My Teddy Took On The Role Of "Ming The Merciless"

Welcome back my avid followers to another pilgrimage of discovery through my mind. These posts are starting to become collector’s items as the time and inspiration to write them has dwindled somewhat over the past year. I still enjoy setting aside moments in my day to ponder recent activities and events but getting them on my increasingly frustrating laptop is a chore at best. I can’t promise that the glory days of weekly posts will return but at least this will ease the pressure on me thrust by certain quarters. Let’s just enjoy the limited time we spend together and take it for what it is – just a little bit of satirical fun straight from my head. Have you all got your hot beverages and tasty snacks? If so let’s begin. In this post I will address the evolution of social behaviour and the many ways in which we communicate in these confusing times… 


Let me take you back to when I was a wee nipper running around, pulling limbs from daddy long-legs, eating soil from the buffet tray that was my back garden and actively imagining myself in the role of Flash Gordon fighting my teddy who took on the role of the evil "Ming the Merciless". I miss those days where you could fit into pedal cars and ride your bike all day without fatigue. It was a much simpler existence. Back then the television was a privilege with only four channels, computers took a fortnight to load and CD’s were just a pipe dream. In those days the only way to communicate to people was to actually talk to them face to face. Well, that and to attach a message to a trained pigeon’s foot. This system seemed to be more reliable than the postal service. Many people had telephones connected to the switch board; this system was used to talk to people in remote places. We didn’t have a landline phone for much of my childhood, but soon moved with the times and got one just as I was developing friendships at school. The only problem was that because this system was abused by my two older sisters too many times, our mother put a call barring code on the phone. Back to using yoghurt pots and string then. 


As Bob Dylan famously sang “the times they are a changing.” No truer words were bleated than with technology and the way we communicate. The invention of the internet has revolutionised our day-to-day lives. Software is being developed as we speak making the stuff we use now almost useless in two to three years time. That to me is staggering. If you want to talk to someone in Bangladesh there are more ways to do it than ever. To name but a few – text, phone, email, internet chat rooms, social networking sites, face time, letter, telegram, Morse code, fax…the list goes on. I discovered a webcam site earlier this week. I don’t own a webcam and probably won’t ever buy one but I checked it out and all it seems to be is grown men masturbating down the camera at unsuspecting people. I don’t think that particular site is for me. I will inbox you the site if you are interested. There are lots of new phrases and terms used in texting and emailing. Terms like LOL and LMFAO, are constantly used in these forms of communication. I use them quite a lot myself in order to infiltrate this new adopted digital language. 


The Queen’s English is dying a slow and painful death in the urban areas of our green and pleasant land. Words like “bruv” are replacing the timeless classic “geezer.” This saddens me when I walk into a pub and order a pint of lager and bacon fries, turn around and see two youthful looking boys with their hoods up playing on the fruit machine saying words like “sick” and “cuz.” I don’t think it is much of an adjustment for us to move along with these new urban phrases. Most teenagers just grunt at you when you attempt any basic form of communication so to hear anything is surely a blessing. I do think that the many ways in which we communicate has stunted our social skills somewhat though. People are choosing to interact with each other without leaving their own bedrooms, mainly due to the ease and quickness of the way things are mediated. Instant messaging and texting are now more convenient than vocal chords and body language. This saddens me in a way, especially now that complete fruitcakes can seem relatively normal in a chat room but if you saw them in the street you would make a conscious effort to avoid them. 


Even map reading skills are a thing of the past now thanks to sat-navs and route planners. Smart phones have these applications on them as standard these days. I’m not saying that my map reading skills are exemplary but I find geography fascinating and love knowing capital cities and names of rivers, mountain ranges, landmarks etc. It is a shame that some don’t give a shit about what the capital of Norway is or what river runs through Paris. I have met people who didn’t realise that Canada was a separate country to USA. That isn’t just ignorance to geography, that is just plain ignorance. I have done it again, moved off on a tangent and I really don’t want to read back to see where the original subject changed so I will leave it there for now. Thanks for reading… 

Pay For Your Own Drinks Until The Cheque Clears

Welcome back to another steaming pile of literature that pushes the boundaries of sanity to bursting point. We are currently in the middle of a welcome heatwave here in the UK and many of us are enjoying it by heading to the coast this weekend for sun, sea, sand, ice cream, a stick of rock and a 3rd degree burn. I on the other hand have decided to stay at home this weekend for an equally fun packed activity itinerary including washing my clothes, a hair cut, drinking a shandy or two and annoying my kitty in the garden. Right now, on with the blog...


