i sing songs

http://www.myspace.com/elwheeliomusic

scratch it

I started this blog 5 years ago.  So much has changed since then.  It would be impressive had I not had prolonged absences from the blogging world but it's still with some fondness that I look at some of my old posts.  I must have really been bored in previous jobs.  The frequency of my posting at times suggests I did little else at work, be it London or wherever.  I still remember the writing and posting of some blogs, others I don't recall at all.  Still, I thought I'd post, for the sake of it if nothing else.

Am I the only one...

who think 'Baby P' sounds like the name of a rapper? You know, in the mould of Lil Bow Wow, Master P and Special K (that last one might be a breakfast cereal). In fact, forget that, I want to write this post about Special K, he's my rap alter ego, ever since I just made him up a few seconds ago. He raps only about dietary matters and, unlike Notorious BIG, is very thin and, in his videos, can be seen swimming, eating muesli and looking on the back of packets at ingredients while girls exercise in the background. His latest album is called 'Kalorifik' and he famously refused to play at LA Galaxy's Pizza Hut park for 'nourishment reasons'. I'm so funking good. Perhaps I'll post a picture of him when I've time to draw one (check back in about 4 minutes)....

As hot as fresh milk

Holy sandwich! This town is full of nutbars. Going door to door, as I have been of late, I've discovered a plethora of hoodlums, bad-asses, players and, indeed, player-haters. I've been faced with a knife, I've trudged long cold streets only for people to hide behond their locked doors, I've been lied to (more than once I suspect) and I've seen a front door decorated with a Swastika (certainly a bold, if not mis-guided, design motif). I've also met lots and lots of foreign people and I tell you what.... they have all seemed pretty nice despite what the Daily Mail says. Now I now this in itself is a form of racial stereotyping but if I were to crudely divide the people I've met in the past two weeks in to two large groups called 'White UK' and 'everyone else', I'd be hastily inviting myself round to Christmas lunch with 'everyone else' pretty fucking quick. The mentalists, the nasties, the uglies and the horrids I've encountered have all been the ones without the uncommon names or accents and the ones without 16 consonents in a row for a first name. If any section of society makes me feel intimidated, it's white men between the ages of, well, about 0-85. Why do they have to be so profoundly revolting in their cock-strong, tattooed-face, petrol-drinking, wife-beating, overly-aggressive way. I mean who answers the door with 'What do you want?' No one I want to know. I'm off now to become a professor of Eugenics, I reckon the President Elect will support my research, he's the future!

yes we did

busy

It's been a while rat fans (well, a week). I've spent my time wisely. I went to see the excellent Lambchop last week. It was very good, a truly pleasant way to spend a cold Autumn evening. Kurt Wagner actually speaks just like he sings too which, in itself, is something to behold. They also threw in an excellent Nashville-style cover of 'You're a big girl now' too.
Today we had a team-building day at work during which we planted bulbs, cut back foliage and generally dicked about outside with saws, spades, forks and trowels. It was excellent. I think I might now become a woodsman and spend all of my time outside, away from the phone and the computer, making friends with earthworms and getting back to nature.

The big news, away from work, is this big election. I, like many people, have been thinking that America doesn't need another old, grey-haired, white, military-type, nut-job Republican to run the world. It's a good job I have the "internet" though. Boy was I wrong about the, seemingly impressive, Obama. It turns out that he is everything that's wrong with the world. I've ordered one of these t-shirts, you should too.

Bastard Karma

I awoke at 0700 on Sunday morning at Sam's house. Having gone to bed at about 0330, I thought this quite impressive and decided to capitalise on it, and the 'extra hour' afforded by the clocks going back. I leapt from my bed and got to London Bridge in time for the first train back to Angmering (0755). The first train was inexplicably late (0809), I therefore missed my connection by seconds and then had to wait an hour at East Croydon for the next one. A fellow, and similarly annoyed, passenger summed it up beautifully as he explained his frustration to a rude nearby guard who watched on as we banged at the door of our, soon to be departing without us, train. "You're all fucking cunts!"

"It's true" I added.

learnabitaboutnothing

1. What time did you get up this morning? 0720
2. Diamonds or pearls? Pearls
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Wall-E
4. Who do you miss the most right now? Bobby Zamora
5. What do you usually have for breakfast? nothing
6. What is your middle name? Thomas
7. What food do you dislike? Mayo
8. What is your favorite CD? Currently, it's 'Modern Times' by Bob Dylan
9. What kind of car do you drive? Fiat Punto
10. Favorite sandwich? The Earl of Sandwich
11. What characteristic do you despise? Honesty
12. Favorite item of clothing? Girdle
13. If you could go anywhere in the world? That's not a question
14. Where would you retire to? Atlantis
15. What was your most recent memorable birthday? I don't remember
16. Furthest place you are sending this? Blogfordshire
17. Person you expect to send it back first? Jesus
18. When is your birthday? See 15
19. Morning or evening night person? evening
20. What is your shoe size? extra medium
21. Pets? A small boy from Guinea called Pepe
22. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share? Yes
23. What did you want to be when you were little? A hedgehog
24. What is your favorite flower? Daffydill
25. What is a day on the calendar you are looking forward to? May 4th 2009
26. What are you listening to right now? Guardian Football Weekly podcast
27. Do you wish on stars? No
28. If you were a crayon, what color would it be? Grey
29. How is the weather right now? I can't tell through all this snow
30. The last person you spoke to on the phone? Mother
31. Favorite soft drink? Orange juice
32. Favorite restaurant? The nice one with the food
33. Hair color? Brown
34. What was your favorite toy as a child? A rusty axe
35. Summer or winter? Winter (football season)
36. Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate (obviously)
37. Coffee or tea? Tea
38. Do you want your friends to email you back? What friends?
39. What is your favorite dessert? Cheesecake
40. What is under your bed? Floor
41. What did you do last night? Played scrabble
42. What are you afraid of?
43. Salty or sweet? Sweet
44. How many keys on your key ring? none
45. How many years at your current job? 1.5
46. Do you make friends easily? No, I make them hard
47. How many people will you send this to? One
48. How many will respond? Two of them
49. Do you like finding out all this stuff about your friends? No

It's all true, I've no one to blame but myself

MADONNA’S love for Guy was heading for the rocks—from the moment he FORGOT to get her a present on their FIRST VALENTINE’S DAY, pals revealed yesterday.

