Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires

the return of Video Of The Week - The Young Fresh Fellows in Madrid!

2009-10-28T21:55:00.004Z

At the weekend I flew to Madrid so that I could see (after 17 years of waiting) the Young Fresh Fellows. Here's the encore from the show - I filmed the show in it's entirity and I'll be putting together a DVD over the next few months (once I get the sound board recording)

how not to use colgate actibrush

2008-06-01T23:56:00.001+01:00

see Lucia Camilloni

80's Throwback Video Of The Month - The Rope Chain $piller Girlz

2008-04-20T15:28:00.002+01:00

I saw these girls on Friday night on the same bill as the Duloks. All I can say is that they were solid pop gold (unlike the girls' rope chains). I think Salt n Pepa influenced this one.....

Argos Themed R'n'B Video Of The Week - Stokchek - Always In Stock

2007-11-13T12:26:00.000Z

Incredibly silly, but killingly funny

People say that crime don't pay, but I drink champagne everyday

2007-10-02T12:17:00.000+01:00

Friday night was a fairly normal affair. I'd been down to the Paddington office for the weekly Friday drinks, headed into the winebar for a few more and then ended up drinking with a few colleagues in bars around Covent Garden.

Usually I don't end up in Covent Garden, it's true, but invariably my plan to leave after a few drinks and head off home for the evening goes awry and ends with me getting home late drunk with kebab meat and chips in hand.

On this occasion, the choice between waiting in the rain for a bus with takeaway in hand and getting straight on the bus that had arrived outside the tube station just as I exited had resulted in me going home hungry.

When I reached the front door, all was quiet. I put the key in the front door and in that familiar drunken way my leaning on the door as I turned the key caused me to stumble slightly through the doorway.

Unusually the light was on in the hallway, and I could see that the door to the flat downstairs was damaged, quite badly. I thought this looked quite bad, but was relieved to see that my own door was intact.

Entering the flat, I resolved that it might be wise to lock the deadlock which usually would only be locked if nobody was in. I attempted to poke the key in the direction of the door.

The first time the key didn't go in, I didn't think anything of it, I was drunk afterall and it wasn't unusual that my hand eye co-ordination was affected by drunkenness. I could say something really self-deprecating but filthy here but, I won't.

The second time the key didn't go in, then a third time. It was at this point that my eyes focussed on the door enough to realise that it was not my door! I was in the right flat but it definitely was not the same door that I locked behind me when I left the flat earlier that day.

Shit!

Running upstairs, I looked into the lounge, it still looked tidy, and saw that though all the plugs were out of the sockets, the DVD, the video recorder (yes I still have one of those) and the TV were still there.

Why would you break into a flat and not take them? None of the items would be worth much, but you wouldn't break into a house and not take anything just because they're worthless. Then it dawned on me.

Shit! My laptop!

Not my old one that doesn't even have a CD Rom drive, my new-ish super duper pride and joy of a laptop. The one I've been using to create enhanced video clips complete with dodgy special effects that I've been cluttering up YouTube with.

I ran into my room, it was a mess, as usual and my eyes darted across the room to where my laptop had been only to see a laptop sized patch of carpet.

Disaster! I then looked at my bed and the clutter of junk I had inhabiting the still unused right hand side of my bed and noticed that my digital camera was not where it should be. Even more disaster!

I stepped into the hallway mumbling to myself, "what the fuck!"

My flatmate called down from her room. "Gordon, we've been burgled!"

"I know", I replied, "Are you ok?" I added

"yeah, they took my new mobile phone. They didn't take my laptop, the screen is scratched. The people downstairs got it worst"

"bummer. I'd had a really good evening, I'm drunk and I was looking forward to some food, but now…. They took my laptop and digital camera. At least they didn't trash the place"

"Do you want the crime number so you can call the police to tell them what you had stolen?"

"nah, it can wait til the morning……what a bummer", I said and ambled back into my room and looked around, just hoping that by some miracle, my laptop hadn't been stolen. But it had.