I often have time to myself to reflect on my day with either fondness or regret. Usually my mind branches out on tangents and never really returns to the subject I began the thought process with. Many of these thoughts, as PH explained in an earlier post, should never see the light of day. Truly horrific realities spew from my imagination and interact with reality to form concoctions of weird mixed with borderline funny with a dash of morally indecent. I can't help these inappropriate thoughts but I suppose I can help my vocal chords from mediating them towards any delicate ears that might be in the vicinity. Although this week I have decided to release one of these stirrings from my mind and gage the reaction of your good selves. Last night I was watching the Euromillions draw and wondered, as many do, what I would do if I became a multi-millionaire overnight. It is very difficult to re-cap exactly what my thought process was because I didn't have a pen to hand but I will try to interpret this in the best way that I can, so here goes...


Initial Reaction and first week - I would immediately grab my phone upon discovering my windfall and proceed to phone my closest circle of people to inform them in an hysterical way that I am now in possession of more money than I could possibly need. This should take quite a while as I would have to start with relatives, ie; mum, dad, sisters, grandparents, cousins, aunties and uncles. Then I would phone my closest friends. I would probably say I have six true friends of whom I would happily share my success with, the rest would probably get a fruit basket and a gift token for WH Smith. I don't think in the first week it would be possible to remove me from the ceiling due to the instant joy this extreme luck would bring. My head would tell me to wait until the cheque clears before doing anything rash but my fast beating heart and dancing feet instantly want to go out and celebrate. Straight in the bar for a night of partying and everyone would be invited, but pay for your own drinks until the cheque clears!!


Upon Receipt - Let's say I wake up one excited morning and rush to the bank to check that the whole thing wasn't a dream. My account reads £42,357,221. Holy shit!!! I phone work to inform them I won't be returning. The bank is pissing distance from the travel agent so that would be the next stop. I casually walk in and book a private business class trip for 4 to Vegas. I am sure if you are close to me you would know the three other people boarding that plane. After two weeks I decide to come home having spent a few hundred grand on various experiences that I unfortunately cannot tell you due to the pact that myself and my three friends made upon arrival. When I return I start to buy properties, cars and a season ticket to the Arsenal. I would give to each of my immediate family members £1m and £500k to my closest friends.


Tangent Time - You will inevitably get bored of all that money once you have done it all and seen it all. This is where my mind went weird as I watched the Euromillions draw unfold. What would I do to stave off the boredom? Voluntary work for charitable foundations? Not my style but I would donate a fair chunk to a few chosen charities. I think I would invest wisely and make billions from that - easily done I'm sure. My mind instantly went into "knob mode" and thought about the possibilities. Build a laboratory under my stately home and hire scientists to create a super race of Gareths hellbent on ridding the world of Doritos supplies. I would be the leader of this new super race and command them to overthrow the parliamentary system and initiate "Operation Big-G." My beloved Arsenal would win everything every season - including competitions they didn't enter into. I would declare all narcotics legal, ban TOWIE from any network and arrest anyone found watching the DVD, plus I would make beer the national symbol of Garethland - oh and I changed the name of the country, try to keep up.


Conclusion - It was at that point I snapped out of it and went to bed. Although it was very warm in my house due to the weather, a shiver went down my spine thinking of where my mind took me. Obviously it was nonsense but I'm not sure how I would cope with all that money. Statistically I have no need to worry as the chances of me winning the jackpot are so small the only thing left is to dream. Thanks for reading...

I Also Like Belching, Swearing And Telling Dirty Jokes

Welcome back my unsuspecting victims to another edition of drivel in the shape of my grey matter. May is at it's latter stage, December and January are a distant blip on our annual radars now. We all are finally starting to get a foothold of our finances after an expensive Christmas period and a long first few months of 2012. I for one am in an optimistic mood for the final 7 months of this particular year, but that doesn't mean I am going to move away from my responsibilities on here and be Mr Nice on this blog. There is still plenty to rant about and an everlasting supply of stuff to poke fun at. This week has a topical theme and I bet you can guess who I will be attacking, no? Well you will have to read on won't you...

I am going after the bitter and twisted world of love. What do I know about love I hear you ask? Not an awful lot granted but I have a fair idea on the affect it can have on people. In my eyes there are two types of love in the world. First is the obvious between a man and a woman, a man and a man, a woman and a woman or a midget and a fat girl. This kind of love is the mushy, intimate and sexually charged type. People fall in and out of love on a daily basis so I tend to take this type with a pinch of salt. The other love is platonic and is shared between the bond of family, friends and towards pets. This love is often unconditional and very difficult to break.


I am a firm believer in love. I think when two people meet for the first time they know instantly, it is instinct and it just happens without any warning. That being said I also believe in naivity and exploitation. Women are experts in manipulation and emotional blackmail. They use a man's weekness to gain power and positions of strength. Men are a very uncomplicated gender, we only think of three things and two of them are the same thing. Women are far more complex and emotional and therefore understand situations better when it comes to love. Instead of educating men and telling us where we need to improve, most women get a kick out of watching us second-guess and squirm our way through a relationship. We all think that if we just keep her sweet and not mess up too badly, there is a treat waiting at the end of it all.

