted 31st May (3.57 am)

Excuse the waffle, just trying to stay awake. That banging Friday Playlist from 2007 has now finished - played it twice - and Spotify being Spotify has decided to kick into a new playlist determined by songs previously played. That explains why Duran Duran's 'Skin Trade' immediately popped up.

I've always loved 'Skin Trade'. This isn't me Monday Morning Quarterbacking. I always thought it was one of their best singles. In fact, I remember at the time being surprised by how good it was. By 1987 they'd been on the creative dip for a few years. I always thought their material from Seven and the Ragged Tiger onwards was decidedly sub-par. Laughable lyrics coupled with ponderous, plodding pop music so beloved from the mid-80s when 'New Pop' had bolted and all that was left was ever increasingly bloated music videos, big hair and post-Live Aid save the world messiah complexes. 

The weird thing is that I have another distinct memory of 'Skin Trade' from 1987 itself. Sitting in the back row of a General Studies lesson at Longdean School, wishing I was somewhere else, and I hear James Adkin (I think that's the spelling of his surname) from the other side of the classroom expressing the opinion that it's a great single. Why would I remember something so passing, and seemingly so inconsequential, from someone I hardly interacted with at the time forty years on? I can only attribute it to the fact that by 1987 Duran Duran were seen as passe, something from yesteryear. They'd had their moment in the sun, and now it was the turn of  . . . who, exactly? I can't actually remember. Had SAW taken over our musical world at that point or was it six months later? Those bastards were definitely on the horizon. In that moment, James Adkin was someone I recognised as a fellow pop kid, someone who could spot a brilliant tune . . . even when it came from the 'wrong place', He definitely went up in my opinion on that day, and that why I think I still remember his pronouncement after all these years.

I should be sleeping.

76/50

When 1 and 2 are the wrong way round.

A bounce out on the bull deprived me of my second ever 12-darter. A possible 12-darter turned into a 21-darter. Woe is me. (Still a 71.6 average, I guess.)

136, 140, 140 . . . and, then, aiming for the T15 I hit a S15, went S20 and then the dart bounced off the wire when I was going for the bull. Fast forward three other rounds before I finally won the leg against the bastard bot.

I'm not even playing that well at the moment. Just once of those brief moments that keeps you enveloped in darts.

Fast One by Paul Cain (Vintage Crime/Black Lizard 1932)

 

Kells walked north on Spring. At Fifth he turned west, walked two blocks, turned into a small cigar store. He nodded to the squat bald man behind the counter and went on through the ground-glass-paneled door into a large and bare back room.

The man sitting at a wide desk stood up, said, “Hello!” heartily, went to another door and opened it,said, “Walk right in.”

Kells went into a very small room, partitioned off from the other by ground-glass-paneled walls. He sat down on a worn davenport against one wall, leaned back, folded his hands over his stomach, and looked at Jack Rose.

Rose sat behind a round green-topped table, his elbows on the table, his long chin propped upon one hand. He was a dark, almost too handsome young man who had started life as Jake Rosencrancz of Brooklyn and Queens. He said, “Did you ever hear the story about the three bears?”

Kells sat regarding Rose gravely and nodded his head slowly up and down.

Rose was smiling. “I thought you'd have heard that one.” He moved the fingers of one hand down to his ear and pulled violently at the lobe. “Now you tell one. Tell me the one about why you've got such a load on Kiosque in the fourth race.”

Kells smiled faintly, dreamily. He said, “You don’t think I'd have an inside that you’d overlooked, do you, Jackie?” He got up stretched extravagantly and walked across the room to inspect a large map of Los Angeles County on the far wall.

The Way It Is

Posted 31st May (3.23 am)

Where's that second wind? My eyes are drooping for christ sake. It's not looking good for early morning laundry  . . . it's not looking good if I don't do early morning laundry. Decisions, decisions  . . . just to avoid the deserved decibels.

Still on an Elvis Costello tip. Listening to this Friday Playlist from 2007 whilst typing this up. A bit obvious in places but enough left-field tracks (including a Costello album track) to suggest that I still had my music mojo in the 2000s. 

Nicole Atkins should be at the Las Vegas residency level this point, folks. What the hell happened . . . or, rather, didn't happen? And check out that Duran Duran track on the playlist. A banger that I've not listened to in years. They were always good for the deep cuts.

75/50

The Invisible Fan

Posted 31st May (3.11 am)

Trying to stay awake through the night so I can do the laundry super-early. (It's a NYC thing.) Decided to try and rush through a backlog of old(ish) 180s. Reading up on Elvis Costello and his falling out with the Attraction, Bruce Thomas. Maybe I should read Bruce Thomas's autobiography? Maybe I should just read  . . . period.