When the film director realised his mistake he had to dash to a PETROL STATION to buy the superstar a last-minute bunch of basic blooms.

But his desperate gesture ended in a blazing row at her London home.

A source told us: “Madonna is an old romantic at heart and fully expected Guy to do something really special.

“But he turned up late for their dinner date— then saw the huge bouquet her designer friend Donatella Versace had sent her.

“He knew he’d messed up and dashed to a petrol station. But the flowers he brought back were pathetic. You could hear the row three floors away.”

Guy’s tight-fistedness became legendary in the marriage, according to pals—and when he wanted to take Madonna to dinner he’d sometimes dip into her PETTY CASH to pay for it!

Many of the singer’s friends were worried Madonna was just looking for a “sperm donor” when she hooked up with Guy, who’s ten years younger.

One said she had asked Carlos Leon, father of her daughter Lourdes, to do it—but he refused.

“Madonna was desperate to add to her family and we felt she was sizing up Guy as a possible dad,” the friend said.

“Then they accidentally fell in love—but most of us could see they were too different to last.”

die, die, then die some more

So how're you going to die? I know how. You don't want to know how I know, but I do. Anyway, here's them-there odds. By the way, I wouldn't place any bets based on these odds and your life; it'd be a bitch to win £300,000,000 and then be unable to claim it. Maybe there is a hell and that's it. Maybe not. Anyway, these are my 'favourites'...

300,000,000/1 SHARK ATTACK
AROUND 40 people are killed every year from shark attacks, with the numbers increasing as more people take holidays on coasts where sharks live.

300,000,000/1 FAIRGROUND ACCIDENT
THE worst rollercoaster accident in Britain was in 1972 when five children were killed on the Big Dipper in Battersea, London, when one of the cars broke loose and collided with another. Just last week 29 people were injured when the Runaway Mine Train at Alton Towers split in two.

11,000,000/1 PLANE CRASH
PLANE crashes worldwide claim 1,300 people every year. Young men are most likely to emerge from the wreckage alive - and 12 per cent of passengers who survive the impact will die from shock later.

9,300,000/1 DYING IN TERRORIST ATTACK
LAST year there were 651 significant international terrorist attacks worldwide, killing nearly 2,000 people.

5,000,000/1 SCALDED BY HOT TAP WATER.
CHILDREN under five are most at risk, with 126 accidents reported every year in Britain. In Japan, around 150 people die from hot water scalding every year.

4,400,000/1 LEFT-HANDED PEOPLE KILLED USING A RIGHT-HANDED PRODUCT.
MORE than 2,500 left-handed people are killed every year around the world from using equipment meant for right-handed people. The right-handed power saw is the most deadly item.

2,000,000/1 DYING AFTER FALLING OUT OF BED.
IN Britain around 20 people die from falling out of bed every year, with the young and the elderly most at risk.

685,000/1 DROWNING IN THE BATH.
A HIGHER percentage of people drown in their bath water than in public swimming pools, with young children and the elderly most at risk. Around 25 babies drown in baths every year.

500,000/1 BEING KILLED IN A TRAIN CRASH.
DESPITE a number of fatal crashes, public transport is still the safest way to travel. Buses are even safer than trains, with the odds of being killed 13 million to one.

43,500/1 BEING KILLED IN AN ACCIDENT AT WORK
MORE accidents happen at work than anywhere else. Every year there are more than 25,000 serious workplace accidents, killing around 300 people in the UK.

8,000/1 KILLED IN A ROAD ACCIDENT.
EVERY year 1,500 car drivers and adult passengers die in road smashes, while around 1,000 pedestrians and cyclists die in road accidents. Worldwide, over 3,000 people are killed in road crashes daily.

5/1 DYING FROM CANCER
AROUND 130,000 people die from cancer every \ year, of whom 65,000 are ' aged under 75. The most common killers are lung, breast, colon and prostate cancer.

2.5/1 DYING FROM A HEART ATTACK OR STROKE
THE leading cause of death in Britain, coronary heart disease and strokes account for over 200,000 deaths every year. Someone has a heart attack every two minutes.

Fox News - Tackling the issues that matter!

The Lodger

I'm looking for a lodger. This is new ground for me, I like solitude and spiralling debt but the time has come to share the mansion with 'another'. It will, almost certainly, be fine. More than likely, it will be an entertaining romp which, in years to come, I remember fondly. Still, it's a shame that I have to share my house as I like the peace and quiet but needs must (or so I'm told). Obviously a 'professional type' would be ideal; someone who works long hours, earns plenty, keeps quiet and is an all-round safe bet. Perhaps a doctor, a lawyer or some other type of professional. So, if you know anyone, do let me know.

work ethic

I'm a bit of a lazy fuck. I don't appear it because I'm always quite busy but, deep down, at my very core, I've no appetitie for work, labour (with a big or small 'L') or graft. I didn't get home from work yesterday until 11pm. Not because I got lost on the way, drove over a child or ran out of petrol or anything, I just had an evening meeting. That's about a 15 hour day, something a lot of people no doubt do regularly, but I resent it deeply because I am, fundamentally, quite idle.

Anyway, my laziness is not something to be cherished but it will, and does, hold me back; I'm just too lazy to change. I quite believe that if I was told that they key to all life's happiness lay through a door in Scotland and I was passed the key, I'd never get round to making the trip. I'd probably just stay at home, have a wank and watch Diagnosis Murder instead. I can't, and won't, blame the world for my failings (for a start I can't be bothered), so I'll embrace them and enjoy the smug self-satisfaction that comes with believing that I could have everything I want in life, I just can't be bothered. It's my choice. That's what I've chosen to believe and it's swell.

an observation on military standards

I went to Wembley yesterday for the England v Kazakhstan game. Before kick off, some military personnel in camouflage outfits carried 2 massive flags on to the pitch; one for the visitors and one for the hosts. Now, I am of the belief that people in the military tend to lack a) morals b) brains and c) a problem with habitually bullying and invading other parts of the world for our own ends, but how shit a soldier does one have to be to become a 'flag carrier' before a football match?