There is a very popular social networking sight that is being completely misused by really dull or self obsessed people. In fact I post this blog onto it for your pleasure. I have blocked so many people from my feed page who continuously post status updates declaring love for their other halves, who usually are in another room in the same house. I understand that you are completely smitten and want to shout about it but come on people get a grip. I can't speak for everyone but I am pretty sure nobody cares how much you love each other, let alone be updated on it every five minutes. I am completely satisfied with being single and having no complications in my personal life, but I don't want to be constantly reminded about the fact I am. I suppose one day I will wake up desperate and drop my standards but for now I am happy as I am. There are also other underlying issues with status updates on that sight but I will save that for another blog.

Some of my closest friends are in long term relationships, have kids, are married or engaged. I am happy for them and am there for them when they need me. They also understand that when they are invited on a "lads" night out, this means that they don't bring their other halves...well some of them do. It does turn the night a bit awkward if we are all meeting up to mess about and one of us turns up with a lady. It's not that we don't want her there it's just we don't...want her...there. I like the nights out where everyone is invited believe me, it's just I also like belching, swearing and telling dirty jokes. These are instantly out of the window once a female is within ear shot.

We Would Have Never Have Got Round To Building Rome

Welcome back to another edition of immaculate conceptions of words flowing from my fingertips through the medium of a laptop, electricity and fibre-optic broadband. Where has the time gone? I could have sworn May has only just started and here we are in the middle of the fifth month of the year. Soon it will be Summer where us Brits enjoy our two and a half days wearing flip flops and shorts whilst desperately waiting for the barbecue to light as the oven just won't do. The garden has to be trimmed every week, the winter clothes go to the back of the wardrobe with the t-shirts and three quarter lengths at the front and the familiar sound of the ice cream van belts out an almost sinister tune as it tears through the landscape of suburbia.


I love waking up in the morning to my room being bright and sunny as the light forces it's way through the defences of my windows and curtains. When I have to get up early for work the last thing I want is  to still be in the dark and and have to clamber around looking for essential work-related items whilst trying (and failing) not to wake up the rest of the house. With the northern hemisphere of our planet tilting beautifully towards the sun for the next few months days will be longer and evenings will last well into the nine/ten o'clock region. This makes garden parties and drinking outside pubs a must.


I love the British attitude towards the summer time. If the weather is warmer than average we all stop working and frantically make a break for the coast. A massive influx of 24 hour bugs start to plague most businesses as record numbers of people call in sick. Even the building trade starts to lag a bit. They spend all winter complaining that the rain is stopping them from working, then when a bit of sun breaks through they all clock off for an early afternoon in a beer garden and that is where they stay. Imagine if Britain was situated just a few hundred miles south of where we are now. There would be no motivation to work as we would have beautiful weather every day. We would have never have got round to building Rome, although apparently it took more than a day.


Alas this time of the year should be cherished and savoured as unpredictability walks hand in hand with our green and pleasant land. We never know from one day to the next what the weather has in store for us. For it was only two months ago we were in an official state of drought, followed by four weeks of non-stop rain. I blame the government for that. As soon as someone even uttered the words "hose pipe ban" they jinxed it for everyone and the heavens opened. My advice is enjoy it while it lasts because it won't last. Hopefully we will get a sustained period of lovely sun and warm temperatures but let's not get our hopes up in fear of crushing disappointment.

Thanks for reading...

Just When You Though It Was Safe To Go Back On The Net

Welcome back readers to what will hopefully be a return to my regular posting schedule. I have a few apologies to make and I understand the uproar that has ensued due to my absence. We are back in recession, the economy is collapsing around us and we discovered that there is a gentleman working in the White House named Randy Bumgardner. So much can change in just a few months that I struggle to remember it all, but I will keep you informed of my situation and the reasons for my mysterious absence. The main excuse I have is my new job. It is very intense and occupies most of my time. Other more lame excuses I would like to mention are; no inspiration, my laptop continues to frustrate me with erratic behaviour and I am just plain lazy. I have to say that I am impressed with the level of commitment some of you have in trying to persuade me to start writing again, if only my commitment was half as strong, you would have no reason to bug me every day since I stopped. I can only hope that you all can put those dark few months behind you and find a reason to forgive me of my thoughtlessness. Well that's enough of my empty promising and fake sentiment, on with the blog...


