Playing Snake On My Nokia 3210

Welcome back friends. This week I am going to talk about something that gets up everyone’s nose; public transport. I rarely use buses or trains anymore, mainly due to the fact that most things for me are walking distance away. Anything else I can usually get to in my DeLorean, eventually. It seems now more than ever people are cycling and walking to destinations instead of using public transport. To the naked eye that would seem like the healthier option has been chosen, but I like to scratch beneath the surface on these issues. My take on it is that most people don’t trust the punctuality of buses or trains in the outer city areas. In London the only way to get about is via public transport. The underground is packed at peak times and the buses always look full. This is mainly because getting about in London, although quite entertaining to the passengers, is a challenge to even the most experienced driver. The congestion charge doesn’t help, but I can definitely see why it is in use.

Here in the Home Counties it is a far different story. Many snub the use of these services due to the percentage of the time that they are late to a destination. You can’t blame the service if there is a traffic jam or an old dear is taking their time at a zebra crossing, these can’t be helped. What can be helped is the amount of vehicles used at peak times and the regularity of them. Obviously this is a budget issue to which I know nothing about and won’t even entertain the idea of arguing. It’s just frustrating for the consumer when they are sitting at a station or bus stop for double the amount of time they expect to. In Japan they have The Shinkansen, or the bullet train. A superb piece of engineering that has been in operation since 1964.Tests as far back as 2003 have shown that these trains can reach well over 300mph. That is nearly eight years of known technology at the world’s fingertips and we have only just started the ball rolling on a London – Birmingham line for trains that can go 200mph. Since its inception The Shinkansen has never been late to a destination. Furthermore they are usually on-time to the nearest 10 seconds. That is incredible in my opinion, especially when you can be sitting at platform 3 in Harrow on the Hill and time the next train to the nearest 10 minutes.

Ok I will stop complaining about punctuality and move on to other reasons why so many of us are choosing other methods of travel. When I was at college I would regularly get the bus from the stop a couple of hundred yards from my house in order to get there. I would sit at the bus stop for X amount of minutes whilst playing snake on my Nokia 3210. The bus would pull up and I would board and pay before sitting in a seat next to a window. The bus would begin moving and, every so often, would stop to let people off/ let people board. With the time being between 08:30 and 09:30 there would be a lot of passengers so usually the bus was almost full. We would get to the stop where the nutters would be waiting and my heart would skip a beat. There would usually be three or four of them and, as the bus was nearly full, they would shuffle for a seat. The seat next to me was usually not taken because I would stretch out due to the lack of leg room. You can guess what happens next. One of them spies the vacant seat and, without asking or gesturing, plonks his weird ass on said seat. I look the other way towards the window pretending not to notice or care. Suddenly the bloke starts to whistle, no real cause for concern. He then starts erratically moving from side to side, knocking me into the window. I turn to him and ask him to stop, but to him it sounded like I wanted to be friends for the remainder of the journey. He kept coming out with random comments like, “I like potatoes,” and “My toast is burnt.” To which I would nod and turn away again. Eventually we would get to the bus station and I would quickly jump off and start briskly walking to college.

My point is that there is no segregation on public transport. I just want to get from A to B without fear of sitting next to someone I would consciously cross the road to avoid. I know that if I were to get on a bus in my home town now, the nutter to normal ratio would be far greater than back then. There are a lot of smelly people on buses as well. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for people that sit next to me to not bathe in their own urine. I just don’t want the hassle of it so I choose to drive or walk. If I had to decide between a taxi and a bus I would pay the extra to sit on my own and be dropped off at my front door.

Nevertheless I do think that public transport is vital in urban areas and I would use it if my options were limited. I just wish that they were a more attractive option.

Thanks for reading…

Bonus Blog: Addiction To An Institution

Welcome back my friends to a special edition of my blog site. I this issue I will be addressing an unbelievably huge part of my life, and so many others. Something that has been at the very core of our personalities and achievements down the years. An institution that has taken many hours of joy and pain from my dearest friends and I for so long. This blog coincides with the release of that very special friend of mine’s year 2012 edition. I am talking, of course, about Football Manager 2012.