"Did you serve in Iraq? Afghanistan? Perhaps Northern Ireland?"

"No, I carried a big flag on to the pitch before football matches"

Heroes the lot of them.

the exception that proves the rule

Despite my complaints, some adverts are truly great. This billboard has the capacity to convert me to both Christianity and Budweiser.

why the credit crunch COULD save democracy

It could, it honestly could. It's a well-established fact that people tend to vote and become more politically active in times of trouble and strife. IF the economy continues towards it's inevitable collapse (it will) and IF this proves once and for all that free market economics is not the only possible approach to financial management in the world, people all over the place MIGHT look for an alternative approach. HOPEFULLY this could result in a broader, more diverse range of major political approaches in the country, in the world. THEN it might be a genuinely viable electoral decision to vote for a non-free-market party. I'm not asking for this but nor do I want an exclusive proliferation of this. How about some fucking ideological variety or even just some coherent political ideology!?? I hope, almost certainly naively, that the collapse of the fundamental structures might result in a bit more choice and a bit less choice.

the free market is dead

The free market is dead (as is any chance of free market-endorsed 'fair trade' I would imagine). In preparation for the totalitarian, communist superstate which will, almost certainly, now occur I direct you towards the new state uniform. I think you'll agree, THIS is the important issue we should now be concentrating on.

the only boy who could ever touch my in my special place

This is me pretending to be a preacher man in a church somewhere in Suffolk. They had a 'guestbook' in the open, but deserted, church. The book was very thin and, despite the first 'comment' dating from 1989, had only about 30 messages in it from the past 20 or so years. I put the day's date in and then pondered what to write. I didn't know what to write. I just settled on 'nice church'. I suppose it was nice, it was certainly nicer than standing in the rain. It provided Dylan-esque shelter from the storm.

no more exams blues

I've finished my exams for this year. My last one (of two) was in Reading yesterday and was based upon the interesting topic of valuation and, more broadly, the fundamentals of real estate practice. Having neglected to do even the remotest iota of what could be considered an adequate amount of revision I sit now in hope, awaiting the marks (not a number of people named mark - the results). I think I've done too many exams, so many at school then GCSEs, A-Levels, degree; I think I've done enough now and that revision and stuff like that dneed not apply to me anymore. I'm wrong, but that's a little like how I feel. I've just one more year of studying for my masters/PgDip now and then I'm free (until I decide I want to be a marine biologist) from study. One more year until the time in my life when the only exam I need worry about involves my prostate. After all, what's to worry about there? In some parts of town you have to pay a lot of money for that sort of action and, unlike my exam on Tuesday, you don't need a calculator and I've already done plenty of revision.

photo of the month

your questions, questions, questions

Just back from 3 days in Birmingham and I now have a day at home before hitting the road yet again. This time I'm off to Reading for 3 days for some exciting law and valuation economics exams. Having stayed in the fairly adequate Novotel in Brum for 2 nights last week, I get to stay in the, sure to be fabulous, Premier Inn in Reading. I hate staying in hotels on my own for non-leisure reasons. I hate lonely breakfasts, the sad bastards drinking alone in the bars and the outrageous refusal of my public sector employers to pay for the adult channels by way of compensating me for time away from my home, my cats and my girlfriend. At least I can say, without a word of a lie, that on Thusday night I shared a hotel with a great political figure of our time. I looked for him in the bar to see if the rumours of his raging alcoholism could be easily-evidenced. He wasn't there.

makes me laugh

spam

I like this spam I received the other day. I like it very much. I don't know about you, but I always look to receive my sexual health advice anonymously, by e-mail, from people with a poor grasp of English.

Hey, buddy!


I know some men have serious problems with their sexual health. Had them myself. And I really know what it means - to feel yourself something less than man. Yes, you still have the shaft, but it seems useless.
I even began thinking about some surgery or stuff like that, but suddenly there came a solution - from the place I'd never imagine it could come! I found a site, distributing great medication for people like me and they sell it at incredibly low price.

I thought it's a joke, or some kind of cheating, but finally decided to try - I didn't have much to loose, did I? But I won! You got to try it yourself

crikey moses

It's been ages since I last 'blogged'. It must have been at least a year or so. Quite a lot has happened in that year, especially recently. Most significantly I have separated from my wife and am now getting divorced (not a very nice thing to go through). I am trying to sell my house as a result of the aforementioned break-up (not an easy thing to do) and struggling to keep my head above the murkey financial water.

Things are so expensive these days, we're clearly not exploiting enough peasants because if we were I wouldn't be faced with loaves of bread at £18 and a 4 back of 36DD batteries costing 82 rubles. Anyway, the lessons to be learned from the last year or so are as follows:

1 - marry someone that likes you

2 - do not challenge homeless people to jousting competitions (they lack the means to equip themselves adequatly)

3 - always mistake sombre moments of despair as a sign that your brain wants drink/drugs/sex/nutella soup

‘I’m here for you’ with David Heart-Love

Dear David, my family is spiralling out of control and into a hot, sweaty heap of aching passion. It started when my cousin slept with my brother who then slept with my cousin’s husband who slept with my auntie’s sister, who seduced my father, who seduced my mother – but that was ok – until she ran off with my daughter who is also my sister and just when I thought it was all sorted after a family meeting, I find my mother, father, brother, sister, grandma, 3 cousins, 2 aunties and Ned (friend of the family) in the barn together being indecent. Please David I don’t know what to do! Worried Wendy

