After what feels like years of tinsel and plastic trees, it’s finally suitable to start the festivities. Christmas is here and for once, it’s actually snowing. Despite what every Rom Com and Dickens novel out there would have you believe; a “White Christmas” is pretty rare. In Australia its summer and Santa sweats his ass off delivering presents in 100 degree heat every year so we can count ourselves pretty lucky if the white stuff sticks around for a few more days.
The view from our front window actually resembles a Christmas card. It’s a lot like King Wenceslas looking out on the feast of Steven except instead of a feast there is a frozen dog turd and instead of deep, crisp, even snow there is an inch or two of grey slush. That said it still looks pretty cool.
Unfortunately ten minutes after you set foot in the winter wonder land the negative affects of snow become all too apparent. For a start snow is really fucking cold; until now I really didn’t realize how much I enjoy having warm feet. I lack adequate clothing for the Everest like conditions we are currently faced with and so each day I pile on 3 t shirts, 3 pairs of socks and two hoodies. I am running out of clothes. Added to this, snow makes travel of any kind near impossible. Cars skid, Trains and flights are cancelled and walking anywhere becomes a 3 hour expedition. Having failed my driving test twice recently I find walking a particularly bitter experience at the minute. I hobble along the ice muttering and swearing to myself about how fantastic a driver I am. Imagine an elderly alcoholic Jenson Button and you’ll get the idea.
Anyway enough moaning, food has been brilliant recently. The rents took me for a birthday meal the other day and it was the most satisfied I have been since I last thought about Blair from Gossip Girl. I gleefully sucked the guts out of a king prawn that was so big it could beat up a lobster. On top of that I then had a Christmas dinner with my friends. Turkey, roasties, (both potatoes and turnips) mash, yorkshire puddings, veggies, pigs in blankets, stuffing, mince pies, Yule log,chocolate, a cheese bored, and THREE types of cream. We had the lot; in fact we lacked nothing apart from clothes and that only added to the fun.
Moist man of the moment: Ray Mears for his snow survival skills (The second time he has received the prestigious award)
Foodometer: 10/10 - fucking massive Prawn
Woozilla: 1/10 I am about as attractive as the plague. It might have something to do with my wooing techniques…..
Chat up line of the day:
Jack: Do you want to play pearl harbour?
Jill: What is it?
Jack: Well I lay down and you blow the hell out of me (Thanks potty mouth)
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
Saturday, 19 December 2009
A Very White Heart Lane
Being a Tottenham Hotspur fan teaches you two things.
1. Hate your neighbour
2. expect disappointment
Yesterday I visited Tottenham’s stadium for the first time. It has been something I have wanted to do since I was four but my dad hates large groups of people so it has been impractical. I had a great time but it is a shame Tottenham play their games in Tottenham. I have never felt such a constant fear that I would become a victim of knife crime. Even the police looked like they might stab you for looking at them funny.
The snow has caused huge problems getting around and getting home from London was no exception. My train was delayed for an hour which I filled about half of sitting in Kings Cross giving the national rail staff filthy looks. It was after I realized that one particularly psychotic looking member of staff was staring right back at me that I decided to kill time by other means. The I-pod came to the rescue as always and so the rest of the journey passed seamlessly to the sound of “The100 greatest movie soundtracks.”
My I-pod is defiantly in my top 5 most treasured possessions. It’s an unhealthy obsession. It’s not just the music; it’s the delusional fantasy life the I-pod allows you to live. For example; I listened to The ‘Da Vinci Code’ soundtrack on the way to the station yesterday. As I walked through the snow it actually felt like I was about to unravel some mystery about the corrupt Catholic church, and in doing so save the world. It’s not just adventure films either. It’s a fact that when you listen to Bob Marley nothing bad can happen to you and while you listen to Jamiroquai every attractive woman you see is certain to put you’re penis in their mouth.
It’s not all good though. I was on the tube listening to The Dark Knight soundtrack and everyone in my carriage instantly became a terrorist suspect. It was my job to find which one of them had explosives strapped to their chest and save the world.….. I quickly switched back to Jamiroquai.