Let me take you back to a time where everything seemed so simple. I had a Sega Master System while my friends had Mega Drives. Move on a couple of years and I had a PS1 while some had Nintendo 64’s. In truth I was always one step behind in the console game. Not that I cared much about this too much, in fact it made the time playing on them more special and helped me to appreciate the moments of technologically based fun. I remember one sunny afternoon, around a friend’s house (Joe Munt), I was introduced to a game that brought sheer joy to me in the small time I was afforded to play it. The game was Championship Manager 2, the old school version of today’s international sensation. The makers were Eidos, a small British based software company established in 1990. From the moment I made my first signing for Northampton Town, bringing Ali Gibb to the club on a permanent deal from Norwich after a successful loan spell, I was hooked. I can’t begin to tell you the rush that you get when a player you have signed scores his first goal. It is still a buzz even now, in a time when you can fine your players for misconduct or tell the media that you dislike the opposition manager.

It was not at Joe’s house that my addiction started though, far from it. I had no PC when I was a nipper but just around the corner from my house were two absolute legends in the making. Long Meadow was a vast road that separated the Bedgrove Road from the Paddock. The road stretched for hundreds of yards, but at the Camborne Avenue end lived a very special family – the Goodins. Five (soon to be six) of the most legendary people you are ever likely to meet. The two sons of John and Anita were Luke and Ellis, one is currently stateside chasing the American Dream and the other is one of the key players in FC Unique’s title challenge of 2011/12 season. Both had to put up with a persistent Championship Manager “junkie” that lurked round the corner from their home. That addict was me. I would knock on the door every day like clockwork to get my “fix” of the fictional management world. I would invite them out to play football, but eventually we would end up at the computer screen typing in MSDOS the keywords cd/cm9798 and loading up one of our many saved games.

There were many unfortunate incidents that plighted our gaming experiences and caused many arguments among the three of us. Like accidently clicking cancel when Luke was about to sign Juninho for Man Utd. An incident that threatened our very friendship, and is probably still not forgiven to this day. The Guttuso method was forged on one game where you could theoretically sign any player you wished if you offered them a month-to-month contract. The season where Luke was cheating to sign players for nothing and it slipped me by for several months before I realised his budget did not deviate nor did his balance. Luke would click through many pages without reading each screen, while Ellis would take so long it was home time before we got to the first game. There were so many great memories as well. The main one being the season Luke and I both reached the Champions League final. He beat me 2-0 but the journeys we both undertook to get there were memorable.

There have been many players of note throughout the years of playing the game that are worth a mention; Martin Palermo, Javier Saviola, Francesco Viveros, Roberto Donadoni, Dougie Freedman, Lewis Buxton, Ibrahima Bakayoko, Robert Pires, Christian Vieri, Vladimir Beschastnykh, Karl-Heinz Riedel, Lars Ricken, Davor Suker to name but a few. There are so many more that brought enjoyment and pleasure to the world of Championship/Football Manager.

What new players will capture our imaginations this year as we progress through the 2012 season and beyond? What torturous pain will we have to endure in order to achieve true greatness in this truly perfect management simulation? Only time will tell my friends, a lot of time. In fact let’s not lie to ourselves, any free time we get will be spent at our laptops and PC’s dedicated to the one, the only Football Manager. Let the addiction re-ignite. Thanks for reading.

Ten Of Your Best Penny Chews Please!

Welcome back friends. This week I’m going to talk about jobs and professions. I’m a security officer at a well known retail chain. Most of you know this and a few of you don’t. I am happy to have a job in this current financial climate and I will never complain about it, even though I know I am capable of much greater feats. I enjoy the majority of what I do without ever really feeling ecstatic about my day’s work. To me it is a job – do as I’m told, give it 110% and never complain unless warranted.

The end of the month is supposed to be a joyous time, where my bank account bulges with earned currency from the previous month. It’s supposed to take me back to a time where I have a bit of pocket money from completing my chores to go to the sweet shop with and ask the nice man behind the counter, "Ten of your best penny chews please!". Unfortunately the reality of the situation is more like walking several miles to a well with a rusty bucket, filling said bucket to capacity with sweet, nourishing drinking water, then returning home and finding the bucket virtually empty due to a sizeable hole at the base of it. I look forward to pay day every month, it is like a mini-Christmas, but when it is time to unwrap the metaphorical presents there are just socks and pants inside. Rent, phone bill, loan repayments, credit cards and other financial leaches suddenly come to life. They chase me down a cul-de-sac where, eventually I turn to face them and hand over the money I worked so hard to never see. With what little left I cling on to I decide to blow on boozy nights I won’t remember, petrol for my unquenchably thirsty car and junk food that just goes straight through me.