In this edition I have decided to do a bit of research into the weird traditions that some people in this country religiously continue to take part in. There were some crackers that I found so here are a few that I feel should be brought to your attention and exposed as genuinely mental behaviour and are as ridiculous as they sound. Let me take you on a short journey to Gloucestershire for my first hilarious tradition. At the top of Coopers Hill there is an annual event that the whole area gets involved in. Some of you may already know of this strange event and some of you don't, but we should all be in agreement that this behaviour is clearly not in keeping with the county's usually sane occupants. For on the last Monday in May, changed to the first month in June this year, there are a large group of people that congregate at the top of said hill. From what I can gather from my limited understanding, several large rounded blocks of cheese are hurled down this steep hill followed by the participants. People are launching themselves down a hill in pursuit of...well cheese. Some become seriously injured trying to beat others to the dairy products and get pealed off the floor by paramedics, some probably later die in hospital. Are these people so deprived that they have to risk life and limb for something as simple as cheese? Do they realise that they can just pop to the Tesco half a mile down the road and buy the same product? (other bloodsucking, soulless supermarkets are available). Maybe they can't afford it, so I appeal to all of you generous readers - If you have a spare wedge of cheese please send it to Gloucestershire, they need it more than you do!


Moving on...The village of Willaston, near Nantwich, Cheshire is the next place that has been brought to my attention. The next sentence may be a little hard to believe but bare with me. Every July the "Annual World Championship Worm Charming Event" takes place. I feel enough has already been said but let us continue. A group of "world class" worm charmers descend upon this village and attempt to charm as many worms out of the ground as possible in a specified time limit. I'm sold, in fact I have purchased box seats to this year's championships. There are rules and regulations that have to be strictly adhered to; each competitor competes in a 3 x 3 meters area. Music of any kind can be used to charm worms out of the ground. No drugs can be used! Water is considered to be a drug (stimulant). Have you heard of anything more ridiculous? Probably but this surely runs close. I believe that worm charming has a place in our great society however, I mean look how many worm charmers there are already out there making money from this unique skill. Most of them work in places like Spearmint Rhino or Hooters.


My last tradition is the Bog Snorkeling Championships. I will consider that some of you are probably eating whilst reading this and ignore that fact. In a nutshell; on the last Monday of every August, in Waen Rhydd peat bog, near Llanwrtyd Wells in mid Wales people are swimming in 60 yards of shit. They compete with goggles and flippers on swimming two lengths of poo filled water to raise money for charity. That is 120 yards of crap, a hell of a long time to be doing such a thing - even for charity. Lunacy doesn't even begin to describe what is going on here. I can barely stand the smell of my own poo let alone anyone elses!!! Maybe this is a fetish to some people. I often joke about wondering what people's poo tastes like but talking about it and doing it are two completely different things, get a grip!


Well that wraps up my first blog for a while, I hope that you enjoyed it and hopefully I will have another one for you next week. Until then Have a good week...

Walking Like They Need An Emergency Poo

Welcome back my readers to a belated edition of my blog. Saturday may have to be the new regular post day due to my new busy lifestyle, apologies if this throws your literature schedule out of the window. It is always my aim to give you an incite into my thoughts without driving you to a near death experience in the process. These posts aren't meant to lead a new cult of people who tolerate less and demand more, far from it. These posts hopefully provide food for thought and a view that you may have kept hidden hoping to never unearth.This week I am just going to start typing and, at the end, not read what I have written but just post it. It's a little more like my early posts where I have absolutely no idea what I am going to write and no idea of the consequences as a result.  I will continue on the British theme, this week it is about Brits abroad and how other countries perceive our millions of holiday makers.

I have not been abroad in a while and when I do I usually go to a Greek island or Spain. I am not a well travelled man, in fact I have never left Europe. When I visit these other countries I am usually too drunk to realize where I am, let alone take in the culture and sights. The places I go to are usually dead during the day and rammed with drunk people at night. The streets are awash with loud rugby players or football fans wearing the same tops but with nicknames on the back. Names like Chewbacca, Knob jockey, Custard Cream, The Fridge and Count Duckular are among the Neanderthal mess of the "strip" that you will find on a lads holiday. The "ladies" are a delight too. Many end up lying down covered in a mixture of donar kebab and vomit with legs akimbo advertising their "feminine side." This is obviously the extreme interpretation of events on a small percentage of some pretty great holidays, but it does make you wonder what these foreign countries think when they see these atrocities. Perhaps they are glad for the revenue generated and don't complain, but something tells me we are treading a fine line.

Most holiday makers go to historical sights in cities with a rich history and heritage. Places like Rome, Madrid, Berlin or Milton Keynes. I would be very interested in seeing these places and finding out about ancestral history and crap like that. This stuff fascinates me a lot and the first thing I think of when planning a well deserved holiday from thinking and working is to go to a place that involves loads of walking and learning. If your not picking up on these sarcastic undertones you're beyond help. I am actually very content to stay in my green and pleasant land and get wasted by the seaside. I can learn about Greek mythology and Roman empires in a library, I don't feel the need to return to the scene of the crime. I suppose this interest is developed with age, so I will wait until I am old and feel guilty that I know nothing about my planet.