1. Hate your neighbour
2. expect disappointment
Yesterday I visited Tottenham’s stadium for the first time. It has been something I have wanted to do since I was four but my dad hates large groups of people so it has been impractical. I had a great time but it is a shame Tottenham play their games in Tottenham. I have never felt such a constant fear that I would become a victim of knife crime. Even the police looked like they might stab you for looking at them funny.
The snow has caused huge problems getting around and getting home from London was no exception. My train was delayed for an hour which I filled about half of sitting in Kings Cross giving the national rail staff filthy looks. It was after I realized that one particularly psychotic looking member of staff was staring right back at me that I decided to kill time by other means. The I-pod came to the rescue as always and so the rest of the journey passed seamlessly to the sound of “The100 greatest movie soundtracks.”
My I-pod is defiantly in my top 5 most treasured possessions. It’s an unhealthy obsession. It’s not just the music; it’s the delusional fantasy life the I-pod allows you to live. For example; I listened to The ‘Da Vinci Code’ soundtrack on the way to the station yesterday. As I walked through the snow it actually felt like I was about to unravel some mystery about the corrupt Catholic church, and in doing so save the world. It’s not just adventure films either. It’s a fact that when you listen to Bob Marley nothing bad can happen to you and while you listen to Jamiroquai every attractive woman you see is certain to put you’re penis in their mouth.
It’s not all good though. I was on the tube listening to The Dark Knight soundtrack and everyone in my carriage instantly became a terrorist suspect. It was my job to find which one of them had explosives strapped to their chest and save the world.….. I quickly switched back to Jamiroquai.
Monday, 14 December 2009
Ruffle’s Wassles
So I’m a man. 21 years on planet earth.
I spent the first hour or so of my 22nd year necking bottle after bottle of apple and kiwi VS’s. VS’s are a cheap alternative to the already cheap VK’s and they’re the same in every way except that they glow just that bit brighter. I don’t think that luminous green is a colour that occurs all that often in nature. Fire flies, those fish that live at the bottom of the sea and that’s about it. I bet I have missed out a load more but what I’m getting at is that it isn’t the first colour I would choose to eat or drink. It is a colour that says Radioactive.
The effects of consuming large quantities of luminous green are wide ranging. One guarantee is that you will not sleep well, but you can also expect to have a green tongue and the shakes the morning after. The worst thing is they actually make you thirsty. Unless you have the wettest mouth in the world as soon as you finish one you need another. Knowing this will not change anything; as soon as you have a drink in your system there is no avoiding the magnetic draw of the Florescent VS.
I was accompanied on my ill advised attempt to drink every sugary lurid liquid in the county by my friends, Candy, Handy, Gandhi, Potty Mouth, Wigan, P Dizzle, B dawg, S dizzle, Grimsby, AK, Prince and Cam who I feel deserve a mention for putting up with my Alco-pop fuelled behaviour. I went into what I can only describe as a Sugar Frenzy. Dancing like a mentalist drinking more Frenzy juice then marching home alone in order to “Remain Dignified.” which I am informed came out as “ I waanaaaa stayyyy dignityified.”
Dignity in tatters
I am back in my home town now, which is good for two reasons. The first is that I have escaped the house taste forgot. It looked like Santa’s grotto by the end of term. For a week I was half expecting to find elves squatting in my room. The second is home cooking.
Roastometer 9/10
Moistometer 2/10 I think saw a spot or two of rain
Moist Person of the Week: The inventor of the M and S chicken fajita wrap. He or she is a genius!
If you can think of anything else luminous green from nature let me know, I am hoping to have a comprehensive list.
I spent the first hour or so of my 22nd year necking bottle after bottle of apple and kiwi VS’s. VS’s are a cheap alternative to the already cheap VK’s and they’re the same in every way except that they glow just that bit brighter. I don’t think that luminous green is a colour that occurs all that often in nature. Fire flies, those fish that live at the bottom of the sea and that’s about it. I bet I have missed out a load more but what I’m getting at is that it isn’t the first colour I would choose to eat or drink. It is a colour that says Radioactive.
The effects of consuming large quantities of luminous green are wide ranging. One guarantee is that you will not sleep well, but you can also expect to have a green tongue and the shakes the morning after. The worst thing is they actually make you thirsty. Unless you have the wettest mouth in the world as soon as you finish one you need another. Knowing this will not change anything; as soon as you have a drink in your system there is no avoiding the magnetic draw of the Florescent VS.