Dear Wendy, move away from the West Country. I’m here for you, David Heart-Love


Dear David, is it wrong for a woman to make love to a horse? Clandestine Cammy

Dear Cammy, it’s only wrong if you don’t put the video on YouTube. I’m here for you, David Heart-Love


Dear David, I’m terrified that my husband’s high-flying law career will tear our marriage apart. Ever since we had little Jimmy I have been at home while my husband works longer and longer hours. He provides wonderfully for his family but regularly works 18 hour days and I hardly even see him. By the time he gets home he’s always too tired for sex or DIY and I’m starting to feel unattractive. What can I do to save our love? Inquisitive Irene

Dear Irene, don’t worry. You wouldn’t believe the number of patients I have seen who have exactly the same fears as you but don’t fret, only 42% of these cases end in divorce and breakdown of the family unit. Even slimmer (31%) are the chances of your husband having an affair with his secretary while you are sectioned and little Jimmy is taken in to care. More unlikely still (just 29%) is the chance that all of this will happen and lead to little Jimmy becoming a homicidal maniac who stalks and butchers kittens before eating their flesh and mailing their bloodied hides to a number of minor celebrities from daytime television. I recommend you try to spice things up in the bedroom with some role-play. Your husband is no doubt sick of work and supporting a family he never sees; pretend you’re his lazy, moaning, money-grabbing wife and watch the sparks fly. I’m here for you, David Heart-Love

It's in the stars 2007

Aries: (March 21—April 19) don’t listen to your friends; it’s not weird for a 34 year old man to live alone with his Mother. It’s the fact that she’s been dead since 1987 that’s weird.

Taurus: (April. 20—May 20) your habit of adding ‘izzle’ to the end of every other word will finally bring you the hip-hop credibility you so hoped it would this week, when, following a drive-by, you get shot in the head-izzle

Gemini: (May 21—June 21) whilst reading the nme, you are surprised to see yourself described as being in ‘the best band ever’. Don’t worry; it’ll be someone else’s turn next week.

Cancer: (June 22—July 22) job worries this week when you are sacked as ‘recipe director’ at Innocent after the unsuccessful launch of your new beef and onion smoothie

Leo: (July 23—Aug. 22) while sat in prison you wonder why your parents never write. Have you completely forgotten the reason you got 2 life sentences in the first place?

Virgo: (Aug. 23—Sept. 22) when you ran away from home 10 years ago to pursue an acting career in the west end, your Father said you were throwing your life and your education away. I hardly call senior greetings assistant at the Disney store ‘throwing your life away’ Dad!

Libra: (Sept. 23—Oct. 23) the comfort you get from your ‘next-day’ private health insurance policy will turn to disappointment this week, when your BUPA doctor tells you that you’re about to die, a whole 6 months before an NHS doctor would have informed you of this.

Scorpio: (Oct. 24—Nov. 21) you’ve never slept with your girlfriend yet she’s 3 months pregnant. She says it’s a virgin birth and that your child will probably be the new messiah. While it’s an exciting prospect, there might be another more upsetting and less fantastic explanation, one involving Jimmy the ‘pool boy.

Sagittarius: (Nov. 22—Dec. 21) last night was great, you can still smell her on your fingers, it’s such a turn on. Still, you’re new and still learning; next time you’ll follow the mortician’s orders and wear latex gloves

Capricorn: (Dec. 22—Jan. 19) you’ll be ejected from the Ku Klux Klan this week for singing ‘ebony & ivory’ at the spring karaoke party

Aquarius: (Jan. 20—Feb. 18) with all the presents and flowers and time off work you feel guilty. It’s time that you should finally come clean and tell them the truth; you never had hair cancer

Pisces: (Feb. 19—March 20) it looks like you’ll be going to the Prom with Carol ‘The Barrel’ after that cheerleader you like had a run-in with that weirdo engineering undergrad

On the train this morning

Woman: “Can you turn your music down please?”
Me: “Yes, ok”
Woman: “Because it’s awfully loud”
Me: “Yes, ok”
Woman: “and I’m trying to work”
Me: “YES, OK!”

Awkward silence for the next 34 minutes. When she asked “can you turn your music down please?” I should have said “yes I can, but that’s not what you want to say is it? You’re asking me to turn it down not asking if I can you old goat”. I didn’t say that of course, I had to sit next to her from Three Bridges to Clapham Junction. I was listening to ‘It’s alright ma’ on a Dylan live album, hardly ‘Metallica’s noisiest hits’. If I’m asked again I might say “yes” then start to take off my trousers. 10 or so minutes after the music volume discussion today the woman’s phone vibrated and I sniggered as I thought how funny it would have been to shout “oh for fuck sake”, pick up the phone and throw it out the window “I’m trying to listen to my music here”. God, that would have been great.

oh for goodness sake

Drugs. We’ve all taken something (cannabis, heroin, tixylix); heard the songs (perfect day, I’m waiting for my man, heroin…actually they’re mostly by Lou Reed); seen the films (easy rider, trainspotting, pulp fiction); watched the TV shows (casualty, the bill, teletubbies); and we all know the consequences (peer acceptance, heightened attractiveness, fun, occassional untimely death). It’s a difficult area for rights and wrongs, for moral judgements. I don’t think drugs are to blame for every wrong in society (as they seem to claim in America), nor do I think they are an entirely great idea. Most people can do some drugs, have some fun and they live a pretty normal life, just like most people can have a few drinks, get drunk now and then and not become alcoholics. No, I don’t really have a problem with drugs on the whole and, in my secure middle-class upbringing I’ve never really been confronted with the undoubtedly horrible side of drugs, drink or any other sociteal ‘no-no’ (except for intense sexual perversion, but that was my choice). I do however, find it slightly strange when, as I did yesterday, I am enjoying a family meal in a family pub/restaurant which I won’t name (it was the Yeoman in Worthing), go to the loo only to disturb two young men snorting cocaine from besides the wash basins. So surprised was I that I clearly stared and was then asked ‘do you want a line?’ I said ‘no, you’re alright’ and left (I’d only gone in there because I got fried egg in my hair) but that is, on so many levels, wrong (and I’m not talking about the fried egg). There must be a drugs equivalent to ‘get a room’ that I could have said. I mean who goes to the harvester on a Sunday afternoon to take coke in the bathroom? I know the faux-rustic décor is annoying, but cocaine? It’s not that bad; I usually just have a steak, put some fried egg in my hair and steer clear of the class As; I could understand if we’d been in Little Chef.