It was then that I realised that the mess of bank and credit card statements that had been tidied (read shoved in the drawer beside my bed) away a week earlier was now back besides my bed on the floor. It didn't look like anything obvious had gone but then I remembered. I'd had a new credit card sent to me a week or two earlier that I hadn't bothered to detach from the covering letter yet.
I looked for it, but it was gone. I pulled out my cellphone and called my credit card provider straight away to get the card cancelled.

I was quite impressed with myself that despite being drunk I was lucid enough to not just to think to check to see if my credit card had gone but then to get straight onto the credit card company to get it cancelled.

At this point I really needed to talk to someone. I'd lost my laptop and it wasn't just that, it was all the files and all the stuff I'd filmed over the past few months that I had got around to dealing with that had gone. I had disks of some stuff that I'd archived away but not all of it.

So I phoned a friend, it was almost 2am(sorry dude!) but I couldn't go to sleep with all this in my head plus I was very drunk so I wasn't thinking totally straight. After what I think was ten minute long conversation of me drunkenly moaning that it wasn't fair. I was in the right frame of mind to get some sleep, not that I wouldn't have dropped off to sleep immediately due to the amount of beer that had been consumed, so I got into bed and slept.

When I woke up feeling slightly hungover at 8.30am, though the first thing that popped into my head was the reminder that the burglary had occurred I was feeling surprisingly cheerful. We had been burgled, but not much had been taken, my record collection was untouched and the place was still tidy or as tidy as it usually was.

I climbed out of bed and looked on my bedside unit and staring up at me was my credit card. I couldn't help but laugh out loud. My laptop and camera had been stolen, I wasn't insured and I'd lost a significant chunk of my archives, but I felt good.

Later that morning, when my flatmate got up and we talked about the burglary I was quite animated and would even say I was excited by the whole thing. I wouldn't say that I don't get on with my flatmate but I wouldn't say we were exactly friends either. We don't really have much to talk about other than stuff to do with the flat and the weather. But we actually had something interesting to talk about!

We were both, in a peverse way, impressed that other than the door being kicked to pieces and a drawer or two of paper emptied on the floor which easily be put back in the drawers, they hadn't trashed the place and appeared to have quite consciously cherry picked a few items to take.

Later in the morning, we had a knock on the door. It was the people from the flat downstairs who had knocked just to let us know that they were getting a dead lock put onto the front door and would be getting us keys for it.

Just like myself and my flatmate. They were also quite pleased or maybe just relieved that the burglars had taken just a few things , left much of their most expensive stuff and not left a mess. Amongst their stolen items was an expensive mp3 player that hadn't been working properly and being insured the man downstairs was chuffed that he would be able to replace it with one that worked properly.

"sorry, I don't know your name?", he said

"I'm Gordon", I replied

"I'm John and this is Laura", he said

"Nice to finally meet you!", I smiled

In the year or so since they had moved into the flat downstairs, neither me or my flatmate had exchanged much more than a rare passing hello. In fact, I see more of their cats than them. Usually outside the bathroom window crying at me, through the frosted glass. It can be so off putting sometimes.

It seems to be common nowadays, that people don't know their neighbours, what there names are or even what they look like. It takes a burglary for you to find out who they are or whether they are nice people or not and I find that quite sad.

Two days on, Laura has now asked my flatmate if she can feed their cats, when they go on holiday later this year. My flatmate loves cats and I know is really pleased that they have asked her. Had it not been for the burglary, they would never have even thought to ask. Silver linings and all that. Now, if only I could get an invite to watch their Sky Sports…………….

Since the burglary, I've looked into replacing the stuff I had stolen with mixed results. With my digital camera, I nearly bought a new one on Saturday morning, but in my quest to get an identical one to the one I had lost, I have found a used one on eBay for a fraction of the cost of a new one. It might be a while til I can afford a new laptop though.

What amuses me most about the whole burglary affair, in a ironic way, was that on the day of the burglary, when I left the flat in the morning, I had an album by the Dammed on my discman and the first song on that album? …………………….Burglar :)

Probably A Lesbian

2007-09-26T14:59:00.001+01:00

In my student days, most weeks I would find myself in a local nightclub, hoping that by some miracle I would catch the eye of a pretty girl or even an ugly one come to think of it, that would then come up to me and offer me a life of non-stop shagging as well as paying for the taxi back to her place.

