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Archive for August, 2008

Extreme Chaffinch-Licking

Yes. the word ‘extreme’. In this weird world of ours everything suddenly has to be ‘extreme’ or it has no value. Extreme Gardening (WHAT?), Extreme Ironing (Fuck off!) etc etc. I have absolutely no truck with this ridiculous trend. And why? I’m about to tell you…

I don’t need extremes. I have such a phenomenally low pleasure/pain/terror threshold that everyday life is as about as extreme as it needs to be for me. When I was a kid, my dad used to drive over humpback bridges like a nutter so that he’d hear me go ‘Oooh! My tummy turned over!’. The thing is – I rarely said that. It was more like “Wooooaaarrrgghhhhhhh! Aaaaaarrrrggghhhh! Oooohhh! Wow! What was that?” I was 7 at the time. Only in later life did I realise that the sensation I was experiencing was sexual ecstasy. And all it took was a humpback bridge and a Hilman Super-Imp! Even today, I’m sublimely happy with just a… ok, no, too much information…

Seriously, several years ago I went on a work trip to Alton Towers. Fucking never again. While everyone else was having the time of their life, I was quietly shitting my pants. Actually, it wasn’t so quietly. We started on a rollercoaster, I have no idea what it was called but we had to queue for 2 hours to get on the fucking thing. Two hours just so I could shit myself. I have never been so terrified in my entire life. I was in an open-topped carriage, with a crap seatbelt and a load of idiots, being hurled over precipices on rails. Now, am I the only one whose natural instinct for survival has actually been passed on? That’s not right. I fucking paid to do that. Never again.

A couple more hours queueing and I found myself entering ‘The Black Hole’. Now, from a scientific viewpoint I really should have known better. Nobody with the will to carry on living would even consider the idea of going into a real black hole, I should have considered that, because this was the next best thing. Or worst, if you’re me. I had managed to queue with a girl from work I really fancied. I suspect the smell coming from my trousers had already scuppered any ideas of chatting-up I may have had in mind, but I soldiered on relentlessly anyway. When we reached the front of the queue it transpired that we had to share a seat in a small capsule – SHE had to sit on MY lap! Oh yes, I thought, this WILL be fun. It wasn’t, certainly not for her, poor girl.

We slid gently through a plastic curtain into absolutely nothing. Total pitch black. Then we went over a ledge and into freefall. My arms tightened around the poor girl’s waist until she couldn’t breathe and I screamed and screamed into her left ear “WE’RE GOING TO DIEEEEEEE!!!!!” We didn’t in the end obviously, it just felt like it. She’s probably still deaf in her left ear, needless to say we never got together.

There was one ‘ride’ which I actually found really exciting and not terrifying. We all stood in a little domed cinema with a gigantic screen and watched point-of-view skiing. That was amazing. It felt like I was going over snow cliffs and down slopes and I didn’t have to move. I’m sure I ejaculated at least twice.

So, yes, extreme is not my thing. Not necessary. I will spend the rest of my life avoiding ‘extreme’ wherever possible, don’t need it. I’m sure it’s made for a much safer, cheaper life than many of my friends who, for example, can’t get behind the wheel of a car without wanting know how fast it can get from 0 – 60 or can’t have a night out without drinking until their livers explode. I actually feel sorry for them, it’s as though they are so disappointed with life that everything has to be pushed, pushed until either it breaks or they do. Nah, I’ll stick with my quiet, simple, average-speed life thanks.

I’ll tell you one thing – the sex is amazing….

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Hell Day

Every few weeks at work we have ‘days’. These ‘days’ involve picking a ludicrously innapropriate theme and then behaving like twats for 9 hours instead of getting some work done. The last one was, wait for it, PINK day. Bloody PINK day. Everyone in the office had to wear PINK and the PINKEST costume would win a prize. I don’t have a PINK item of clothing to my name, and never will if I have any say in things. So they made me wear a PINK cowboy hat. Jesus. The HUMILIATION.