from hank to hendrix, from coats to cocks

No coat for me today, I’m saying ‘hello’ to this lovely weather and ‘goodbye’, if only temporarily, to coats, jackets and other cumbersome oft-carried clothing. When you’re caught out by the weather and end up with too many or too few clothes, Howard Moon’s all-in-one tweed utility suit suddenly becomes a much longed for fashion solution (it zips down to trunks). My biggest obstacle in the sans coat approach is pockets: Where to put phone, train pass, wallet, keys, and iPod when you’re not sporting a coat or jacket? Kindly some light-fingered urchin tried to help me solve this conundrum a few weeks back by pinching my iPod but I now have a replacement equally in need of homing and protection. I’ll persevere today, but sometimes my trouser pockets bulge so much it looks as if they have taken on a hamster-like passion for storage or, even more alarming, a freak-show-like tendency to bulge with fleshy bits of me. When I was at school I had a teacher whose rotund gut used to fascinate me and other classmates as it bulged both above and below the waist band of his tightly-belted slacks. That was gross and I don’t want to have an odd version of this on display just because it’s hot, I’m not wearing a coat, and I have a lot of things that need to be carried about. I suppose this is why bum bags were invented; the only thing worse than a bum bag being the name given to them in America: ‘Fanny packs’. Which, for some reason, instantly makes me think of sanitary towels which, in turn, also reminds me never to take one of these so-called ‘towels’ to the beach with you; they are so small you can’t get dry when you come out of the sea and they’re rubbish to lie on. Also, if you’re engaged in horseplay of any kind, trying to whip someone’s ‘fanny’ with an Always Ultra is in no way comparable to trying to inflict buttockular damage with a beach towel. In the pantheon of great ideas it’s up there with DIY self-circumcision and making the cricket world cup 6 weeks long, and full of cricket.

yawn

I am almost permanently sleepy. There’s scarcely a time when if offered the chance to retire for a nice nap I would refuse. Some days it’s a real battle to stay awake, to stay functioning to an acceptable level so as not to slip off my chair with a thump and awake drowsily moments later, concerned strangers all around me. ‘Is he ok?’ ‘I saw him fall, I thought he was dead’. I think my perma-fatigue at work has something to do with the artificial air-conditioned climate. It’s very warm all the time and quite different to any other environment I’ve worked in. Couple the thick warm air with a fairly thin workload and there’s no chance to count more than three sheep before I’m unconscious and my head is craned towards the desk, my focus rapidly pixelating. Yesterday I was stretched out on the sofa watching Toy Story 2 and the soft, warm caress of sleep started to tug at my eyelids. ‘Go on’ your mind whispers soothingly, ‘relax’. Eyes start to cross, the sofa gets more comfortable, and time stands still while you give your body and mind a chance to rest. Sometimes if I fall asleep in the day I wake suddenly and then feel nauseous, other times I plan better and sneak upstairs before collapsing expertly on my bed. It probably would be better if I weren’t so sleepy, but I do so love dropping off.

in hot water

I don’t really care about the soldiers taken hostage in Iran. It sounds to me like they got caught doing things they shouldn’t have and got off pretty lightly; no indefinite pre-trial prison sentences in Cuba for this bunch. Instead it’s back home for tearful reunions on Sky News and ‘reunited with mummy’ front pages for the single female soldier. Were this the other way round we would probably not release the Iranians but, if we had, can you imagine the uproar and cultural anxiety created over here if we saw images from Al-Jazeera of the freed Iranian hostages arriving back to hero’s welcomes and selling their stories of the capture to the press?

It's grim up north, I'm told

I drove to Warwick at the weekend. It's the furthest I've ever driven, about a 400 mile round trip and I arrived home yesterday marvelling at the number of places I saw signs for along the way. My favourite sign was one I saw on the way to Warwick; after leaving the M25 there was a sign pointing forward saying 'The North'. That must have been put up by a southerner, I thought. Really anything past Watford is the north if you're truly from the south. If you're from the south, the midlands is north, that's just a fact. The dichotomies between north and south are endless. They may be tired stereotypes but they are easy to follow and, quite possibly, true. I once read an article which pointed out that in most major cities, the western side is the wealthy side and the eastern side its poor relation (think London, New York, Worthing). When you are a southerner, these differences between east and west are almost stereotypically identical to those between north and south. The north (as with the east of a city) is associated with cash-strapped, honest folk with big hearts and empty pockets; the south (as with the west of a city) with money, pretension, and brains over braun. I don't know if this theory (not that it's mine) holds any water really but it's interesting and there's a passing resemblance to truth in its simplistic logic. From the south, the north does look kind of simple and pleasing in a rustic sort of way. This is probably because most of the media is run from the south and it's fun and nice to perpetuate these stereotypes of the north. I guess it all balances out though really; for every soft southern shandy-boy from the south, there's an allegedly hilarious car-stereo pinching scouser, splitting sides with his native wit and urging all around him to 'calm down'. I hope so, I just wonder if northern people see the midlands as the south.

