Allen Miles

How’s it going?

Not too bad. I think the cat has just been sick in the kitchen.

You’re writing for this site because your primary goal in life didn’t work out. What was it?

I wanted a career. I wasn’t cut out for it.

What were you like at school?

I started out really really good, then I realised I could still get good marks without trying so I took my foot off the pedal a little bit. Many teachers decided that this signified an “attitude problem.”

What is your all time favourite

a) Album?

You’ll find out in due course.

b)Film?

Either The Apartment or Fight Club. I must have seen both of them 100 times each. Both are really dark with an open ending. I like films that make you add your own interpretation to the story.

c) Book?

Tales Of Ordinary Madness by Charles Bukowski.

d) Sitcom?

English: The Fall and Rise Of Reginald Perrin.

American: Seinfeld.

What’s your most treasured material possession?

I have an old album of photos that my Grandad took when he was in India during the war, so for sentimental reasons I’d say that. But I’d go absolutely berserk if I lost my mobile or my i-Pod, and I realise that is a severe character defect on my part.

What is the single best item of clothing you’ve ever owned?

My black Zara thigh-length coat. I used to call it my Dr Treves coat as its similar to the one Anthony Hopkins’s character wears in The Elephant Man but my friend Emma calls it the Matrix Coat and that sounds a bit cooler, I think.

Who is your favourite sportsperson ever?

Matthew Le Tissier. An utter genius with absolutely no ambition. I don’t know why I’m drawn to him.

Other than property, what is the most expensive thing you’ve ever bought?

My first guitar that I bought off my old mate Mikey Jarrell cost £150 but he let me pay in installments so I won’t count that. I ended up smashing it in an idiotic bit of Paul Simonen-esque posturing, anyway. I don’t think I’ve spent more than that on a single item since. Oh, I tell a lie, my I-Pod cost £279.

What’s your poison?

I like a good bottle of Shiraz from somewhere in the southern hemisphere. Chile or Australia, preferably.

Who is the funniest person you’ve ever met?

I’ve got a mate called Andy Kelly. One afternoon in Pave a few years ago he went on this rant about a programme he’d seen called The World’s Most Embarassing Injuries. I laughed so much I burst a blood vessel in my eye.

Pick five words to describe yourself.

Dreamer. Cynicist. Show-Off. Introvert. Contradictory.

Has there ever been a period in your life that you look back on and think “What the hell was I doing?”

Yes. I now refer to that period as “my twenties.”

What’s in your pockets right now?

Nothing. I’ve got my mod-cut Farah’s on. There’s very little room.

Can you dance?

Good lord no. I only ever hit the dance floor when I’m steaming pissed and my only move is swinging my arse from side to side. At a recent works do my colleague Dr Barnes forcibly dragged me up onto the floor and she didn’t seem too offended, though I may have noticed people laughing on the periphery.

Vinyl, Tape, CD or MP3?

CD. I hate the fact that I spent ten years of my life collecting CDs only to have them stuffed in the loft to gather dust and damp because of the convenience and practicality of the MP3. I miss having something to hold and I miss lyric sheets and artwork.

What are you most likely to complain about in a hotel?

I would never complain but it does my head in when the chamber maid barges in at half six in the morning.

What characteristics do you think you’ve inherited from your parents?

From my father my sociability, nerdish knowledge of football and being able to make people laugh. The characteristics I inherited from my mother will be disclosed on an analyst’s couch one day.

What’s your most unpleasant characteristic?

I can be despicably cold. I find it much easier to internalise feelings than share them with others. I rarely raise my voice in any circumstance and my wife tells me she has only ever seen me lose control once, and that was because Chris Brunt wasn’t pulling his weight.

What’s your culinary speciality?

Cooking is one of the few things I know I’m really good at. I’ve recently invented a sort-of shredded pork with fennel seeds and paprika thing and I’m a dab hand at lasagne but my favourite thing to cook is grilled chicken breast in a pulverised chorizo, pimenton and sweetcorn sauce with potatas bravas. It’s a Spanish dish and you want to be eating it in the summer with a glass of good cider.

What single non-political thing winds you up the most?

Jessie J. I would gladly go to jail for the opportunity to spend a weekend torturing that syphilitic stage-school brat with a pair of pliers and a blow torch. Everything she ever does has been taught to her by a drama tutor. She is not a real person.

What’s your greatest fear?

Nuns.

What music would you have played at your funeral?

It changes all the time. I’d like Sometimes by My Bloody Valentine, maybe The Masterplan by Oasis, Country Dumb by Josh T Pearson, Bird Girl by Antony and The Johnsons… definitely a Tom Waits song but I can’t decide between Tom Traubert’s Blues or On The Nickel. The only song that I must insist 100% is played at my funeral is I’ll Take The Rain by REM. I have never shed a tear over a song, but the chorus to it is so unspeakably beautiful it’s the closest I’ve ever come. If I was ever to get a tattoo, it would be the lyric to the chorus of that song.

What do you see when you look in the mirror?

I see a face that has a few tales to tell, not as pretty as it was ten years ago but definitely wiser.

Recite a line of the greatest lyric ever written.

Xavier beat me to the one I would have chosen, so I’ll go with this,

“Embrace to betrayal
An arms army salvation
Listen to the selfish ones
They are the voice of accomplishment”

It’s Doors Closing Slowly by The Manic Street Preachers

Happiness is…

Brian Glanville’s History Of The World Cup.

What are your plans for this weekend?

I’m working Saturday, so maybe a bottle of wine and Match Of The Day when I get in, and going to park with Gabbers on Sunday.

Mr Miles’s twisted diatribes can be found below.

Paul Gascoigne: A Pre-Emptive Requiem