I have never really cared about what people do for a living. If I meet someone new and they tell me their job title I instantly forget. Not because I am ignorant or disinterested, but because I have no real need to know this information from someone I have just met. There are so many people who are judgemental when they first meet someone that I think it really shouldn’t matter. If someone told me that they are a traffic warden or a banker I wouldn’t care. I would make uncomfortable jokes and sideways digs at them but I wouldn’t judge them on how they make money. They are paying their taxes and national insurance like everyone else in the working class. I have been guilty of taking the piss when I hear people say job titles that are ridiculous or unusual, this is what you have to expect from me I’m afraid, but I would want to get to know the real you before I decide not to like you.

Some people say “you are your job.” This may be true if you are a doctor or a celebrity, but not if you are a bus conductor or a car park attendant. Never feel like someone is better than you because they are doing something more worthwhile. I believe we all are useful in our own way. For instance, who would my sisters shout at if I wasn’t here to annoy them? Who would impatient people push past in the street if I wasn’t barged out of the way? Who would be started on by a drunken man as a result of clumsily knocking his pint out of his hand in the local bar? I am here to take that burden away from people, ergo I am a worthwhile citizen of this Earth.

I also don’t care about how much more people make than me. Money is a wonderful thing to have if you respect the power it has over you. I believe that when I eventually do make the sort of money that would give me financial comfort, I will appreciate it more due to the situations I have been in as a direct result of my past immature approach to money. If you tell me your salary I will be interested to hear it, but not particularly excited for you unless, in some way, that money is coming my way.

Well time for me to wrap this up, thanks for reading. Look out for a bonus blog this Friday!!!

If You Throw Enough Shit Then Some Will Stick

Welcome back friends and settle in for a few paragraphs of me. As I said last week I will be attacking random categories of people and this week I have chosen one close to my heart. I would like to call to the stand – the modern day footballer. It was bound to happen in one of my blogs and I guess this one is as good as any. For those of you who don’t watch football, there are still issues that may have made you angry in the past so let’s hope I cover those.

When I say the word “football” to anybody it brings a different reaction every time. I look at this subject as someone on the inside looking out, but I see professional football totally differently. The media give football this dark and seedy look most of the time, with stories of adultery, corruption and misbehaviour. I will never accept that all professionals act the same way and so I will not generalise the sport. In fact it is only the small minority that bring the reputation down. One does wonder in the back of their head how they would react to suddenly being thrust into the limelight with sponsorship deals, interviews, ridiculous sums of money, women throwing themselves at you and paparazzi eager to buy stories about you from anyone that brushes past you. I would like to believe that I wouldn’t be so stupid as to wrap a Bentley around a lamp post due to the 150mph I was doing previously round a sharp corner. I would like to think I am not so idiotic that I would rent a hotel room out and wake up in the morning surrounded by white powder and hookers. I would also like to think that as I am a well paid and respected athlete, I wouldn’t take pictures of my knob and send it to a page 3 girl behind my more attractive wife’s back.

In truth I just don’t know how I would cope with the fame and fortune that comes from being a pro-sportsman. What’s more I can’t really judge from my position the correct way to conduct one’s self in the public eye. That doesn’t mean I can’t shake my head every time I wake up, switch on Sky Sports News before work and hear that another player is in custody under suspicion of rape/battery/being a dick or all of these. I understand that some women lie in order to make a quick quid off the bank account of a rich, young and naive airhead footballer, but if you throw enough shit then some will stick.

I haven’t bought or read a newspaper in over a year and I refuse to. They twist the facts so much to support their own opinions that it’s laughable sometimes. The back pages are filled with constant bandwagon criticism and scandal that I cannot stomach reading any of it. For example if a reporter hears in an interview from a manager of a top club that the ref made the wrong decision. The headline would read, “Manager says death to all referees.” Or if a player says he is flattered by interest from another club the headline would say, “Player is unhappy with life at club and wants to move.”

Another massive issue is the amount that some modern day footballers get paid by their clubs. Some grab as much as £250,000 a week. You don’t need me to tell you that’s a lot of money for one person to possess. I think that most of you will agree with me that these clubs should be giving that money back to the dedicated people that support the team, not spend every last penny pampering their stars. I know it is a cliché but how much do doctors make a week? How much do the brave men and women of our armed forces make risking their lives on the front line in hostile terrains? When you put it into perspective the game has grown beyond any control or boundaries. The issue has festered for far too long for there to be a quick fix, but that doesn’t mean it should be ignored.  