Realising I don't listen to as much Costello as I should. Maybe it's the voice. Saturation can be too much, but I always return to him 'cos he is such a brilliant songwriter. The above 'The Invisible Fan' is a play on 'The Invisible Man' from the Punch The Clock album. One of his early albums which don't get that much love. Probably seen as too poppy, too mainstream. I like it.

74/50

Addendum.

I should have mentioned that the 180 is a Brooklyn Bar 180 from a practice session before the final league match of the season. All round it was a bit of a nightmare, though it hasn't hit home yet as such. We lost 14-13 on the night. Going into the final of the cricket singles match of the night, it was 13-13 against our fellow bar mates (a proper Darts derby), and I lost to AB. No excuses at my end. I had the upper hand for most of the match and AB clawed it back brilliantly on the bullseyes (in local parlance, "the corks"). The victory would have been nice. We've been a bastard losing streak for the second half of the season, with a final league record of 3-7. 

On a personal performance note, I also lost out to the All Stars first place. It would have been the second season in a row. (Still waiting on the T-shirt lads.) Going into the final round of the season, I was still leading the stats by about 47 points but I wasn't feeling confident. The eventual winner, EB, had been clawing back the points in the recent weeks and by the end of the night I kind of guessed that I hadn't scored enough points on the night to retain the top spot.

The funny thing is that, days later, I'm still more gutted about losing that Cricket singles match. Go figure.

The Forensic Records Society by Magnus Mills (Bloomsbury USA 2017)

 

The Forensic Records Society
 
‘I saw you!’
 

We listened closely. The voice sounded slightly remote, as if it came from an adjoining room. It was followed by a fuzzy silence.
 

James gazed at the turntable as it ground to a halt.
 

‘That’s Keith,’ he said.
 

‘You certain?’ I asked.
 

‘Yes.’
 

‘Not Roger?’
 

‘No.’
 

He played the record through for the third time. This was the agreed number of plays, so he then removed it from the turntable and returned it to its sleeve. As he did so he gave the label a cursory glance.
 

‘Fabulous music,’ he remarked.
 

I rose from my seat and went over to the window. Outside there was snow lying everywhere.
 

‘Do you realise,’ I said, ‘we were probably the only people on the planet listening to that?’
 

‘Surely not,’ replied James.
 

‘Just think about it,’ I continued. ‘They released it almost fifty years ago and it was a moderate success before disappearing without a trace. You never hear it on the radio these days, or anywhere else for that matter. The song was a deliberate joke: the lyrics are childish to say the least. They’re practically meaningless in English, let alone Chinese, French or Russian.'

 

“Marvellous ensemble performance nonetheless,’ said James.
 

‘Of course.'

The Hit (1984)

 

Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017)

 

The Works

Are you shitting me?

I only picked up these darts 'cos I asked my son to get me a random dart to help me open a package. I decided to play with them against the Dart bot, and I only go and hit my first ever 170 checkout. ('The Big Fish'.)

I haven't played with these darts - One80 Rectifiers - for about 4 years. This is the bane of the bang average dart player. Pick up a random set darts, play out of your skin with them for 5 minutes, and then convince yourself that they're your 'forever darts'.

It serves me right.

I'm Chering this . . .

I laughed.

Maybe they should change their name to Hearts of Mitteleuropa?

Spot the pun, peeps? No truth in the rumour that Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves is a reference to the Hearts ultras.

Yep, posted on Twitter, but spotted on Facebook. Twitter is not my thing these days. It hasn't an unpleasant musk surrounding it. 

'Can you give me a five star rating?'

I won't lie. This brilliant joke that I found on Facebook hits a bit too close to the bone.

You just can't help yourself.

Bobbing along

A mid-afternoon 180. Nothing much to report, so I won't make something up.

68/50

Everybody Wants Some!! (2016)

 

Previously seen in a small hut in Düsseldorf, West Germany, circa 1983

Seven years ago today.

Yes, that was my board and those were my darts. 

The board was from Aldi. I think the Darts were from a Christmas Cracker . . . they might as well have been.

Facebook likes to trigger me.

Where were you last night?

Another league defeat last night. That's three defeats in a row now. Losing one of our best players to a broken hand and the new format have not helped us. It also didn't help that I was standing in the wrong part of the oche for the first half of last night. My fault as it was my decision. 

I did end up salvaging something by hitting a Round of 9 in my cricket singles match in the final round. My first ever R9 in a league match. (I hit a 180 in a league match a few years ago.) I nearly hit a second R9 a couple of minutes later but the third dart deflected in the T3. (I was going for 3 T17s.)

Anyway, back to this morning's 132 checkout. The second time I've hit the Bull, Bull, D16 checkout, and this time my dartitis was giving me gip.

Click on the link and all will be revealed it will be partially hinted at . . .

If I told you what happened, you wouldn't believe me. FFM . . . . FFM.

FFM? Family 'fucking' drama.