I am going to try and put myself inside the head of a native when they see the next freshmen of UK residents invading their neighborhood for seven days. What would my first impressions be when I see a coach load of pasty white fat people who clearly don't know their size with regards to clothes, holding brochures highlighting points of interest in hand, digital cameras suspended from their necks, back packs strapped to each bingo wing, bum bags containing travelers cheques, caked in sun cream and walking like they need an emergency poo. I'm not sure how I would feel about that really. Probably not ecstatic.

I love the mad scramble for duty free products at the airport. We love a bargain here in the UK, even if the items we purchase are relatively useless. Why do we go mad about saving a few quid on products we wouldn't buy normally? I just don't get why people feel the need to buy massive bottles of cologne or perfume when they are only spending a bit less and probably wont use it. Alcohol and cigarettes are dirt cheap in this country as well so there really is no need. Oh wait a minute, no their not they are extortionate and well over priced!!! I have a suggestion, sell duty free petrol at airports then maybe we could get something we need. Thanks for reading and remember Saturday is now the regular post day...

Fear Of Black Ice Or Abominable Snowmen

Welcome back readers to another edition of my thoughts in cyber form. I will take you on a journey where the destination is unknown, even in my head, but as I write there will be plenty of road-side stops filled with rants, many junctions of humour with a few roundabouts of immaturity thrown in. Hopefully as you read this you are in a nice warm room and not out there in the blistering cold that we call winter. Of course if you are reading this in Australia or any southern hemisphere country, have a cold beer and try to stay cool. This week is all about the Great British weather and the way us Brits react to the tiniest change in temperature or climate.

As a British citizen I am programmed with the same mentality towards our weather as every other UK resident. We complain when it’s hot and we complain when it’s cold. In fact we complain when it’s not hot or cold. The truth is that the weather here on our beautiful green island is never the same for long and we never get used to it for long enough before it changes again. When the sun comes out we savour it for a few days. We wear shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops and do many outdoor activities to soak up the warm weather. After a while it goes in again and we all sigh and get on with mediocrity once again. The problem is that when the weather is hot we, as a country, collectively never want to do any work. People phone in sick, builders finish half way through the day, the beaches become packed with pasty overweight people and the bars spill out onto the streets. Suddenly we become a tropical island overnight. News reporters show temperatures of other countries and compare them to the UK, revealing that we are hotter than Miami, Athens and the surface of the Sun. We are top of the temperature tables for one week in a year hooray!!!

September and October come around and we are all on edge. What coat should I wear? Do we put the heating on yet? When does Alton Towers close for the season? Ultimately over the last few years the weather has only started to turn cold at the back end of December, give or take a few sub-zero days here and there. Then you get to January and February and suddenly the country becomes obsessed with how cold it is (including me). Some of the stories you hear are a bit extreme though. Airports at a standstill due to a foot of snow whereas in Oslo or Stockholm where they endure tens of feet of snow the airports operate all year round. How come they cope yet we leave half of our holiday makers stranded in Tenerife or Tokyo wondering when Heathrow Terminal 4 will reopen? It’s snow for goodness sake!! Why don’t we plan ahead for these things? Surely there is a climate secretary or a transport minister in the political world that has contingencies and budgets in place in case these common weather patterns occur.

We are not asking for a lot half of the time on the front line when it comes to planning ahead. Just for there to be enough grit on the roads for us to continue our daily routines without fear of black ice or abominable snowmen roaming our streets. The chaos that ensues whenever a freak weather system comes to our island is sometimes quite scary. When I see pictures on the news of cars being swept away by floods and whole city centres being engulfed in water through a river that has burst its banks, it makes me feel lucky to be living in a town where the only weather we worry about is the wind blowing our bins 200 yards down the road. This country is still very lucky when it comes to nature’s destructive power. We only get baby tornadoes, we have no known volcanically active mountain ranges and we only get tiny earthquakes that barely measure on the Richter scale. The fact that we live in a pleasantly safe environment doesn’t mean we can’t complain about our weather, far from it. My theory is that we have it so good over here that we almost have nothing to complain about at all. So the mere fact that we complain about the weather is just our way of saying that nothing’s wrong, but if we had to nit pick...

What will happen at the end of this week with regards to the snow on the way? Who can say but we are all in agreement that it could be a lot worse, so let’s all stop with the winging and get on with it. Right after we stop moaning about the credit crunch, teenage anti-social behaviour and the spineless Liberal Democrats. Thanks for reading.

Wake Up and Smell The Triple Cheese and Bacon Burger!!!