Football is enjoyed throughout all age groups. Some boys and girls as young as three years old start to join local clubs on Saturday mornings and really embrace the spirit of the game. You would like to think that these youngsters have good role models in which to aspire to be. Like I said though, it is a small minority of players and I believe football does far more good than harm in local communities. From day one I loved playing football, in the local paddock where I grew up the field was always occupied with kids playing a game. Football helped me to stay where the drugs and crime weren’t. There were a few groups of kids that got involved in that near where I lived, but I was too busy playing football to ever be tempted by smoking or under-age drinking. It is a shame that some people never got that choice but I did and I’m glad that I chose not to get involved.

I do apologise if you were expecting something funnier, normal service will resume in the next blog, thanks for reading...

Urinate On Your Collective Upholstery

So, you decided to return did you? Well that says a lot more about you than it does me. It tells me that you are amused by my words, agree with my opinions or your bored and are looking to fill a gap between eating and watching TV. Welcome back to all who returned and enjoy the next few paragraphs of mindless fertilizer.

I’m going to be attacking random categories of people in the next few instalments, just so you’re aware. It will mainly be people that you also dislike but not to the extent that you would publish it in a blog. My first “type” of person is the BMW driver. Now, I have friends that drive BMW’s and they are good people with good intentions...I think, but put them behind the wheel of the German engineered death machine and I instantly want to urinate on their collective upholstery. It isn’t so much the car that I dislike, it’s the mindset that the driver has once the ignition is turned on and the handbrake is removed. They instantly believe in their deluded heads that they own the road and no one would dare question the reason why they cut up old people and inexperienced drivers in order to gain a few extra yards on a busy B-road.

I have been driving for 9 months now and, despite a few scrapes with bollards and fences, my car is still getting me around. I can honestly say that at least 80% of my “near misses” have involved BMW drivers. The remaining 20% are probably various vans and Chelsea tractors. 80% is too much to be a coincidence. I accept that most of those incidents may have been my inexperience and lack of road knowledge, but I don’t accept that more often than not on the other end is a suave tosser in a grey suit that some Debenhams sales assistant said was “satin silver,” holding his Blackberry whilst trying to steer and talk on speaker phone, paying zero attention to the Honda Civic Saloon (family air loom) on his left that is trying desperately not to swerve into the curb where an old dear is happily decomposing slowly on a bench.

I have recently been a passenger in a BMW owned by one of my best friends. He took me from my residence to the pub where we watched footy and had a cheeky pint. I have to say the ride is very comfortable and you do feel superior in a strangely British way. You know, the same British superiority feeling that you get when you jump a queue because you know someone, or when you finish mowing the lawn and peer over your neighbour’s fence to see how much nicer your garden looks to theirs. It is that same feeling and I get it, your car is better than mine well done. This doesn’t mean that your car has any more right to the road than mine and it doesn’t mean you can disregard other road users on your relentless mission you seem to be undertaking.

Overtaking is a big issue in my limited experience of driving. Usually my car struggles in the high gears to muster up the speed in which to overtake, but nevertheless I attempt it and usually look a bit of an idiot. If I spend more than 10 minutes behind the same car and it is consistently going 10 miles per hour under the speed limit, I get understandably annoyed. I then proceed in trying to overtake said vehicle at the earliest, safest opportunity. I push my foot closer to the floor, signal with my right indicator to warn other road users I am about to move into the oncoming lane. I get my car up to a decent speed and slowly move up alongside the car in front. It is at that point that I realise I am not driving a Golf GTI or a Subaru Impreza, so my acceleration isn’t quite in the same league. I trundle along trying to overtake but eventually the car alongside me slows down in order to let me pass. Truly embarrassing not only to be involved in but, I’m sure, to watch as well.

I really do love my car to be honest, plus it’s my first car so it will always be special to me. It has character and personality that you just don’t get from newer models. I often joke that my Civic is not an A to B car but more of an A to A and a half. I argue with it a lot as well, the damned thing never does what I tell it to and usually you need to ask it twice whenever accelerating and changing gear. I am nostalgic towards it as well; I named it “The Delorean” after the Back to the Future films. The only reasons I can think of is that the Delorean broke down a lot in the films and If I ever got it up to 88 miles per hour it would probably send me anywhere through time as well. Anyway it’s time for me to end this post so have a good week whatever your doing and thanks for reading...