where for art thou iPod

I’ve got to go to Oxford Street today. I’ll go in my lunch break and attempt another whirlwind 40 minute Vauxhall-Oxford Street-Vauxhall round trip. Exit 8 on to Argyle Street, turn right in to Gap, take back the trousers I bought (getting fat, they don’t fit), exchange them for larger size for the fuller-seated man, get back to office, eat lunch, have nap. Phew! I’ll need a nap after such exertions. If I’m making particularly good time I might go and pick up another iPod so, if any thieves are reading, I’ll be around Oxford Street with a new iPod and a pair or two of nice new slacks around one-ish. Perhaps we could meet and you could rob me. We’re going to Stratford-upon-Avon this weekend so please feel free to burgle my home too (valuables under my bed). We’re going for a jaunt round Shakespeare country to his birthplace, home, favourite nightclub, preferred branch of Happy Shopper, everywhere. I’m hoping it’s idyllic and well preserved, not just a tea-towel and mug industry, but we’ll see. I’ve booked us a hotel in nearby Warwick (mail me for room details and key, I’ll leave the safe unlocked) which I plan to pronounce ‘war-wick’ in a strong American accent at every opportunity and, if possible, hope to go one better and make the most of my time there by at least once mentioning how nice/nasty/hot/cold ‘war-wick-shy-er’ is. Much like Shakespeare would have said (I think). So, it’s a Shakespearian weekend with my Shakespeare-literate wife and me, who has seen ‘10 things I hate about you’ (I didn’t even know they had cars back then). I’m sure I’ll put in a good performance and be able to recite some good quotes by the end of it.

to the right, to the right

It's strange how being a victim of crime, no matter how small, can push your political sensibilities firmly to the right, if only very temporarily and specifically. I tend to think of myself as a fairly liberal chap but having had my iPod pinched I would gladly push the thieving arse who stole it in to the Thames whilst he was modelling the latest range of concrete cycle clips. If I hear of crime I usually tend to encourage others to think about the causes of the crime. To think about inequality, to think about how society drives certain people in to a life of crime. I genuinely and passionately believe that there are deep, fundamental problems forcing people in to a lives of crime but when it's my iPod that's stolen I suddenly come over all kilroy-silk and say 'mandatory firing squad for them all'. How could a thief take my iPod? Don't they know I'm on their side? That I understand their problems and needs? Don't they realise that I want to right society's wrongs so that they are not marginalised in to a life of crime? No, they don't, they're probably buying smack with the proceeds. It's odd how flexible my standards are and how I think (or thought) that when you are more tolerant and philosophical than some other sections of society regarding crime, you won't therefore be a victim of it. Not true. I just have to remember to blame society and not the thieving scum who make it up. Now don't get me started on the EU...oh Lord, this right-wing stuff is infectious.

In Our Time

They say that bad luck comes in threes and, this morning, I believe what they say. Yesterday was inititally a largely uneventful day but a strange karmic balance hung over me like a full-bowelled pigeon hovers above a bald man's head. Some very good things happened yesterday; I got offered the job I had recently applied for (hooray), met with a chum for lunch and another chum for a drink after work. Some very bad things happened also; some cunt pinched Alan my beloved iPod, I got the slowest train home ever, and I forgot my naan bread when I was having a curry. 3 good things, 3 bad things. Now I have a job to look forward to but have to spend £180 replacing my iPod. Yesterday I truly was even Steven. If, at the start of the day I had been offered the job on the proviso that I had my iPod pinched I probably would have accepted the terms, but still; being stolen from is a horrible thing and anyway, why couldn't they steal my phone? That's both insured and a piece of junk. Some scabby little thief is now walking the streets of London listening to my Bob Dylan and Wallygogs tunes or, even worse, has already replaced my precious jewels of music with crap like 50 Cent or Muse. More likely, and if reports are to be believed, my iPod has been re-sold and is now being used to fund drugs and/or terrorism. I'd rather fund terrorism than have James Blunt or LCD Soundsystem (absolute cobblers) on my precious iPod. I was half way through an interesting episode of 'In Our Time' on Bismark; I hope the thieving bastard enjoys it, I'll now never know why Bismark's physical stature (he was 6 foot 4) contributed so significantly to his rise to power. They were just about to discuss that bit. In our time indeed.

no, no, no

But it just looks plain cold from the bottle, another part of the ritual. Standing in the kitchen arms are braced against the counter, swallowing like mercury down the drain. And the neighbours have been drinking and they are raising quite a stink, pretty soon they will be fighting it can get pretty ugly. The city makes a hooting sound tonight. The owl on the roof has got it right; if it's left up to him he'll take that stupid grin. Decapitate a rodent or a mouse. Take the b train or the shuttle, at the exit have a smoke. Try to spit onto the sidewalk; instead you wipe it off your chest.
I don't wanna freak but the tongue erodes each time we start to speak. On a timely mission, you look pretty swell in your new position. Fibreglass funny face up on the wall. It's funny when it isn't funny at all. And if it's up to him we will take the ways of sin and smash them like glass against the wall. But it's not to pathetic with your teeth full of rhetoric and doubt. Carry on like little creature in the fields of our love

Lebanese sausages

Do you remember when you were at school (if not, you might want to stop reading now) and you played that game of trying to fit a certain word in to a classroom debate? Imagine yourself, sat around with your equally mischievous chums prior to a maths lesson and you agree on the word 'sausage'. In the upcoming lesson one of you must use the word 'sausage' in conversation with the teacher, loud enough for the rest of the class to hear. Simple. I played it many times, particularly at university (I think I matured backwards) and I did indeed manage to get the word 'sausage' in to a politics seminar about clientelism in the Lebanon. Keen to distract myself I have decided that the words below shall be my focus over the next week and I shall endeavour to include them in some sort of work-related discussions. I urge you to do the same and report back on your successes. My five words are:

Alabaster
Pumice
Tracheotomy
Discombobulation
Gumption

Godspeed, I eagerly anticipate news of your gumption.