I was accompanied on my ill advised attempt to drink every sugary lurid liquid in the county by my friends, Candy, Handy, Gandhi, Potty Mouth, Wigan, P Dizzle, B dawg, S dizzle, Grimsby, AK, Prince and Cam who I feel deserve a mention for putting up with my Alco-pop fuelled behaviour. I went into what I can only describe as a Sugar Frenzy. Dancing like a mentalist drinking more Frenzy juice then marching home alone in order to “Remain Dignified.” which I am informed came out as “ I waanaaaa stayyyy dignityified.”
Dignity in tatters
I am back in my home town now, which is good for two reasons. The first is that I have escaped the house taste forgot. It looked like Santa’s grotto by the end of term. For a week I was half expecting to find elves squatting in my room. The second is home cooking.
Roastometer 9/10
Moistometer 2/10 I think saw a spot or two of rain
Moist Person of the Week: The inventor of the M and S chicken fajita wrap. He or she is a genius!
If you can think of anything else luminous green from nature let me know, I am hoping to have a comprehensive list.
Friday, 11 December 2009
Twelve Year olds and Father Christmas
So I had another driving test and I got Father Christmas as my examiner again.
“Hello Ed, my names Brian and I will be your examiner today.”
“Hey, we met before actually.” and I know your name isn’t Brian, its Santa you sly bastard. Been to Lap land recently?
I knew he would find some way to fail me again(the anti festive) and sure enough he did. All those glasses of milk, sherry and mince pies must have gone to his fat wrinkly head because when he gave me a major for fucking up a left reverse, I’m pretty certain he was trying to tick the box for major driving brilliance. However the stupid old alcoholic made a mistake and now he’s off to deliver presents for a month, so I recon I will have to wait a while for another shot at passing.
Thinking about it, this week has been a bit of a struggle. I don’t know if you are familiar with the board game Risk, it’s infuriating. You play for 3, maybe even 4 hours trying to take the world off your friend’s one country at a time only to roll a 1 when you charge into the middle-east. Bang! Before you know it you’re pinned down in Central America with no reinforcements. I am ashamed to say I actually lost my rag with the whole thing when Pete and Seth ruthlessly ganged up on me and butchered my little troops until I was wiped off the map completely. I stormed off swearing and declaring that I would never play again. So far I have not.
Another problem has been my youthful appearance. Unlike most people, who age conventionally, forwards from young to old, as the years go by I look younger and younger. It’s a lot like Benjamin Button except I don’t think I’m about to regress into Brad Pitt. Last year I was ID’ed for a 15; the year before I was asked to produce proof of age for a packet of soothers but neither of those humiliations came close to last night. B Dawg, Seth and I were chatting to these girls when one decided that I looked like her little brother.
“Oh yeah? How old is he?”
“12”
I don’t think woman realize how much they can crush a man simply by calling him young looking, cute or friendly. It’s like a dagger in the heart. We like to think of ourselves as James Bond or Maximus from Gladiator even if we’re not. So when you ladies call a man “baby faced” or “nice” you might as well be snapping off his penis. Unfortunately I don’t look like Maximus, I look like a mixture of Ian Hislop, Jedward and Pete Doherty and it turns out that mixture leads to looking 12. In fact I basically fell in love last night when a girl I know thought I was 22. 22 is ten years closer to looking like James Bond than anybody else is willing give me. She was really cool actually. I found out she likes The Who and so I’m putting her on the potential wife list.
Suggestion for taste bud moistening: Morgan’s Spiced Rum.
“Hello Ed, my names Brian and I will be your examiner today.”
“Hey, we met before actually.” and I know your name isn’t Brian, its Santa you sly bastard. Been to Lap land recently?
I knew he would find some way to fail me again(the anti festive) and sure enough he did. All those glasses of milk, sherry and mince pies must have gone to his fat wrinkly head because when he gave me a major for fucking up a left reverse, I’m pretty certain he was trying to tick the box for major driving brilliance. However the stupid old alcoholic made a mistake and now he’s off to deliver presents for a month, so I recon I will have to wait a while for another shot at passing.