Of course this didn't usually happen. On the rare occasion that a girl would approach me and make it obvious she was interested, my rebellious streak would kick in and I would resist on the grounds that I don't like being pushed around, even if it was something I really wanted to do.

This same rebellious streak cost me in the infamous 2 girl non-sex show episode (one day I'll write a blog about it) and so it was only a very rare occurrence that I got any success of any degree.

I'd gone to all boys school in my teenage years and as a result I was rather lacking practice in interacting with the opposite sex.

The thing was that I knew that 99% of success with girls at that time relied on you actually approaching and speaking to girls and even then it didn't guarantee success. Alas I was a little too shy, a little unsure of myself and scared of failure to do anything about it.

I did have some friends, however, who were more self assured and regularly would approach girls in the local club and occasionally they would be successful.
Out of our little group my least favourite friend (I say that rather than sworn enemy) was the most successful at chatting up girls, despite his poor personal hygiene and impossibly irritating personality . The fact that he was so successful would drive me and my friends up the wall.

Not only was he very good at picking up girls but he also had no fear of rejection. On the occasions he approached a girl who actually saw through his bullshit and sent him packing back to the edges of the dancefloor, he would return to our group and come out with the old line "must be a lesbian" and that would be that.

In years past, I've heard this phrase come out of the mouths of many people and I suspect that every minute of every day somewhere in the world somebody is saying "must be a lesbian" as if "she didn't fancy me" isn't a good enough explanation even if it is more depressing.

Anyway, years have passed since those days, I'm a little wiser and I'm a lot more comfortable in the company of girls. Despite that, I'm still not very comfortable with the whole meeting girls for more than just being friends thing and if they fancy me I don't realise it or I somehow leave it to late before taking a chance.

To me success is have sex in consecutive years! Three is my best so far and two of those were one night stands though I didn't realise it at the time.
Before this turns into a "oh why am I so unsucessful with women" blog (I'm saving that for my internet dating blog :) , I should tell you about a girl I found myself talking to in a club a few months ago.

I'd met the girl once before when out with friends a few months earlier. We'd exchanged a few smiles and before I left, on that occasion we'd had talked a bit and had got on quite well.

This time around, when she had first arrived we started chatting about all sorts of stuff and were getting on really well. After about ten minutes I went and chatted to other friends and she was talking to somebody else. We then chatted more until the band that were playing that night came on.

After the band finished I looked across at her and smiled, she smiled back and came back to talk some more. I was beginning to believe that I might actually pull this girl and I really hoped I would. I didn't think that it was a 'start of beautiful thing' type moment but nonetheless I did like her quite a bit from the short amount of time I'd spent talking to her.

It was at this point that she turned to me and said, "Isn't that girl (one she had been talking to earlier) over there really hot! I really fancy her but what if she doesn't fancy me?"

If this was a perfect story, I would say that at this point I walked away and thought "she must be a lesbian!" but actually I laughed under my breath and said to her, "you're not going to find out standing here talking to me, you should go an talk to her"

Now, if only I could follow my own advice :)

Video Of The Month - Housse De Racket Live At The Old Blue Last

2007-09-24T11:18:00.000+01:00

I really should have checked the spelling of the band name before putting in the captions and I really shouldn't have gone so overboard on the playing around with the special effects on my laptop, but it's still a great clip and great band.

Video of the week - I'm Your Boyfriend Now by Tall Pony

2007-07-23T10:05:00.000+01:00

I can't believe it took me 6 months to get around to uploading this clip. This was filmed at BBC Maida Vale at the recording of the Huw Stephens Xmas Special for Radio One.

It was the most requested song of 2006 and was number one in the Festive Fifty on Dandelion Radio.