Death List 2007

Back in November 2005 I made a list of celebrities I predicted would die in 2006; as you can see I wasn't entirely accurate in my predictions:

Hulk Hogan
Gordon Brown
Max Von Sydow
Lil Bow Wow
Fern Britten
Willie Nelson
Gary Glitter
Lionel Blair
Johnny Vaughan
One of your grandparents

They are all somehow still wrestling, acting, ra(p)ping, and entertaining as they always have. So it's time for a new list for 2007 and I welcome your predictions too. We've already had Bob Woolmer and John Inman this year and wrestlers are always a pretty safe bet for premature death. In 2007 I predict the following will 'pass away':

The Queen
Barry Norman
Callum Best
Shane Richie
Ariel Sharon
Dick Cheyney
Nat Lofthouse
Barry Fry
Mike Reid
Jordan

making do with bar towels

In 100 days the smoking ban comes in. No more smoking in bars, pubs, restaurants, and clubs. From the 1st July 2007 people caught smoking in non-smoking areas will be fined £50 (though it's not clear where this revenue will go). Whether you agree with it or not (I do) this legislation does show how seemingly unthinkable things can seep into the wider acceptance of the public over time. From smoking in the office and on aeroplanes, to women wearing trousers and folk drinking in the street; change does happen. Now I wonder what will be the next big change to our collective, day-to-day lifestyles. Usually it's whatever is the hot topic at the time and I wouldn't be surprised if it has something to do with junk food or driving (or both? no more drive-thrus?) Perhaps in 2017 we will explain to disbelieving youths that once upon a time children were allowed in McDonalds, petrol was only 90 pence a litre, and it was perfectly ok for twats in red blazers to go fox-hunting. We might sit reminiscing about when you were allowed to fly for leisure wearing hoodies; when cars ran on petrol; and when there was a brief period in our lives without us being at war. It's unlikely though. In 2007 airlines still don't pay any tax on fuel, motorists pay nearly 100% tax on fuel, and in reality I can't see any swift about-turns on either. Driving will get more expensive, flying will proliferate and the only people paying tax to fly will be the customers. Whether we like it or not, banning stuff seems really popular these days and, perhaps surprisingly, people seem quite happy to have things 'banned' rather than just 'not recommended'. Whatever your thoughts on it I recommend that next time you're in the pub you relive your youth and steal a nice, ceramic, chunky brewery ashtray. It could be your last chance.

tell us about yourself

The waiting game is not a fun game to play. I prefer Jenga. At least with Jenga you get a sense that everything’s about to go pear-shaped. When you’re waiting on a call following a job interview you have no real idea. You speculate, you enjoy the highs of confidence and the lows of doubt. You’re as sure you won’t get the job now as you were sure you would get it just ten minutes ago. It’s not much fun and your mind runs through a thousand reasons for and against your success. At the end of my interview today I was asked ‘do you have any other questions?’ I would have liked to have said ‘yes, do I get the job?’ but it’s not done. The waiting game is at its most heightened state. Far worse than waiting for a response to your initial application form. If you’re rejected at that stage you can kid yourself that you didn’t quite get the form right, that they didn’t get what you were trying to say; maybe they didn’t get the application at all (you know what the post is like). At interview there are no phantom excuses, if you’re good enough and good enough to show you’re good enough you get the job. The waiting game is not a fun game to play; not like flexi-scrabble.

bang bang you're dead

I was going to post a photo of me as a manny, or male nanny, today but I've decided against it. I look so nice and caring and gentle that if I were to post it I fear I would be inundated with passionate offers from broody singletons, and maybe even some women. No, instead I'm going to write about cricket. Bob Woolmer was, apparently, a fairly big cheese in the cricket world, an english player turned coach of Pakistan and some people's favourite to be next England coach. Instead of going on to coach England he made, the arguably more successful, move of dying the day after his Pakistan team were knocked out of the world cup. Now that in itself is a story; a famous cricketing person dies just after his team's elimination from big tournament. However, the press are now wetting themselves with excitement because there is a hint of a whiff of a possibility that he died in 'suspicious' circumstances. Never have you heard or seen such collective glee from the press. Occassionally the press pause their speculating to remind us that this is tragic and shame on you for thinking otherwise, but anyway he might have been murdered! Isn't that exciting? The press won't wait for the story, they'll work out all the possibilities now and just run with the most exciting. If one of their guesses is proven to be true they'll eulogise about their expert investigative journalism for weeks. Famous people, I suppose, aren't really the murdered type; it's difficult to conceal a nobody being murdered, try killing someone the whole world knows about. Whether murdered or not, the fact remains that the days following Bob Woolmer's death should probably have been spent saying what type of person he was, not giddily speculating about whather he was strangled with a jock-strap or impaled on a cricket stump.

Slightly off-topic but still related is the current case of Phil Spector who, it's alleged, murdered an actress at his home. A while back on this blog I, perhaps contraversially, suggested that owing to his fame and status Michael Jackson should be allowed to abuse as many children as he wants. I stand by this statement, as his ability to entertain us with music diminished Michael jackson found new ways to keep the media talking about him. I say 'Free Phil Spector', the guy's effect on popular music is undeniable and, therefore, he is surely allowed one little murder.

there's one in every corner

I’ll tell you what I like about nutters; they are very confident folk. On the train there was this chap, probably in his late 30s or early 40s, in a suit and winter coat like every other commuter but there was just something about him that said ‘unhinged’. His suit wasn’t quite right, his eyes had a hint of the crazy about them and his gaze was a little too raw. Sure enough when a young lady, sat opposite, started to cough he ripped a page from his newspaper (the daily nutbar) and started to scribble down medicines she might take to relieve her of this cough. She smiled embarrassedly but then had to endure about 15 minutes of torturous questioning and grinning as he explained how the different medicines work. ‘I bet he’s got a torso in his freezer’ I thought to myself but still paid attention as he eschewed a quality that made me think he probably lives with his mother, breast fed, and is married to a Labrador called Janet. That’s the great thing about this life, as long as you don’t pose a true threat you can be as crazy as you like and just go about your business. Everyone has someone in their office who is a bit weird, someone who is a bit unhinged and people say ‘if there was a murderer working here, I’d bet it was him’. He’s the one sat in the corner with the stains on his shirt, the dandruff, and the raincoat. He carries a fabric shopping bag, has a Cub Scout coin purse, and wears a cycle helmet when he gets the bus home. He spends his evenings at home and his earnings on fantasy modelling magazines, and there’s nothing in the world that’s wrong with that if he’s happy. Just stop looking at me with that telescope or I’ll call the police.

like playing shop

I’m not a huge fan of supermarkets, having worked in one part-time for eighteen torturous months during my A-Levels. I am however, quite ‘brand loyal’ and having worked in Sainsburys I now find myself a regular frequenter of Sainsburys both for the weekly big shop, and for lunch time milk and doughnut provisions in Vauxhall. Vauxhall have installed a system so resplendent in its faboulosity that it has taken away the thing I liked least about buying my lunch: human interaction. Long live the self-service checkout. You scan your nectar card and items, pay and you’re away. No small talk, no awkward silences; just silence and the occasional piece of automated advice ‘please place your item in the bagging area’; ‘please insert card or cash now’. I love it. It’s like playing shop.