Welcome back to another post filled with an economical amount of laughs to the gallon, a turbo fuel injected smattering of immaturity married with a dash of traction controlled thought provocation. Many people around the world read my blog, which is a surprise to me in many ways due to the uncultured style of my writing. Nevertheless I have audiences as far as France, Germany, Spain, Russia, Sweden, Australia and USA. I have even received hits in Macedonia, Slovenia and Latvia. To all of these readers I humbly welcome you and hope that you enjoy my quintessentially English personality mixed with borderline mental retardation. The responses that I have received in the months that I have been posting are overwhelmingly positive and I thank everyone that has taken the time to read and comment on this blog.

This week I am going to talk about dieting and fitness. I am a big guy, cuddly some might say. I have a few extra pounds that I could do with shedding but I always find some excuse to put off doing anything about it. Sure I make New Year’s resolutions and plan to eat less and exercise more but in the end I pick up the fork and put down the pedometer. I wouldn’t say that I am unhealthy though. I get plenty of vegetables from meals prepared by our live-in chef – my sister’s boyfriend and I play football up to four times a week. The amount of running I do in training on Monday alone is sufficient as it is indoors and you tend to sweat a lot.

I refuse to watch weight loss programmes on telly. These shows are sometimes detrimental to what they are trying to achieve. They stick a 30 stone thing in front of the screen; the gender is irrelevant as the genitals are lost in rolls of fat, tell them that unless they stop eating they will die and show the audience that there is a person behind all the flab. From a glancing view that doesn’t seem that damaging. Well imagine someone watching the show is 20 stone. You can guarantee they will be sitting there thinking, “Well at least I’m not that fat.” Then continuing with their delusional life. A lot of overweight people delude themselves into thinking that they have a condition that makes them fat, like water retention or a glandular problem. Wake up and smell the triple cheese and bacon burger!!! You got that way purely because of one reason; you have eaten more than your metabolism can handle and haven’t burned off the necessary calories in order to stay the same weight and size, fact.

Obesity is a subject that has been splashed all over the media recently, with statistics and articles supporting the feeling that more and more people have developed weight problems. We see headlines about growing numbers of obese people in the UK and the conditions that develop as a direct result. Most common conditions are diabetes or back and joint strains, which in turn affect the resources of the NHS. Brilliant, so I have to wait in a queue behind the stay-puffed marshmallow man and some shop-mobility scooter woman before I get to see my GP? It really winds me up when I see people getting around town in shop-mobility scooters just because they are huge. Blocking isles with their big arses and smelling of stale body odour. They only get clean if they drive their scooters through a jet wash.  

The old saying is, “You can’t have your cake and eat it.” This has now been modified for today’s target audience; “You can’t have your cake until you finish your pack of Maryland cookies and mini Swiss rolls.” I am a known crispaholic and I accept that I consume far too much Doritos and cheese balls. They are my vice and as an addict I realise that I have a problem. To counteract this condition I rarely eat chocolate bars, cakes or biscuits so yay me!!! Anyway, time to wrap this up so thanks for reading and until next week...

A Problem Shared Is Two Problems

Welcome back my friends to another edition of smooth sounding satire, mixed in with a backing chorus of rants, helped along with a metronome of mayhem. I feel compelled to open the doors on one of my pet hates this week. I don’t mean what types of pets I hate, that would be mental. Although I’m not particularly fond of millipedes. I am referring something that really gets up my nose with people I have the misfortune of interacting with on a daily basis.

The things that people say or do can make or break your day at times. One small action or sentence can set the tone or change a mood in an instant. You have to be really careful when you are faced with a conversation crossroads not to take the wrong option. This could lead to many horrific avenues of reaction. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction and in the social and professional world this is also the case. In earlier blog posts I have boasted of times where I can use these situations to push the controversy to breaking point purely for my own entertainment. I stand by my ethics and my methods, but when faced with an audience that you know is clearly inferior on a social level, it almost becomes so easy that it’s hard – if that makes sense. It is almost as if although you are trying to wind someone up they are so oblivious of the humour, sarcasm or insult that they feel as if they have won. That in turn annoys the hell out of me.

Moods are very contagious in the work place, at home or even in a public place. Smile and the world smiles with you. Frown and you bring the place down. I would never begrudge anyone who is in a mood about something personal, and if they are comfortable talking about it around me I would be happy to listen or give advice. If I had a personal problem I tend to keep it to myself purely because I feel selfish rubbing off my mood on other people. A problem shared is two problems. I refuse to turn my life into a soap opera and broadcast every emotion I am feeling to the world. It’s not my style, so I remain cheery and fun to be around most of the time. There is that one time where you may catch me in a bit of a state but you would be incredibly unlucky to be around when that happens.