Video Of The Month - Mira Dulok swears at a child

2007-06-12T13:48:00.000+01:00

This was during the 2nd of two sets the Duloks did on the roof at the Royal Festival Hall at the weekend, the first of which in a surreal Spinal Tap/Puppet Show type way was played in front of an audience of very young children. Mira thought all the kids had all gone by the time of the second set, how wrong she was.............

Videos Of The Week/Month/Whatever

2007-05-20T10:59:00.000+01:00

well it's been a long time since my last post. Since I proudly announced my first 1000 hit video, many more have reached that point.

Anyway, here's the Duloks doing a typically insane performance Draw The Fish(Octopus In Love) complete with several beardy men invited on stage. Note: the fancy dress is Fawlty Towers - trust me when I say it was convincing before the false moustaches fell off. Mar is Manuel, Mira is Basil and Amina is Sybil

The second video is from the same show, with the fabulous Diskoboy with their insanely brilliant cover of the Donna Summer classic 'I Feel Love'

And finally, in an effort to get my first 1000 hit Duloks clip here's the classic stripping (she totally didn't do him) finn version of Boom Boom live in Toulouse

Video Of The Week - Jet Boy Jet Girl by The Damned -my first 1000 hit video!

2007-02-01T13:58:00.000Z

For the first time I've managed to post a video on youtube that has had 1000 hits.

Hopefully one day soon it'll be a Duloks clip but for the time being here's The Damned and Jet Boy Jet Girl (featuring Captain Sensible on lead vocals and The Priscillas helping out with backing vocals)

Video(s) Of The Week - Restless Legs

2007-01-06T12:55:00.000Z

The video below would have been the video of the week but I didn't find it til after Christmas. Much of the footage was filmed in Liverpool and around my home area the Wirral and it's been broadcast in Liverpool's Clayton Square on the BBC big screen all over Christmas.

both videos are produced by Furious Films

A Lot Can Change In 30 Minutes

2007-01-05T13:15:00.000Z

It's like Bob Geldof in The Wall but without the music,the eyebrow shaving and the facism.

Chistmas Update / Video Of The Week

2006-12-30T11:55:00.000Z

At last! After 8 netless days I finally find one of only 5 internet cafes in the Yellow Pages for the whole of Merseyside and Chester and what have I missed? Not much on the net, judging by my hotmail and myspace accounts.

Going home for Christmas is good for catching up with those friends and relatives you haven't seen for a while, but there are friends from my London life I've missed dreadfully this past week I've been away and I can't wait to get back, even if coming back does mean I'll be back in work soon.

I might write more about the whole xmas thing soon, but in the meantime here's my video of the week.

A Christmas Gift For You

2006-12-21T08:39:00.000Z

and I mean that most sincerely.

Video Clip Of The Week - Thirteen - Jon Auer

2006-12-03T17:42:00.000Z

I will post a Shocking Blue video one week, but I filmed this one myself on Friday at the Borderline in London and discovered my camera is much better than I thought so I'm well chuffed!

try this link

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nhpca9bn7k

Who's The Daddy?

2006-11-25T14:01:00.000Z

You cannot imagine how much I wish I was Abramovic's son!

Video Clip Of The Week - Pant Wettingly Good Otis Redding Clip

2006-11-24T20:09:00.000Z

If you don't love this clip I'll shoot you!

Tony

2006-11-05T14:03:00.000Z

Tony
I want to tell you about my friend Tony

I first met Tony in the school library when I was about 13. He was scowling at me and all my friends who were distracting him from his game of chess by messing about in the way that 13 year old boys do whilst they wait for their balls to drop.

He was unfortunate in that his hair was thinning from an early age and he used to get merciless stick from his school friends from his early teens onwards.

I have to confess for the first few years I knew him ,all I ever used to say to him was "cheer up you miserable bastard" because he was looked so unhappy and scowling seemed to be his favourite pastime.

It was only as the years went by that I noticed that when he did scowl and poured scorn on everything and anything there was a wicked sense of humour behind it all.

Tony was not luckiest of people I've known.

Typical of Tony's bad luck was when he managed to achieve the ignominy of getting 3 straight grade N's in his A-level exams.