Thinking about it, this week has been a bit of a struggle. I don’t know if you are familiar with the board game Risk, it’s infuriating. You play for 3, maybe even 4 hours trying to take the world off your friend’s one country at a time only to roll a 1 when you charge into the middle-east. Bang! Before you know it you’re pinned down in Central America with no reinforcements. I am ashamed to say I actually lost my rag with the whole thing when Pete and Seth ruthlessly ganged up on me and butchered my little troops until I was wiped off the map completely. I stormed off swearing and declaring that I would never play again. So far I have not.
Another problem has been my youthful appearance. Unlike most people, who age conventionally, forwards from young to old, as the years go by I look younger and younger. It’s a lot like Benjamin Button except I don’t think I’m about to regress into Brad Pitt. Last year I was ID’ed for a 15; the year before I was asked to produce proof of age for a packet of soothers but neither of those humiliations came close to last night. B Dawg, Seth and I were chatting to these girls when one decided that I looked like her little brother.
“Oh yeah? How old is he?”
“12”
I don’t think woman realize how much they can crush a man simply by calling him young looking, cute or friendly. It’s like a dagger in the heart. We like to think of ourselves as James Bond or Maximus from Gladiator even if we’re not. So when you ladies call a man “baby faced” or “nice” you might as well be snapping off his penis. Unfortunately I don’t look like Maximus, I look like a mixture of Ian Hislop, Jedward and Pete Doherty and it turns out that mixture leads to looking 12. In fact I basically fell in love last night when a girl I know thought I was 22. 22 is ten years closer to looking like James Bond than anybody else is willing give me. She was really cool actually. I found out she likes The Who and so I’m putting her on the potential wife list.
Suggestion for taste bud moistening: Morgan’s Spiced Rum.
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Shower-baths, Love Bites and Fleetwood Mac
It’s been about a week since Christmas threw up in my house (thanks Lucy) and the Christmas cheer has risen to an even more unacceptable level. I think tomorrow I might put Shindler’s List on in the background just to cut the festivities down to size.
Last night got out of hand and my lecture at nine o’clock today was unpleasant to say the least. My head felt like a big bit of wood covered in grease proof paper and my mouth tasted like bonfire. After a few hours of pretending to make notes in lectures I took refuge on the sofa, where I sat watching a black and white film about world war one. It had Kirk Douglas in it and it was sweet (not least because the cowardice court marshals and executions really took the edge off the fucking Cliff Richard playing in the kitchen.) Not wanting to move from the recovery chair, I then watched Count Down and fell in love with the new Carol Vorderman. My housemates got very angry that every time she came on screen I would shout “Fucking hell she’s hot!” I think it’s the intelligence thing. It just works.
Partly because I was still hung over and partly because I needed to cool down after an hour of Carol Vorderman 2, I then indulged in what has to be the best hangover cure in the world.
The SHOWER-BATH
I invented the shower bath after a particularly brutal night on the town. It’s rather obvious what it entails but I will just clarify to make sure that you understand just how great it is. You sit in the bath tub as if you were about to run a bath but just run a shower instead. After about 6 or 7 minutes your bath should be filling nicely but you’re also having a shower. FANTASTIC. Unfortunately there is a minor complication. Once the bath gets about a half full you have to run the bath taps instead of the shower because the shower water that has collected gets cold. It is very much worth the effort though. When the bath is nice and warm again you can always go back to the shower till the bath is full but I tend to just stick to a regular bath from then on.
I warn you though; once you’re in the shower-bath there really is no going back. You’re in for the long haul. My house mates, the lovely guys that they are, tend to end mine for me. You see to stay in the shower-bath for any length of time you need to unlock the bathroom door so that you’re housemates bladders don’t end the fun prematurely. A month ago David forced me to hop out after a measly hour and half when he blew his nose and then dropped his snotty tissue into the soapy water. Today Pete prised me away by doing the same thing with a sausage roll, which wasn’t quite as bad as snot but the feeling of soggy pastry on my bum isn’t one I’m dying to relive. Generally speaking the ideal duration is three re-warmings.
But anyway, I went out last night to our union. It was a good night. I staggered round claiming it was birthday and asking people for presents. It had mixed results I got told to fuck off and a hickey.