62/50

It turns out 61 is a prime number

Apparently the theme for a 61st wedding anniversary is a plane wood tree, but I couldn't come up with an appropriate title incorporating that fact, so I settled with the wee fact - hitherto unknown to me - that 61 is a prime number.

Have I previously mentioned on the blog that I was for about 15 minutes in my youth a 'Mathlete'? Yep, I represented the school and everything. We got to the quarter final one year, before getting knocked out by Watford Grammar School. Funnily enough, one of the reasons for my early aptitude for Maths was Darts. It really did help with my numeracy. However, my primary thanks for actually being half-decent at Maths as a kid was my teacher in my final year at primary school. That teacher's name was Mr Lowde. It was also his final year of teaching after a lifetime in the classroom. (He served in the RAF during World War Two as a young man.) It would be fair to say that he was the most important teacher in my life during all my years in education. If I wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't have gone to university. Funny the stuff you remember when you're trying to come up with blurb to accompany your 180s.

With regards to this 180, I love the grouping, and there was only an 18 minute gap between this 180 and number 60 ('Diamond Life'). For those 18 minutes I was actually on fire, and I had one of those moments of (darting) clarity where I realised this is how I should throw all the time. The problem is that it never lasts. I can actually walk you through - or more importantly - talk you through how I can get the best out of my game but I can't sustain it for any half-decent length of time. It' something I should work on. Maybe muscle memory will eventually lock in. If it does, my game will definitely improve by 3 or 4 points, and those 3 or 4 points can make all the difference at the level I'm playing at.

61/50

Diamond Life

 Just want to post the 180. Not quips, no family drama . . . little or no recollection of the 180 itself.

60/50

Instant Karma's going to get you . . .

I think I b*rnt down an orphanage in a previous life.

"The Name of the Game"

A 180 at a local Luck of the Draw. Sadly, it wasn't during an actual match. Just a practice session.

Equally sad, is that I played actual garbage during the event itself. Got down to the last 7 from 27 entrants, but this was more from luck than design. My only half-decent performance was during a Cricket doubles game with J.F., where the gamesmanship from one of the opponents was off the chart. I'd played him in league darts on Monday nights in the past but I don't remember him previously playing these tricks to fuck with my head. A strange occurrence, but we won in the end. Snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, and all that jazz.

59/50

This Is The End (2013)

 

"I don't want to be associated with his awful fucking laugh"

A direct quote.

I won't say which son said it, but if you know, you know . . . etc, etc (in a la-di-dah posh English accent.)

58/50

Extra, Extras

Trying to get the wee yin into Extras. No go . . .   it's not working.

Opted for a coked up Michael Cera and an apocalyptic Los Angeles instead. A movie education has to start somewhere.

57/50

The Anderson tape

Nice to get my 56th 180 of 2026. April's been a good month for me. Maybe if I continue in the same vein, I can hit some targets for the rest of the year.

I've actually thrown for - maybe - six 180s today but this is the only one that has stuck. Funnily enough, about five minutes after this 180 I nearly replicated this Gary Anderson incident from 2015.  A crumb of comfort is that one T20 stayed in the board. The other two dropped to the floor.

56/50

Sally & Bob

Half-watching a series of Taskmaster that I've previously watched. I need noise in my life when throwing darts and this series just came on. Davies, Phillips and Mortimer will appreciate their 0.0004 cent royalty checks. (American money, American spellings.)

55/50

Hunting High and Low*

Another 180 whilst practicing before a league match. It's never an indication that I'm going to play well on the actual night itself (I was okay, as it goes).

Sadly, we lost the match 15-12. Even sadder is that I came home with those stickers still in my pocket. I need to sort that.

54/50

*Another song title as a post title. This time to give a clue as to where I was actually playing. Pretty straightforward, to be honest. When you get it, it will be an 'A-ha' moment for you.

The 40-Year-Old Virgin (2005)

 

Tales of the Unexpected

Totally random. Totally unexpected. My throw still isn't up to par but, somehow, this 180 sneaked in inbetween running around getting stuff ready for a weekday morning.

It doesn't point to a general uptick, but a 180 is a 180 and I will accept it graciously.

53/50

Does my darts look big in this?

My first - and probably my last - 180 with 28 gram Datadart Butt Brass darts. 

I actually threw for a couple of 180s with these darts earlier today. No luck then, and, then, 1 minute to midnight and the three chunk monsters land in the red lipstick. (Quit the tabloid speak.)

I only picked them up because my darts are shocking at the moment. I needed a fat barrelled dart just to have the motivation to throw. Anyway, enough about my woes. Cue photographic evidence.

52/50

181 - 180 = BUST

Yes, I meant it . . . and, no, I'm not apologising. 

