Achoo,
Sniff, sniff, cough, scratch.
sniff.
My body thinks it's under attack. All these tree's and grasses have been jizzing their pollen into the air and for some stupid reason my body is responding to it by making me feel shit.
I grew up in the countryside for fucks sake, surely it should understand that it's just a bit of pollen. I've tried antihistamines, nasal sprays, eye drops, exorcism...nothings working.
The plants are basically forcing their unwanted sperm in my face and there's nothing I can do. I feel like I'm their bitch.
Cough, scratch, sniff, curse, punch own head.
Friday, 27 June 2008
Thursday, 26 June 2008
Wimbleydone Tennish
I love tennis.
I should clarify. I love PLAYING tennis.
It's go just the right amount of hitting stuff without any of that running around. You get a rest every 10 seconds or so. Perfect.
Also it's got angles and shit. Being the son of an engineer, angles are in my genes. I can do angles.
I'd say that it was in my top 4 favourite sports, closely behind football, cricket and throwing bits of paper in a bin.
However, regarding watching a tennis match.....you would have to literally put drugs in my milk (ala BA Baracus in the A-team) to get me on that plane. I DON'T UNDERSTAND. WHERE'S THE ENJOYMENT!?
You see these middle class fools, waiting for days for the rain to stop, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic seat that's set them back £100 a day, regularly interrupted by Cliff Richard singing like some kind of discographic irritable bowel ("oh isn't it great of him cheering everyone up"-"NO, he's a shameless egotisist"), eating overpriced strawberries covered with clotted cow tit-sweat until finally the "covers are off" and we get 20 minutes of completely emotionless hitting back and forth of a ball.
There's no variation, no prolonged strategy, just mindless hitting back and forth, back and forth until one of them fucks up or hits something slightly better than the other. Then we start again.
Even worse...it's on my TV all the fucking time. I can understand it's popularity when McEnroe was playing...he got pissed off and shouted at posh people. It was funny but the "recent" stars..."TIGER" TIM HENMAN.
How exactly did Tim "Flannel" Henman deserve the name "Tiger". Did he turn up on centre court - his face covered in antelope blood, did he bite the heads off opponents and in between sets attempt to hump ballgirls....no.....he....just sometimes..........pumped his fist. Ooh, how very fucking "tigerish" of you. He wouldn't last a second in the jungle, he'd be buggered to Balmoral by Tigger (as in Winnie the Pooh) and Tony (as in Frosties).
Why do sportsmen and women have to be so bloody lobotomised! It's even starting to affect cricket, which has seemed to be immune and retained some characters (probably because...well....no one watches it).
Anyway, I digress. I think I was meant to be annoyed about tennis.
It's like Royal Ascot. It's pointless and it should be stopped.
GO ON MURRAY!
---------------------------------------------------------------
ps....my favorite joke this week -
---What time does Andy Murray go to bed
--- Tennish
badoom-pah!
no?....well fuck off then.
I should clarify. I love PLAYING tennis.
It's go just the right amount of hitting stuff without any of that running around. You get a rest every 10 seconds or so. Perfect.
Also it's got angles and shit. Being the son of an engineer, angles are in my genes. I can do angles.
I'd say that it was in my top 4 favourite sports, closely behind football, cricket and throwing bits of paper in a bin.
However, regarding watching a tennis match.....you would have to literally put drugs in my milk (ala BA Baracus in the A-team) to get me on that plane. I DON'T UNDERSTAND. WHERE'S THE ENJOYMENT!?
You see these middle class fools, waiting for days for the rain to stop, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic seat that's set them back £100 a day, regularly interrupted by Cliff Richard singing like some kind of discographic irritable bowel ("oh isn't it great of him cheering everyone up"-"NO, he's a shameless egotisist"), eating overpriced strawberries covered with clotted cow tit-sweat until finally the "covers are off" and we get 20 minutes of completely emotionless hitting back and forth of a ball.
There's no variation, no prolonged strategy, just mindless hitting back and forth, back and forth until one of them fucks up or hits something slightly better than the other. Then we start again.
Even worse...it's on my TV all the fucking time. I can understand it's popularity when McEnroe was playing...he got pissed off and shouted at posh people. It was funny but the "recent" stars..."TIGER" TIM HENMAN.
How exactly did Tim "Flannel" Henman deserve the name "Tiger". Did he turn up on centre court - his face covered in antelope blood, did he bite the heads off opponents and in between sets attempt to hump ballgirls....no.....he....just sometimes..........pumped his fist. Ooh, how very fucking "tigerish" of you. He wouldn't last a second in the jungle, he'd be buggered to Balmoral by Tigger (as in Winnie the Pooh) and Tony (as in Frosties).
Why do sportsmen and women have to be so bloody lobotomised! It's even starting to affect cricket, which has seemed to be immune and retained some characters (probably because...well....no one watches it).