For those of you who don't know, grade 'N' stands for nearly as in 'ha ha you nearly passed but you didn't you dozy bastard!'. It's basically the kick in the teeth grade. If you get a U for unclassified, that isn't as bad as you know that you really fucked up. To get one 'N' was unfortunate, but 3?

Whilst I and many of our school friends went off to university, Tony was busy studying for his re-sits.

Again Tony was beset by bad luck when he got another 3 N's. I have to confess that my attempts to cheer Tony up by saying "At least you can say that you nearly got 6 a-levels!" didn't have the desired affect.

It has to be said, that Tony got a job sooner after leaving school than I did (ok I was 25 before I got my first permanent job - I'll tell you about that another time), so he wasn't totally unlucky, but it was only 10 hours a week working in the local newsagents for £2.50 an hour cash in hand and he did get prosecuted for selling cigarettes to a fifteen year old.

He never lived that one down, nor did it help that we mercilessly taunted him with 'drug pusher' jibes.

When it came to sport, Tony was very talented. Again this was unlucky as though he was sporty, it was in all the wrong sports.

Sadly it wasn't football or rugby where he excelled. Had it been either of them I'm sure he would have been surrounded by pretty girls queuing up to stroke his thinning mane of hair.

As it was, he was brilliant at darts, snooker, pool, squash and crown green bowls. None of these sports are renowned for attracting girls except maybe crown green bowls, but that tended to be of the blue rinse Daily Mail reading variety.

When it came to sports, Tony was ultra competitive. Once, when an opponent had a heart attack during a game of bowls, all Tony could do was to moan that he probably had it on purpose to avoid losing

This competitive streak, was not limited to sports. One new year's eve, he through a strop because he thought we were cheating in a game of Twister!

Tony, I considered a good friend and before I moved to London, he along with my friend Tim and his wife Cathy were my closest and most trusted friends. Many an evening was spent drinking beer, arguing about football, slagging each other off and generally talking crap with Tony at Tim and Cathy's place.

By the way, If you've ever read my 'Infamous Vibrator Story' blog(see my archives), it was at Tim & Cathy's house that the comedy unfolded.

Whenever Tim & Cathy had just had an addition to their growing offspring (ok, they've only got four, but it doesn't stop me from asking if Cathy has had anymore babies, every time I speak to Tim), Tony used to visit more frequently. We used to all(including Cathy) wind him up by suggesting that it was because Cathy breastfeeding was the only change he would ever get to see real breasts.

In hindsight, it might have been true. Tony wasn't particularly successful with women, in fact up until his thirties he wasn't successful at all, I found out.

Years earlier he had told us a heartbreaking story about a girl he knew from the council estate he lived on, taking his virginity when he was fifteen, but it turned out later that he had made the story up to hide the sad truth.

I only found out the truth when I got a text message from Tim, a few years ago, informing me that Tony had spent the night with a girl on his sofa bed I found that he had only just lost his virginity at the age of thirty!

In his late twenties, early thirties, Tony's life seemed to turnaround. He finally got his university degree, had a proper permanent job working in a university library and he even moved out of his parents' house!

He bought a house of his own and moved in with a girl he had met on the internet.

I've never met this girl he fell in love with and I'm not sure from what I heard, she was exactly the ideal woman for him, but he had something I've never had, so I can't say I wasn't a little jealous of him.

I've only been back to my hometown once in the last three years and in that time I haven't seen Tony and sadly I never will.

About five or six months ago, things seemed perfect for Tony, at last after years of not really being close to content with his life.

Tony had a good job, he had place of his own and was sharing it with the girl he loved.

On their return, Tony wasn't well. It appeared had picked up a chest infection, but when he didn't get better, he was sent to the hospital where doctors discovered his heart had tumors wrapped around it.

Within days, whilst the doctors were still deliberating as to what course of treatment they could try as it was such a rare illness, Tony died.

So why am I telling you this? And why have I waited nearly six months to write this blog?

In a way this blog isn't really about Tony and his sad story. It's really about the effect the news has had on my life since.