It's a game against a bot, for fucks sake. What, will Russ Bray judge me from inside my phone? I can live with that. I'm not playing well right now. I can't put my figure on what's happening. Of course, Dartitis is always hovering in the background but it's not just that. Something else is going on. So, when the occasion arose to hit a 180 . . . a 180 which would bust my 501 game? I went for it.

51/50

Mad Dog and Glory (1993)

 

#GettingOldGoingDownhill

The good news is that I just hit my 50th 180 of 2026.

The bad news is that this time last year I'd hit 117.

I think I only hit this one 'cos I didn't realise I was throwing for one. There's something to be said for darkened rooms on a weekday morning.

50/50

False witness

False witness? False dawn? False representation? Who the hell knows.

All I do know is that once the actual league match started, I put in my worst performance of the season. Totally blown away. No excuses. Okay, the dartitis played a part a couple of times during the course of the night but I should be used to that by now. That's not the reason why I played so bad. 

A strange (long) night all round. You'll need to wait for the biopic for more details. It'll be in there somewhere . . . if only for some light relief.

Back to the drawing board.

49/50

12 Angry Men (1957)

 

'That scar on your face.'

Posted April 27th, early morning.

Need to sleep. Currently listening to 'Cowboys and Angels' by George Michael. Beautiful song. One of his best. No excuse for staying up this late.

48/50

"I’m an outdoor man. I come from Clydebank."

Posted April 27th, early morning.

Currently rewatching the first season of Minder. For reasons I can fully explain, I have a slight obsession with the show's creator, Leon Griffiths. Maybe it's because his parents named him after Trotsky? That really intrigues me. I wish I knew more about his life.

Anyway, the post title is a line from the third episode of season one. From the lips of a stereotypically chippy and alcoholic short-arsed Scotsman. I'm here for that. 

47/50

Breakfast Time

Posting Wednesday afternoon (22nd April).

Bear with me on this one. It's a bit of a ramble. And there's a pic of a 180 at the end.

I'm coming to Dominic Sandbrook late in the day. I don't know why. I've been aware of him and his popularity as a Celebrity Historian for years now. Maybe I've unfairly misjudged him because of the newspapers he usually writes for; maybe it's because I read Alwyn Turner's accounts of the 1960s/70s and 80s, and there's only so much British social history you can digest. Anyway, I've done him a disservice and I only discovered that via his new The Book Club podcast with Tabitha Syrett. I was aware of the podcast, but never checked it out and then it popped up on Spotify where it started playing automatically after another podcast finished. They were discussing Sally Rooney's Normal People, and it was engaging enough that I went looking for other Dominic Sandbrook related podcasts on spotify. What I found was a Dominic Sandbrook 80s playlist, which wasn't compiled by him but was put together by someone else in connection with either a book of Sandbrook's or a TV series.

In amongst a rather fine selection of 80s pop classic was this deep cut from Orange Juice, from their Rip It Up album. Though I had the album on cassette back in the day, this song passed me by. Mr Sandbrook rectified that. Many thanks.

46/50

The Pitt (2026)

 

Marguerita Time

Posting Wednesday afternoon (22nd April).

Apparently the board isn't placed correctly. It's too high . . . but I only discovered this after I hit the 180. I don't care. A 180 is a 180. It's not the first I've hit a 180 in this bar.

The business with the wrongly positioned board? That'll make the King of Brooklyn interesting.

45/50

'Beautiful man, beautiful . . . '

Excuse the hippy speak, but there was something especially pleasing about this 180. Of course, all 180s are to be enjoyed but there was something about how I threw that third dart and the extra oomph just propelled it into the T20 which marked it out as something different. Some 180s just give that greater satisfaction because of effort employed with the third dart. It comes across as less random . . . less by chance . . . even if it's your brain kidding you on.

And, of course, it was a bit of a bonus after missing those back to back 180s an hour before then.

44/50

Darts challenged

So, I just missed two 180s in a row.

. . . it's going to be one of those days.

DTF St. Louis (2026)

 

''Matched it!'

You have to read the title of the post in the voice of Jay from The Inbetweeners.

My second 167 checkout in two weeks. Russ Bray's Dart App isn't going to like that. He will take great delight in punishing me on the doubles for the foreseeable future.

Missed a trick . . . should have been lion flights and a unicorn board

As I write, professional Northerners are assaulting my ears.

Glad to get the 180. Trying to hit at least one a day. I mean, I'm always trying to hit 180s, but it's in my head now to up my frequency. This time last year I was on 108 180s. I'm not sure what's happened this year. Of course, there has been the recurrence of the dartitis  but I genuinely don't think I've fallen off that drastically in the first four months of the year. Maybe I was playing more darts last year? I find that hard to believe. I'll just monitor things to see what happens.

I had to quit practicing within minutes of the 180. I was totally gassed out. Anyone who tells you you can play decent darts even when you're tired is talking out of their arse. Mental and physical strength are both necessary to play decent darts.

43/50

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