When text and e-mail first became a real part of everyday life some commentators complained that it would spell the end of true human interaction. They’re right, I think it is going that way but I don’t care. I can still write a letter and hold a conversation (though not at the same time), it’s just trivial interaction I can do without and that’s what the genius behind the self-service checkout has realised. So it might result in low-skilled employees being surplus to requirements, surely they’ll find new, better jobs servicing these checkouts (perhaps). Either way it’s taken another one of life’s pointless little social interactions out of the way and, rather than worry that this is the end of society, I embrace it. If only such a system were imaginable for my most hated of social interactions: the hairdresser.

By the way, apparently you can get stuff cheap on the self-service checkouts by putting items in fruit and veg bags and weighing them rather than scanning them (a dozen kitkats weighed as mushrooms for example). Not my advice or idea, it’s wrong and I shun you for considering it.

time nor tides

‘Time waits for no man’, that’s what a paraphrased Sir Walter Scott reckoned. With this in mind, somewhere behind thoughts of my happiness, I have applied for another job and got an interview. It’s back in Crawleyshire as a ‘Regeneration Surveyor’, now I know what you’re thinking, it’s ‘what’s the difference between butter and I can’t believe it’s not butter?’ Don’t concern yourself with things you’ll never understand and pay attention! So, I’ve applied for this job and got an interview, and the interview is on Thursday (1030) and I’m hoping that I can attain a complete knowledge of the surveying profession over the next three days in preparation. I’m not entirely sure from where this knowledge will come; the internet resources are poor and I believe most courses run for three years rather than three days. Having said that, I spent three years at university and two and half of them watching ‘Cash in the Attic’ so hopefully it’s actually a doddle. Anyway, wish me luck for I shall certainly need it, and not just for the interview; I’m going to walk up to Sainsburys at lunchtime and I really want a salmon salad sandwich with no mayo, let’s hope they’ve one for me.

sweet refuge

As you may have deduced from my blog, I'm not so keen on where I work. Vauxhall is basically a big transport interchange and is home to all the noise, grime, filth and crime you might associate with such a place. It's shining ray of hope and delight comes just off Kennington Road, behind the greasy spoon, at Vauxhall City Farm. It's the nicest place I've been in London; in the middle of a particularly horrible urban sprawl of concrete and hopelessness is a small city farm with some animals and a little garden. It makes me and my Vauxhall-suffering chum very happy.

living by spam

I'm not suggesting you eat spam, good lord no, don't do that! I'm just going to point out the kind of lifestyle I might have if, on any one day, I chose to consider the stuff in spam e-mails as part of my life. Today I would have :

• sorted out those darned erection problems (twice)
• made a killing on the stock market
• re-joined the Green Party (that's not going to happen)
• gained an extra 2 inches (is that before or after I sort out my erection problems?)
• claimed $100 of free poker chips at Jackpot Joy
• bought a flight from Monarch
• searched the electoral roll
• bought some herbal viagra

It would be quite a day wouldn't it? Sex, ruthless money-making, politics, gambling, international jet-setting, and then some more sex. It's little wonder the internet is so popular, the advertisers have sort of got our number haven't they? I think it's fair to say they know what makes a lot of people tick. One of my friends pays £80 an hour for Jungian analysis. He said he senses, feels and thinks it's good; but he can't be sure.

that tiger went tiger

Press on me: we are restless things
Webs of seaweed are swaddling
You call upon the dusk
Of the musk of a squid
Shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib

Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes
I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it!
Smell of a stone fruit being cut and being opened
Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking

everyone should try...Rufus Wainwright

it'll be worth it

we're all doomed, more of less

I today had the displeasure of reading the government’s new paper on local area reform through local government and came across this marvellous piece of writing:

“…the streams and tributaries of local endeavour merge into the wide national estuary of public service reform. The latter should be seen as the sum of the former, with scope for variable geography en route.”

Doesn’t it just make your heart sink? Does anyone, anywhere actually think this means anything to anyone? Is this nonsense actually going to improve services or lives for anyone?

Pins & Passwords

What a secretive world we live in, I’m sure people used to live without the number of pins and passwords we need to function these days. It is, I’m told, bad practice to have the same password for lots of different things but try remembering separate passwords for all the accounts you have. On an average day I might go to a cashpoint, log on to my PC at work, check my e-mail, log on to any of a number of programmes and applications on my work PC, check my bank account on line (2 security codes and a 12 digit ‘online account code’), and access my beloved blog. These are the easy ones, regularly used passwords and codes; it’s when you phone up O2 and they hit you with the ‘what’s your special word?’ question that you’re in trouble. The ‘special word’ when phoning a bank or mobile phone company is not please (all those years my Mum lied to me). You end up running through a list of vaguely memorable words you might have used; you go through football teams, players, wife’s name, cat’s name, birthdays, the lot. The security question ends up revealing far more about you than you might like. The operator on the other end of the line must hear the list of possible passwords (all wrong) and think ‘wow, what a weirdo’. If you do get it right you sound even more shifty, ‘Really?! That’s it?’ So yes, I try always to use the same password for everything and work on the basis that if they get one password they get the lot (hint, my password is ********). With my pin I avoid the whole ‘try not to make it a special or significant number’ nonsense; it’s four digits!! There’re not too many variations really are there? 10,000 I believe so surely every number is going to be significant to someone; besides it’s my pin, that alone is pretty significant to me.