The things people say at times baffle me. Just little things get under my skin, sometimes quite irrationally. The stupidity that is on display from people is laughable but also quite terrifying considering that these are normal people who we allow to cut our hair for instance or drive us home when we are drunk. These are quite empowered positions where we are quite literally at their mercy. Phrases like “It’s always the last place you look.” Of course it’s always the last place you look because once you have found it, you stop looking. Even if it’s in the first place you look it will still be the last place you look.

There was a moment at work that really wound me up last week involving a customer who was quite obviously two cans short of a six-pack. It was closing time so I walked round the store informing customers to head towards the tills if they are making a purchase or the exit. Each customer acknowledged me and either started walking or gave me an indication of when they will exit. I get to this man who is leant over looking at blu-rays. I politely informed him that we were closing and if he needed any help. No answer. I repeated what I was saying in case he was hard of hearing. Nothing. I then gently tapped him on the shoulder. In one movement he stood up and glared at me shouting, “How dare you touch me!!” He started walking away and shouted again, “You’re a rude and ignorant pig!!” This was at the top of his voice making sure that the rest of the customers could hear. Before I could say anything he stormed out. Now, before I lay into him it is quite clear that he was a bit mental, although he seemed like a normal fellow. I have two issues with the way he dealt with my reasonable request and physical contact. The first one is the volume and tone of his voice. He was acting like I had broken into his house and shit in his microwave. The way he reacted was completely unreasonable and over the top. The second issue I have is the statement that I was rude and ignorant. When someone says something to you am I right in assuming that you acknowledge them with a reply or body language? I will take that as a resounding yes. On further analysis of his statement, I would say that once someone has ignored you twice, possibly intentionally, does that not make that person rude and ignorant themselves? The word tosser is thrown around too often these days but in my opinion this time it is justified. Thanks for reading.

5 Months & 20 Posts Later...

Welcome back once again my followers to another helping of delicious unquenchable comedy, served with a side of thought provoking mayhem and a big dollop of immaturity to add flavour. I have to say I didn’t expect to be doing this blog for this long and I certainly didn’t have the foresight to have predicted that I would be making my 20^th post. In retrospect, I suppose this isn’t a surprise given that my Wednesday usually consists of arse scratching and sleeping. For this to be going into its fifth month is a big deal for me as the only other hobby that I have stuck with is football, so finding another avenue to occupy the time with is a welcome change, and one that I enjoy.

Well now, on with the reason why we are all here. I am very conflicted as to where I stand socially in society. One side of me, as I said in the previous paragraph, is a huge football fan. I love the banter, the camaraderie, the ecstasy and the devastation that it brings to my life. Another part of me is a huge nerd. I love to watch science fiction, read superhero comics, watch retro 80’s movies and regularly test my quotation/actor/actress knowledge with others. A jock and a nerd all rolled into one. The difficulty that I have with these two parts of me is the fact that although I feel completely comfortable in both social circles, I wouldn’t mix the two in a group situation. For instance, if I was in the pub after playing football on a Sunday and there is a game on the telly. Most of my team are deep in debate on a refereeing decision or throwing banter around about each other’s performance in the game previous. This would not be the ideal time to bring up whether or not any of them saw the season finale of Doctor Who. Nor would it be a good moment to ask if they thought the remake of Clash of the Titans did the original justice – a resounding no if you’re wondering. These are perfectly acceptable conversation starters in many social situations but I somehow feel uncomfortable sharing my thoughts on these subjects with my football team.

On the flipside, I have friends who have absolutely no interest in football whatsoever. Plus they are heterosexual to the best of my knowledge. Growing up I was completely unaware that there were such people who can be both but you live and learn I suppose. When I spend time with my non-football friends I still have a laugh and the conversation never dries up. I wouldn’t suddenly turn to one of them and ask if the influx of foreign ownership and billionaires buying their way to success is ruining our beautiful game. Nor would I fill a gap in conversation by quizzing them on their knowledge of football grounds, team nicknames and managers. This again would be perfectly acceptable conversation starters in many social situations but I would be hesitant to throw in this subject to my non- football friends.

I guess you just have to know your audience and adjust accordingly. I am passionate about both football and sci-fi. I love Star Trek, Star Wars, Back to the Future, Shaun of the Dead, Firefly, Ghostbusters...The list goes on. These kinds of films and TV series were what I was brought up on by my mum. When I say passionate I mean I watched them, enjoyed them and would wear T-shirts/buy merchandise. What I don’t mean when I say passionate is; dressing up as a Klingon for a convention, go to renaissance fairs or build a scale replica Millennium Falcon in my back garden. I wouldn’t begrudge anyone from this behaviour but it’s just not for me I’m afraid. I am extremely passionate about football. I love playing, supporting and managing the beautiful game. I was brought up watching Northampton Town with my dad. Every week we would jump in the car, visit my Nan who lived 10 minutes from the ground before taking our seats in the Alwyn Hargrave Stand to watch lower league football. What I don’t mean by extremely passionate is; starting a fight with rival fans, burning effigies of players who have left my club or committing suicide due to a defeat in a cup final. I suppose there are people who are so transfixed on their chosen hobby/lifestyle that they can’t differentiate between reality and fiction. I like to think that I have enough common sense to be philosophical in defeat rather than tearing the place up.  