When I heard about Tony's death, I was told by text message by Tim. Not the best way to hear about a friend dying, it's true, but given that we all went to an all boys school where feelings and expressing them isn't on the curriculum, it probably was for the best.

Hearing this news a big shock for me. First I felt bad that I hadn't seen Tony for three years. How can I call myself his friend when I had seen or heard from him in so long?

When I first came to London, I used to go back home every few months and hang out with Tony and my old friends, but since my return from Australia two years ago, I've been home just once.

I got so caught up in my life down here in London, I began to forget about most of the people that played a part in a major era of my life. I forgot about the friends who encouraged me try to make something of my life by taking a job in London in the first place.

Tony's death shocked me in a very selfish way, I think. He was just thirty-three years old. What if that had been me? How would I react to finding out I was going to die and then not even get a chance to even try to come to terms with the fact? What have I achieved so far in my life? Why am I letting my life just drift by and not doing everything I can to make something of myself?

Since Tony's death, my life, I think had changed for the better. I realized that I need to make the most out of my life, whether I die next week or in fifty years time.

I've started trying to make more out of my leisure time. I've started to go out more often and I've started to let my hair down(metaphorically speaking obviously) and take myself less seriously - I've worn fancy dress at a party for the first time in my life and I no longer feel embarrassed by karaoke! Instead of being so cautious with my decision making, I've started taking more chances as my trip to the Alaquas festival in September illustrated.

This change in my life isn't just limited to how I use my leisure time. There's got to be the right balance between work and pleasure, if I'm going to pay for it.

I've realized that it's no use just letting my working life drift, doing the same job for the next thirty years, I've got to do something more positive with my career especially if I want to pay for the life I want. As a result I've restarted my studies for the every exciting CIMA management accounting qualificatio whit aim of being able to work less for the same money(or a little more)

The only part of my life that hasn't changed dramatically since Tony's death is my love life. I've fallen in love with girlfriends, and girlfriends have fallen in love with me, but never at the same time! This might have bothered me a year ago, but since what happened I've realized that it's not the most important thing in the world and it certainly doesn't guarantee happiness. If love comes I won't run away but I'm not going to chase after it (I'll write about this particular topic another time)

At this moment I'm working hard, playing hard and I'm having the best time of my life, I only wish that it hadn't taken the death of a friend to make me realize how short life is.

RIP Tony Vyskocil

Video Clip Of The Week - Ooh Child by The Stairsteps

2006-10-28T10:25:00.000+01:00

The vocals sound a bit flat but it's a rare live clip of one of my favourite songs.

Jocko Homo - Devo Video Clip Of The Week

2006-10-22T12:28:00.000+01:00

Gordo Needs Sleep Sleep Badly

2006-10-09T14:09:00.000+01:00

Recently, I’ve been getting too little sleep, too much caffeine and working far too hard (5 days at work and 1 day at college each week? What was I thinking!)

On the positive side, when I have slept, my dreams have been far more interesting and more vivid as the dream I had last night illustrated.

I was watching the news and there was a live report coming in from Iraq of a BBC journalist being killed by US soldiers in a friendly fire accident(yeah right).

The reporter was sniffling and visibly upset as she talked to the studio about her colleague being killed.

“Claire was a respected colleague and a wonderful journalist who has been savagely murdered by those who are supposed to be the good guys in this conflict”, she said, clearly demonstrating how upsetting this was to her.

At this point a trucked pulled up alongside the reporter with the body of her dead colleague visible in the back. This only served to make her more upset.

Some men then got out of the truck, laughing and joking as the started to unload the corpse from the back of the van.

“you heartless bastards! My friend has been killed and all you can do is laugh. Can’t you show some respect for the dead?”, she sniffed

“to end this broadcast I’d just like to pay tribute to my dearly departed colleagues by singing a few lines from one of her favourite songs”

She then proceeded to sing

“Red (sniff) red wizard needs food food badly (sniff). Red red wizard needs food food badly. Red red wizard needs food food badly. Red red wizard but what about me?”, before breaking down in tears.

