Previously I believe that the only way to achieve this envy extraction was by having an incredible attractive, breasted and legged woman, presumably wearing not much more than a lampshade; permanently arm linked with me. Unfortunately, the previously mentioned ‘lucky twats’ probably already have such a creature or three parked up and waiting for them at every corner, as we all know, women and money go together like AIDS and Africa. Protest all you want ladies, but when was the last time you saw an ugly girl get out of an Aston Martin Vantage…unless she was driving the thing?!?

Anyway, back on point; jealousy is something that man does not give up easily to other men, not sure why, don’t care why, we are what we are. However, yesterday evening, I found a way.

It requires no more than a few pennies and a willingness to accept that what you are doing is cool and right.

Apparently, the way to make every man you pass want to ditch whatever head start they’ve had in life, and be YOU for  just as long as it takes to appreciate how they aren’t, and never will be YOU, is to walk down the street in rush hour, proudly cradeling a remote control car under your arm.

No matter how obviously better than me the guys I passed were, I could see in their soul exposing eyes that they wanted to be strolling, chest up, back straight, pride high, nurturing that 1/10 scale plastic dream.

So, who is at fault for this? I gym, I run, I cycle, I love greens and fruit. Am I just that much of a week minded twat that I have to have a shitty burger after beers?!? Well, yes, is the obvious answer!

I don’t know why I did it; I thought about it a lot, knew It would go against everything I have told myself these last few months while trying to get back in shape; and yet here I am. it looks like a fast food genocide around me right now…the large cola cup seems to have admiration in his little papery face as he looks upon his fallen chip carton comrade, knowing in his plasticy hatted head that ol’ chipster fell for the greater good.

Well Fuck You cup! You and your 100% recyclable chums. Fuck you all!

You know the types, sure you’ve seen them, little bit retarded looking with a hint of the fatty fatty fat fuck. The whole family is out, usually 3 kids occupying the space of 7 kids, dolloped into an array of Tesco value leggings. Walking womb outside, muffintopping, somehow not quite all in either her trousers or all in her princess tracksuit top, coughing her way through 7 quid’s worth of fags. Gary, father, open tracky top, tight faded “who’s the daddy” t-shirt stretched almost all the way over Carling belly, ordering 5 supersized something-or-others.

Think of the children, oh the humanity! These poor kids, purely on this world because the useless lazy turd of a woman had proved to be utterly useless at absolutely everything she’s tried her podgy little hand at, until, one day she finds a guy who is drunk enough to ignore the underboob fungi, gets all duffed up, and all of a sudden people are all “well done”, “you did well”, “isn’t she beautiful”….positive reinforcement….just like a puppy. Now she’s banging them out left right and center, just cos it’s the only thing she’s ever been good at. The poor kids. If only we could pre determine whether a parent deserves their children.

Most of us are overweight…it’s true, I am, and it is (totally avoidably I have to add) a circumstance of how we’re evolving as a race. There are no 2 ways about it, that we aren’t as active as our bodies were designed to be, and our food comes to us, we expel nothing to consume. Did you know that the majestically awesome cheetah expels enough energy every time he hunts, that if he doesn’t succeed in catching the terrified snack, he will probably die. Most of us are humped over a desk for 7 hours a day, in the most disrespectful manor to these incredible bodies we’ve been blessed with; this is not the case in most of these slobs’ situations though. Slumping on the sofa all day drinking sunny delight (do they even sell that any more) is not such an acceptable excuse. There is a perfect balance between energy out, and energy in, and unfortunately, ringing Shankar at the Raj Tandoori does not cut it.

And how does society help these people? In fact, what I mean to say is, how does society help the poor defenceless children of these people…fuck the adults…they should know better!

Firstly, we saturate their lives with images of chubbers, tell them it’s ok, tell them to be proud of who they are…and sue people who only make human sized clothes. Then come a gaggle of suspect looking presenters helping the shreks of the world feel good about themselves again. How too look good naked? How to take your clothes off and just look the same but with a smile more like. Fat families, biggest loser, fat and proud…..WTF!!! This is just a gratuitous insight into the souls of ignorant porkers who don’t quite know how to be people. Having so little self respect should be hidden away, and not exploited..

If there is one phrase I’d like to ban from television it’s BBW. Every time I see some fat, lying to herself, relying on internet freaks for attention, bitch referring to herself as a BBW, I just want to reach into the telly, pick her up (avoiding the sweaty bits behind her knees), and throw her into a pit of starving honey badgers.

And sumo queens, camp as Christmas at Alan Car’s, prancing about like it doesn’t matter if you see their belly button on the train, ‘cos they’ve are just too fabulous. Although, maybe gravitationally, the world does not revolve around you and your “oh my god, I can’t believe they sell skinny jeans that big” jeans.

You want to know what’s really got this country into such a state, you really want to know? We’ll, sure there is an element of the bankers; or to call them by their real name, “fuckers”. At least these fuckers wake up at 4am every morning, work 14 hour days, cheat on their wives, sleep with expensive hookers and neglect their children, to steal all our hard earned cash. They however misguidedly manage to at least participate in the world, and try to reclaim some dignity to this fine island of ours.

You must understand at this point, that this is definitely a class issue I have. And I’m not talking financial, political or any other segregator you want to through into the mix. This is about class…just having some class. Monetarily, it’s cheaper to buy a loaf of bread, some beads/eggs and orange juice, than it is to get a MacDonald’s. Nothing wrong with Tesco Value, nothing wrong with fast food and certainly nothing wrong with leggings (I’m talking to you “The Saturdays”); however, there is something so incredibly fucking wrong with just not giving a single shit about yourself, and more importantly, your kids.

P.S. Just a little about me, hopefully negating myself from any obvious backlashes. I was very lucky in having been brought up by both my parents in a brilliant environment. We weren’t particularly well off, but we were comfortable. I was always taught the value of money, and ever since I can remember I was out washing cars, doing neighbours gardens etc. to earn some pocket money. Although, throughout the years my parent’s have helped me out when they can with coinage, or sat me down and explained why they couldn’t help with a situtaion, I have never had the luxury of not knowing limits past just living a simple life. The thing I love them most for is not when they managed to get me a Scalextric one Christmas, it’s that they made me eat my greens, got my up when I didn’t want to suck sludge out of the gutter in my factory job and forced me to get my overalls on, that they sent me to school….no questions asked, and made me understand respect for myself and those around me. This is why I get frustrated when I see fat kids, it’s not about resources, it’s about caring.

Although there is plenty of funk in this album, if I were allowed only one word under some kind of word Nazi regime, it would be “Beautiful”.

The only slight gripe I might be able to squeeze out of myself if that with such an incredibly resonating voice, and precise song writing, maybe there is a touch of over production. I would have preferred to have had a more intimate experience. That being said, some of the production choices are pretty damn incredible. Jesus Woon, you can’t win with me.

In summary, Mirrorwriting is a soulfully delivered master class in elegant musicality. If only more artists could be as brave.

9/10

This album has Colonel Abramsesque housey groove coming out the ears. Built For Love being the week spot, the remaining tracks soak up any fraction of doubt that you sir, are not cool, and make you want to actually eat the funk!

If you like throw back house, soulful voices and a swagger that oozes class, get Kraak & Smaak – Electric Hussle!

8/10

The Curious Case of the Thoroughly Missing Member

>> TOP SECRET << >>Contains confidential information. Please burn your iPod after listening!

Bonus: Nick’s CD Club

We didn’t have time in Episode 3 to bring you the debut of Nick’s CD Club. So here it is – enjoy. Don’t forget to look for us on iTunes where the entire back-catalogue is available.