With all that has been said I guess I am a jock and a nerd, but I am also neither of those. Mainly due to the fact that, although I love both criteria, I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed. I am a football fan but I’m not a Neanderthal alpha male who throws his weight around, listens to RnB/hip hop, wears his collar up and finishes every sentence with “you know what I mean?” Why are they asking if I know what they mean? Obviously they have difficulty understanding what most things mean so they need to find out if they are alone in this ignorance. I also don’t have a World of War craft account, tattoos of Ewoks or answer every other question in Klingon. Overall I suppose I am saying that I am average and proud of it. Thanks for reading, have a great week whatever your doing...

Well That's One Of My Kidneys And My Left Testicle Gone

Welcome back my loyal subjects to my little corner on the web. It is my first Captain’s Blog post of the New Year and I am in a ranting mood to kick off 2012. Many of you have fed back to me demanding more rants and quotable comedy to warm the cockles in a cold, wet and dreary early January. In response I have taken it upon myself to act on this and swiftly kick the festive crap into touch in exchange for easy-to-digest untalented toilet humour. So lie back, relax and feast on the metaphorical diarrhoea spewing from my sphincter.

This week is about something that annoys the living piss out of me and I am sure that you agree with me. I am going to be talking about email spamming and pop-up advertising found on the internet. I am not talking about the lovely array of topical advertising space around my blog. I put it there so that you lovely, decent and honest people have the choice on whether to click on them or not in order for me to earn a few extra quid whilst writing my posts. They are completely legal and do not in any way interfere with the page itself, and as you are reading this solid gold for free, it would be nice if you gave something back (wink and a smile). I am talking about the constant barrage of shit that we wouldn’t even entertain the idea of looking at being thrust onto our browsers and inboxes. You have all seen it, and I will get to the content in good time but I want to concentrate on how we go about counteracting these blatant invasions of privacy.

Firstly you can purchase anti-spyware online. Ok that sounds good, how much? HOW MUCH!!!?? Are you freaking kidding me? I would consider this option if it didn’t cost me one of my kidneys. The next option is the free anti-viral software available online. These are very helpful, in no way whatsoever. They simply say to you, “You have a virus.” Thanks, that’s why my computer is acting like a spoilt child and won’t do as it’s told. I could have bloody figured that one out!!! It then goes on to offer a removal service. I didn’t realise that AVG do a man-with-van service, what is the catch? Oh yeah, you have to pay for the privilege. Well that’s one of my kidneys and my left testicle gone, what next? In fairness the world of the internet is a platform for money making schemes and exploitation. Everyone is trying to get their piece of the pie so it’s hardly shocking when you are hanging by your nuts and the only way to free them is to give the security code on the back of your credit card.

I get very paranoid when I open my inbox to read my daily emails. I know that these spam messages are random and don’t mean anything but there are only so many penis enlargement adverts before I start to wonder if they are trying to tell me something. They can be quite insensitive at times; I am a big lad so my manhood is bound to look a little smaller in comparison. If I was Ronnie Corbett’s height I’m sure I would look like a low budget porn star. We will veer away from that particular subject as I don’t want to go into great detail. I get a lot of religious groups inviting me “back to the flock.” Do me a favour. I really can’t stand people thrusting their beliefs on me, even in cyber form. I am not against any religion or belief but what I am against is preaching to me which way the wind blows on these subjects. I have an open mind to just about everything, except anything that involves another naked man. So that’s Catholicism ticked off my list, although from what I have heard I may be 17 years too old for their taste. I went off on a tangent there with the religion stuff. That may be for another blog.

My pop-up blocker is bloody useless as well. It doesn’t block pop-ups when I want it to, then when I want to download something it suddenly springs into life. I get a message saying, “Did you notice the pop-up blocker at the top of your browser?” Err...yeah, and? Apparently I have to disable the pop-up blocker in order to get the downloadable content that I require. Disable? That’s a bit harsh isn’t it? I could temporarily give it paralysis but I don’t want it to lose full use of its legs. Ok so I am being silly there, but the terminology used on my laptop is hilarious. “Your computer has performed an illegal operation and will shut down.” The first time I saw that I shit myself and left it off for three days. Another belter is, “Are you sure you want to close this window?” Suddenly it turns into Chris Tarrant and offers me the option to phone a friend or ask the audience. Laughable terminology!!

Time to wrap this festering turd up and let you all get on with the rest of your week, until next time...