Anyway, I digress. I think I was meant to be annoyed about tennis.
It's like Royal Ascot. It's pointless and it should be stopped.
GO ON MURRAY!
---------------------------------------------------------------
ps....my favorite joke this week -
---What time does Andy Murray go to bed
--- Tennish
badoom-pah!
no?....well fuck off then.
Thursday, 19 June 2008
Meh, pah, piffle and guffle
I haven't written anything in weeks.
Maybe the fad of writing a blog has faded. Maybe I've started to subconsciously acknowledge the futility and pointlessness of it. Maybe I've actually been doing work at work.
Actually it's more to do with me just forgetting and doing other things. I'm like that. I can't actually do something for a prolonged period of time without being incredible bored or distracted. I guess that's why I've never quite achieved a 6 pack, I've never had long hair, I never finish books or computer games (I'm currently simultaneously the football manager of Barnet, the Roman ruler of two thirds of Europe and a relatively unsuccessful Black gangster in the streets of San Andreas), I never finished that film I was pour hundreds of hours and thousands of pounds into......It's a good job for my woman this habit doesn't seem to translate to my bedroom technique....I can imagine the disappointment of the aforementioned woman, after 5 minutes of sweaty fumbles and amateurish thrusting, with me stopping with a tired...."Oh I can't be bothered anymore".
In fact it's probably the fault of the aforementioned woman that I haven't written anything. She's buggered off to France for the last month and so I have had way too much time (and other stuff) on my hands. For some reason that seems to have actually reduced the amount I've achieved. I've not written or recorded anything for weeks. I keep getting home from work and just sitting, eating and going to bed. This must be what it's like for normal people. No rushing home, attempting to record podcasts and songs, write radio plays and films and blogs before giving up at 3am every night having achieved less than Greece at Euro2008.
Oh yeah it could be that ; Euro 2008.
Isn't Gary Lineker a twat....and Alan Shearer the dullest, most un-insightful man on television. The phrase gravy train comes to mind. Hansen's is OK I guess (although I can't take anything he says seriously after those Morrisons adverts) but none of them even compare to the criminally underused Martin O'Neil.
Anyway, this post isn't really a proper post. Sorry. It's just to try and reinfect myself with the writing bug. I asked a friend what I should write about, he suggested talking about either Jelly, Big Brother or my "feelings".....thank god I never listen to him, eh?
Maybe the fad of writing a blog has faded. Maybe I've started to subconsciously acknowledge the futility and pointlessness of it. Maybe I've actually been doing work at work.
Actually it's more to do with me just forgetting and doing other things. I'm like that. I can't actually do something for a prolonged period of time without being incredible bored or distracted. I guess that's why I've never quite achieved a 6 pack, I've never had long hair, I never finish books or computer games (I'm currently simultaneously the football manager of Barnet, the Roman ruler of two thirds of Europe and a relatively unsuccessful Black gangster in the streets of San Andreas), I never finished that film I was pour hundreds of hours and thousands of pounds into......It's a good job for my woman this habit doesn't seem to translate to my bedroom technique....I can imagine the disappointment of the aforementioned woman, after 5 minutes of sweaty fumbles and amateurish thrusting, with me stopping with a tired...."Oh I can't be bothered anymore".
In fact it's probably the fault of the aforementioned woman that I haven't written anything. She's buggered off to France for the last month and so I have had way too much time (and other stuff) on my hands. For some reason that seems to have actually reduced the amount I've achieved. I've not written or recorded anything for weeks. I keep getting home from work and just sitting, eating and going to bed. This must be what it's like for normal people. No rushing home, attempting to record podcasts and songs, write radio plays and films and blogs before giving up at 3am every night having achieved less than Greece at Euro2008.
Oh yeah it could be that ; Euro 2008.
Isn't Gary Lineker a twat....and Alan Shearer the dullest, most un-insightful man on television. The phrase gravy train comes to mind. Hansen's is OK I guess (although I can't take anything he says seriously after those Morrisons adverts) but none of them even compare to the criminally underused Martin O'Neil.
Anyway, this post isn't really a proper post. Sorry. It's just to try and reinfect myself with the writing bug. I asked a friend what I should write about, he suggested talking about either Jelly, Big Brother or my "feelings".....thank god I never listen to him, eh?
Tuesday, 27 May 2008
Can you prove your age?
I've never had sloe gin before. I was quite excited about having it because a few people had told me it was really nice.