Moist song of the day....... Go your own way by Fleetwood Mac
Last night got out of hand and my lecture at nine o’clock today was unpleasant to say the least. My head felt like a big bit of wood covered in grease proof paper and my mouth tasted like bonfire. After a few hours of pretending to make notes in lectures I took refuge on the sofa, where I sat watching a black and white film about world war one. It had Kirk Douglas in it and it was sweet (not least because the cowardice court marshals and executions really took the edge off the fucking Cliff Richard playing in the kitchen.) Not wanting to move from the recovery chair, I then watched Count Down and fell in love with the new Carol Vorderman. My housemates got very angry that every time she came on screen I would shout “Fucking hell she’s hot!” I think it’s the intelligence thing. It just works.
Partly because I was still hung over and partly because I needed to cool down after an hour of Carol Vorderman 2, I then indulged in what has to be the best hangover cure in the world.
The SHOWER-BATH
I invented the shower bath after a particularly brutal night on the town. It’s rather obvious what it entails but I will just clarify to make sure that you understand just how great it is. You sit in the bath tub as if you were about to run a bath but just run a shower instead. After about 6 or 7 minutes your bath should be filling nicely but you’re also having a shower. FANTASTIC. Unfortunately there is a minor complication. Once the bath gets about a half full you have to run the bath taps instead of the shower because the shower water that has collected gets cold. It is very much worth the effort though. When the bath is nice and warm again you can always go back to the shower till the bath is full but I tend to just stick to a regular bath from then on.
I warn you though; once you’re in the shower-bath there really is no going back. You’re in for the long haul. My house mates, the lovely guys that they are, tend to end mine for me. You see to stay in the shower-bath for any length of time you need to unlock the bathroom door so that you’re housemates bladders don’t end the fun prematurely. A month ago David forced me to hop out after a measly hour and half when he blew his nose and then dropped his snotty tissue into the soapy water. Today Pete prised me away by doing the same thing with a sausage roll, which wasn’t quite as bad as snot but the feeling of soggy pastry on my bum isn’t one I’m dying to relive. Generally speaking the ideal duration is three re-warmings.
But anyway, I went out last night to our union. It was a good night. I staggered round claiming it was birthday and asking people for presents. It had mixed results I got told to fuck off and a hickey.
Moist song of the day....... Go your own way by Fleetwood Mac
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Deadlines and fire hazards
I fear that my efforts to slow the on set of Christmas have been a huge failure. In my absence my housemates managed to make the already lurid living room even more seasonal. More tinsel, more glitter, more Slade and now I live in a giant glittering, fire hazard. Bah! Humbug.
While all this horrible festivity was going on, I was cementing a friendship. I think it's much harder for guys to make friends with each other than ladies. When two girls meet they can always find something to talk about. Every girl in the world seems to know at least 3 scandalous things about every other female out there. So when two random girls meet they ascertain who they have in common and the conversation flows. Another thing about women is that they don't actually have to like one another to spend time together. Just mention that guy from twilight, or Cheryl Cole and their off like a rocket. Sometimes females even seem to root out a woman they don't like simply to forage for dirt. On returning from one of these undercover operations, said female is armed with yet more gossip and so the cycle continues.
Before you say anything. I understand that was a bit of a generalization. Not all women gossip but I didn't mean for it to sound negative. Quite the opposite in fact. It is quite a skill to chat away happily for hours without fear of awkwardness.
With men it's a different story. We make friends through forced encounters, school, work, living together, shared hobbies, that sort of thing. You can't just meet a guy you had a laugh with one time and ask him to go for a drink. That's just gay. As a man you must stumble into friendships through mutual hobbies and toleration of each other. For example; In uni I made friends with a guy called Snow because we both hated this other guy, Dave. Our shared hobby was hating Dave and we hung out with each other because it was better than spending time with Dave. That is how men make friends. I find any other all male friend making process cripplingly awkward.
With that in mind...
I met this guy through a friend and yesterday he invited me to come and hang out. He is a really decent guy and the invite was clearly a big step in the friend making process. This would be the first time we hung out, just the two of us. Awkward, but this was clearly make or break and not going would of been a definite snub. For a woman, NO PROBLEM. chat chat chat. However, man bonding is delicate and must be nurtured. Anyway it went fine. Alcohol made it pretty sweet and now I think I have a new buddy, but making friends is much harder than it sounds.