Yesterday was ‘Hawaiian Day’. Oh. Joy. I wore a slightly orangey tee shirt. I’m all for enjoying your day at work, I can do that simply by having interesting conversations or getting a lot done. I don’t bloody need to wear a grass skirt and play hula-hoop every ten minutes to feel satisfied by home time. If I’d wanted a job at Butlin’s I’d bloody well have gone there instead. Grrrrr.

Bloody good barbecue at lunch time though.

Anyway, I proposed that the next one should be ‘Hell Day’. Everyone has to wear black and red. Anyone who is caught deliberately enjoying themselves is spit-roasted alive over hot coals while we prod them with pointy sticks and laugh maniacally. There’d be a black mass and we’d sacrifice a local peasant for lunch. I was told that I don’t know how to enjoy myself. That’s a matter of perspective.

Fun. Bah. Who needs it.

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Dogs…

I had a blinding weekend, culminating in a long walk with a couple of good mates and four totally insane dogs. Yep, I’m easily pleased. My own mutt is a sort of a cross between a cat, a meerkat and a seal and he was forced to interact in a semi-social manner with a long haired collie, a short haired collie and a stunningly dense doberman, oh the fun we had… Ok, it was a dog walk in a nice big country park, not much else really.

However, on the subject of our canine friends, take a look at this piece of groundbreaking cosmetic surgery :

Revolutionary technique pioneered by Sir Napoleon Cockapart

Revolutionary technique pioneered by Sir Napoleon Cockapart

Pure genius, who’d have thought such a thing were possible? I think I’ll have a tee shirt made up with that image so I can spread the word that we can at last augment our furry friends in such a manner. We all know how much doggies like to be fondled, and you wouldn’t have to buy it a meal first! Not that that’s ever stopped me, mind…
 There is a deeper darker story behind the genesis of the above image, but far be it from me to involve myself in such petty squabbling…
IF YOU would like to involve yourself, however…  try searching ‘dog with tits’ on google…
Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

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My Camera Never Lies…

I won a freakin’ photography competition at work. Got a £300 mobile phone thing for taking a few pictures of sunrises and leaves. Christ, that was easy. I’m now going to sell it and buy £300 worth of lottery tickets to see if I’m on a roll!

Ridiculous. Still, it made my day. Last time I won anything I was 3 and my old man dressed me up as a robot in a fancy dress competition. He was mechanically competent (unlike me) and the costume had all twinkly lights and shit. I’d post a picture but that was the 1960s and it was trendy to take fuckin’ SLIDES of everything then, so I can’t. Besides, fuck knows where they are.

I’ve ‘enjoyed’ reading the news today – some bloke got put away for driving around with his 3 year old step-daughter on the back of a mini-motorbike without a crash helmet with predictable results. Some other tit single-handedly brought half the M25 to a standstill by dressing up as Batman. What the hell is happening to us? Are we evolving backwards? Have people always been this fucking dim, or is it suddenly fashionable? Ooh, look at me, I have the mental capacity of an ant!

My solution? Castrate them and lock them away. Fucking idiots. A couple of hundred years ago we were sending people to an empty island on the other side of the world for nicking half a loaf of bread, now people KNOW they can just about get away with anything so they don’t even stop and think how much they might be screwing up other people’s lives. I wonder just how many people stuck in traffic jams today thought “Oh, good on him, I hope he gets to see his kids soon” No. they were thinking uncharitable things with lots of swearwords. Like I am now.

Yes, this is simplistic and reactionary. Sorry, but that’s how it makes me feel, perhaps I’m no more intelligent than them for reacting like this, but at least I only scribble it down in a blog rather than actually getting out there and twatting them, as I would so dearly love to. The gene pool is corrupted to such a degree now a day barely goes by without the news being filled with TWATS behaving like retarded children – some get caught, many more don’t.

I must be getting old. No, I AM getting old, and I don’t want to hear about these morons any more. Please, somebody, make them stop. Time for a major plague I think, time to level the population and start again.

But would we really rebuild and learn from our mistakes?