In the last month, I've had to prove my age 3 times to buy alcohol. This weekend it was in our local Marks and Spencer's. My booze stained, wrinkled-brow, world weary face and the fact that I was buying expensive Sloe Gin should have been enough for the idiot they put in charge of the till but she still thought it necessary to ask me for ID to prove that I wasn't under 18 (and a schoolchild). Now I know that there's currently an appetite for fearing our feral young who are all, according to the gutterrags, hoodie wearing drunks. I know it's not necessarily a good thing for kids under the age of 18 to be trained pissheads but for fucks sake, If we're going to have a society where people can freely use alcohol there will always be a period of time when those who suddenly have access to this power drug have to learn the limits, how to behave and the consequences of taking alcohol. Therefore there will always be pissed up kids being antisocial and doing things they wouldn't usually do sober in the cities on a Friday night. It's not a new thing. It's been happening for hundreds of years. Still I can't see the teenagers down the local park getting pissed on Sloe Gin for the same reason I can't see them stealing caviar from Harrods to use as in a sex act they saw in the latest Skins episode.
I'm fucking tired with the middle aged constantly having a go at youth as if the young people of today are some new thing to be afraid of. The middle aged of today were the Teddy Boys, Rockers, Psychobillies and Punks of yesteryear. I remember getting pissed when I was too young and doing things that I would be ashamed of today. I remember being antisocial. We all do stupid things when we're young, whether we're drunk or not. The teenager's of today are monitored, caged and fretted over more than any in history. It won't be long until suburban parents start fitting CCTV cameras into their children's bedrooms. There are already many companies like www.traceamobile.co.uk which offer parent's the opportunity to track the movements of their children (through their mobile phone) without them knowing. They say "Do you worry where your children are? Are you anxious if they stay out late?". Can you image what kind of perverse mindset a parent must have to think their child will benefit from this surveillance.
We worry that our children are stressed, suicidal and drink and do terrible things without thinking that this (if it does exist) could be related to the fact they're constantly being tested, examined, pressured, watched, told what to do and what to think. We tell them they'll have a crap life if they don't pass their stupid fecking GCSEs (who even remembers what they got for their GCSEs anymore!?) and that if they have the sex their bodies are telling them to have they'll get pregnant and their genitals will rot from diseases, that there are paedos around every corner....and yet we wonder why some lose respect for society and stop listening to us.
In the last month, I've had to prove my age 3 times to buy alcohol. This weekend it was in our local Marks and Spencer's. My booze stained, wrinkled-brow, world weary face and the fact that I was buying expensive Sloe Gin should have been enough for the idiot they put in charge of the till but she still thought it necessary to ask me for ID to prove that I wasn't under 18 (and a schoolchild). Now I know that there's currently an appetite for fearing our feral young who are all, according to the gutterrags, hoodie wearing drunks. I know it's not necessarily a good thing for kids under the age of 18 to be trained pissheads but for fucks sake, If we're going to have a society where people can freely use alcohol there will always be a period of time when those who suddenly have access to this power drug have to learn the limits, how to behave and the consequences of taking alcohol. Therefore there will always be pissed up kids being antisocial and doing things they wouldn't usually do sober in the cities on a Friday night. It's not a new thing. It's been happening for hundreds of years. Still I can't see the teenagers down the local park getting pissed on Sloe Gin for the same reason I can't see them stealing caviar from Harrods to use as in a sex act they saw in the latest Skins episode.
I'm fucking tired with the middle aged constantly having a go at youth as if the young people of today are some new thing to be afraid of. The middle aged of today were the Teddy Boys, Rockers, Psychobillies and Punks of yesteryear. I remember getting pissed when I was too young and doing things that I would be ashamed of today. I remember being antisocial. We all do stupid things when we're young, whether we're drunk or not. The teenager's of today are monitored, caged and fretted over more than any in history. It won't be long until suburban parents start fitting CCTV cameras into their children's bedrooms. There are already many companies like www.traceamobile.co.uk which offer parent's the opportunity to track the movements of their children (through their mobile phone) without them knowing. They say "Do you worry where your children are? Are you anxious if they stay out late?". Can you image what kind of perverse mindset a parent must have to think their child will benefit from this surveillance.
We worry that our children are stressed, suicidal and drink and do terrible things without thinking that this (if it does exist) could be related to the fact they're constantly being tested, examined, pressured, watched, told what to do and what to think. We tell them they'll have a crap life if they don't pass their stupid fecking GCSEs (who even remembers what they got for their GCSEs anymore!?) and that if they have the sex their bodies are telling them to have they'll get pregnant and their genitals will rot from diseases, that there are paedos around every corner....and yet we wonder why some lose respect for society and stop listening to us.
All is beside the point that I'm clearly not under 18. Now I've seen the posters which state they'll ask you to prove you're not trying to buy alcohol underage if you look under 21 to cover their own arses...but I really wouldn't pass for looking under 21 even if I stood at the till in a faeces packed nappy, sucking on a giant breast and gurgling baby sick.
Still gigglytits at the counter made me get out my old man wallet, go through my cards for my drivers licence and hand it to her before passing it back to me without even fucking glancing at it.
Anyway, I got home and drank the sloe gin. It tasted like the bladder contents of a drunk Thai prostitute with a urinal infection.
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