While all this horrible festivity was going on, I was cementing a friendship. I think it's much harder for guys to make friends with each other than ladies. When two girls meet they can always find something to talk about. Every girl in the world seems to know at least 3 scandalous things about every other female out there. So when two random girls meet they ascertain who they have in common and the conversation flows. Another thing about women is that they don't actually have to like one another to spend time together. Just mention that guy from twilight, or Cheryl Cole and their off like a rocket. Sometimes females even seem to root out a woman they don't like simply to forage for dirt. On returning from one of these undercover operations, said female is armed with yet more gossip and so the cycle continues.
Before you say anything. I understand that was a bit of a generalization. Not all women gossip but I didn't mean for it to sound negative. Quite the opposite in fact. It is quite a skill to chat away happily for hours without fear of awkwardness.
With men it's a different story. We make friends through forced encounters, school, work, living together, shared hobbies, that sort of thing. You can't just meet a guy you had a laugh with one time and ask him to go for a drink. That's just gay. As a man you must stumble into friendships through mutual hobbies and toleration of each other. For example; In uni I made friends with a guy called Snow because we both hated this other guy, Dave. Our shared hobby was hating Dave and we hung out with each other because it was better than spending time with Dave. That is how men make friends. I find any other all male friend making process cripplingly awkward.
With that in mind...
I met this guy through a friend and yesterday he invited me to come and hang out. He is a really decent guy and the invite was clearly a big step in the friend making process. This would be the first time we hung out, just the two of us. Awkward, but this was clearly make or break and not going would of been a definite snub. For a woman, NO PROBLEM. chat chat chat. However, man bonding is delicate and must be nurtured. Anyway it went fine. Alcohol made it pretty sweet and now I think I have a new buddy, but making friends is much harder than it sounds.
Friday, 4 December 2009
HUMBUG
I have a big problem. It's the fourth of December and people are already expecting me to be festive. Disgusting. If it wasn't bad enough that I have had to endure Christmas adverts for the last two months, now my house, is full of tinsel, bells and plastic trees. It really is terrible. Don't get me wrong I like Christmas as much as the next guy, but its not Christmas. It's the beginning of December. I don't want to listen Slade or Cliff Richard and I don't want to have a "Christmas dinner," because it isn't bloody Christmas! if you have a Christmas dinner on the 4th of December you are just eating a roast and no amount of paper hats or shit jokes will change that.
Anyway that is enough festive cheer for now. I am currently living my life vicariously through my house mate. He has a bit crush on this girl from his martial arts club,(I know, I know, he even wants a samurai sword.) Anyway the girl he is in love with, Katie Bl Bl, seems to be keen on him and all of us are giving MEH (my housemate) our advice on the situation. This ranges from whether or not he should wear a shirt to how he should drill her into her head board.
There are diagrams.
The girls have said he should be himself. The guys have been saying he should just get her smashed. I have been insisting that MEH blew his opportunity with Bl Bl when she invited him into her room after they walked home (from the sexually charged library) one night and for some reason he declined. I just realized that last bit made me sound trans gender. Girls, guys and me in three seperate catagories. Just to clear this up, I'm not trans-gender. Anyway I hope it goes well at the martial arts social. I feel like one of those dad's that push their children into sports in order to chace their own dreams.
Anyway that is enough festive cheer for now. I am currently living my life vicariously through my house mate. He has a bit crush on this girl from his martial arts club,(I know, I know, he even wants a samurai sword.) Anyway the girl he is in love with, Katie Bl Bl, seems to be keen on him and all of us are giving MEH (my housemate) our advice on the situation. This ranges from whether or not he should wear a shirt to how he should drill her into her head board.
There are diagrams.
The girls have said he should be himself. The guys have been saying he should just get her smashed. I have been insisting that MEH blew his opportunity with Bl Bl when she invited him into her room after they walked home (from the sexually charged library) one night and for some reason he declined. I just realized that last bit made me sound trans gender. Girls, guys and me in three seperate catagories. Just to clear this up, I'm not trans-gender. Anyway I hope it goes well at the martial arts social. I feel like one of those dad's that push their children into sports in order to chace their own dreams.
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