Would we fuck…

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GERTCHA!

Oh yeah – the C & D gig occurred. It was partly fun, partly horrendous. The fun bit was a night out in good company gorging on steak and beer. The horrendous bit was, yes, Chas ‘n Dave.

Now, I’ve got loads of relatives living in the Big Smoke so I grew up attending various birthday parties, weddings, funerals etc which were always studded with Cockney Knees-Up moments (especially the funerals, of course) and, by default, I am aware of many of the shaggy old duo’s ‘songs’. So I wasn’t going to be too embarrassed by the whole thing. Instead I actually felt embarrassed for them. The drunken student in charge of the sound mixing was clearly stone deaf or just utterly uninterested so we could all clearly hear the bass and drums but the keyboards and vocals were utterly drowned out. The only words I managed to pick out were Gertcha, Rabbit and Sideboard.

Plus, this is the heart of dimwit pig-farmer country and the locals looked a bit perturbed by a couple of hairy old twits jabbering gibberish for an hour. They were lucky to get out without being glassed.

At least my irrepressible pal Miss GLF was there. She’d dance to a wet paper bag if it flapped about with any semblance of rhythm and indeed shook her booty all night long (as they say) – when she wasn’t tying balloons to my ears, that is. Being of tender years she’d never even heard of them but that wasn’t going to stop her. I tapped the ocassional toe and grinned a lot, courtesy of several pints of Bass, but couldn’t really get into the swing of things. Ah well, it got me out of the house for an evening. For some reason I stayed until midnight, well aware that I would have to be up for work at 6am. That was a mistake, right there.

And now the weekend slowly shuffles into view and a mate from darn sarf is visiting with a couple of collies (that’s dogs, not vegetables) (I hope) who will no doubt drag us across the rain-soaked landscape on a tentatively-planned walk. And why not? Mind you, the way the weather’s been this week I could soon be developing webbed feet. At last I’ll fit in with the local populace!

No more gigs planned thus far. However, an amusing moment happened when I was poised to tell a friend about the C/D gig. I said “Can you imagine a duo who had hits in the 70s and 80s and who you would never imagine me ever going to see live in a million years?” he thought for a moment and said “Dollar?”

That’s a gauntlet thrown down right there…

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Go to a Chas and Dave gig.

Yep. If someone had invited me to such a thing a few years ago I’d have laughed in their face. And yet, tomorrow night…

What can I say? Someone at work suggested it and and I laughed, thought about it, and agreed to go along. I’ve even paid for a bleedin’ ticket. What’s happening to me? I haven’t really got anything against the old cheerful cockernee sparrow mentality (my old man was from Fulham, after all) but I’ve never so much as managed to listen to a song by the bearded, bewildered old tosspots all the way through. I am going though. There’s a steak dinner involved, I think that’s what convinced me to be honest. Plus a bloke the same age as me who is in a band I respect told me that they’re ‘good fun’.

Good fun? I can have ‘good fun’ clipping my toenails these days. Ah well, it gets me out of the house I suppose.

Just to make it worse though, they’re playing a venue I haven’t visited for several years now, even though it’s 10 minutes walk away, on account that I always feel like a paedophilic pensioner when I’m there. Last time I attended (accidentally walking into a Queen Tribute Band night – shudders – ) there were a couple of girls who didn’t look a day over 14 all over each other on the dance floor. And when I say ‘all over each other’… I’ve seen tamer stuff on t’internet. What was I supposed to do? Look away? I had to remain seated for at least half an hour lest someone tried to hang a coat on my protruding trousers.

I doubt that there’ll be much of that tomorrow though. I’ll probably be one of the younger audience members. That certainly would make a refeshing change, I look forward to seeing crusty old farts trying to buy a pint with a pound coin and expecting change. Oh. That’s me actually.

Look out for ‘Things I Thought I’d Never Do, Pt 2’ ; receive oral sex from a woman over 80 in a pub car park….

Knees ap Muvva Braahhnnn….

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