Even when I’m dreaming about the Iraq war somehow one of the Duloks most catchy songs finds it’s way into one of my dreams. I'm slightly disturbed by the whole thing!

Still it’s better than dreaming about being chased by giant butt plugs.

MC5 Ramblin' Rose - Clip Of The Week

2006-09-30T12:19:00.000+01:00

I love youtube! check out this brilliant clip of the MC5 (once you get past the girl with the balloons)

Mission Alaquas : The Photos

2006-09-11T14:06:00.000+01:00

Mission: Alaquas

2006-09-10T17:31:00.000+01:00

'invitaciones es gratuitides y obligatirio' - the words that struck fear and dissappointment into my heart. The girl in the kiosk outside the Alaquas football stadium pointed at these words whilst saying something along the lines of "if you haven't got an invitation you ain't comin' in, soft arse!" but in Spanish.

An eventful journey to see The Posies play at the Alaquas Rock Festival was on the verge of ending in dissapointment , but how did I come to be in a dusty industrial town 10k's outside Valencia?

It all began in July when I decided it was about time I had some time off from work having not had a day off since the start of the year, but where to go and what to do?

My original idea was that I might try and head off to Vittoria in the north of Spain, for the Azkenas festival where the Young Fresh Fellows were due to make a very rare appearance outside Seattle never mind the US itself, but for various non-specified reasons (believe it or not I don't tell you lot everything) I decided it probably wasn't a good idea.

So then it occurred to me that my old buddy from my student days, Chewy, was out in Spain and a few times in the past year I'd suggested I might come over for a visit and to catch up on the past few years, but for one reason or another, usually financial, I wasn't able to make it over. So I thought a quick visit might be a good plan as a starting point for my holiday.

I e-mailled chewy and within a few days, it was decided, I was heading over to Madrid at the end of August. At this point Alaquas was hundreds of miles away from my plans, both literally and metaphoricaly

I was aware that the Posies and Big Star were playing a couple of festivals in Spain around the time I was going over but all I was thinking about was chilling out and meeting an old friend in the heat of Madrid.

It was only a couple of weeks before I was due to head out, that it occurred to me that if I could make it over to wherever Alaquas was for a day or so I might be able to see one of my favourite bands in a different environment to the one had become accustomed to.

In the meantime I had a conversation with the unforgettable Mira about something Duloks (her fab band) related and in the course of our conversation I mentioned that I was considering possibly trying to get to see the Posies at this festival. Now, one of the many things I like about Mira is that she is daring and positive in her outlook on life. So I sort of knew she would encourage me to take a chance and she said it was a good idea. So I decided that if it was possible I would go to Alaquas for the festival.

But where was Alaquas? how would I get there? and how would I get a ticket?

The answer to the first question was easy. Alaquas, I discovered, after a quick google, is a small industrial town 10 kilometres outside the centre of Valencia. The answer to the second and third questions would not be fully answered til a lot later.

The answer to the second question was apparently easy, though knowing that Alaquas was outside Valencia, I suspected it wouldn't be totally straight forward as I would later discover.

Getting from Madrid to Valencia was three hours plus away on the train or just forty minutes by air. The original plan was that I would fly. I looked at the Iberia Air website and saw that I could get a flight for around 100 euros, if I booked there and then, but I decided it would be sensible to wait until I knew that I could get in.

The third question? Now this was the toughy as I soon found out.

I had a link to the festival website and though I hardly speak a word of Spanish, I thought I would be able to find something about where to get tickets from on the website. How wrong I was

Every day for a few weeks, I went to the website in the hope that something I had missed would jump out at me, but no luck. Then I thought that my friend Chewy would speak better spanish than me and would have better luck, so I e-mailled him, asking him to take a look and see what he could find out.

Chewy replied to my e-mail, pointing out that there was a slight problem with him attempting to find the information I required. The website was in Valenciano ..i.e not Spanish. Valenciano is one of the various regional languages in spain, like Catalan and Basque and so Chewy was unable to easily find the information on the site.

It was now a week before the festival and I still had not ticket or even knowledge of how to get a ticket.

Next, I e-mailled Eveleen, a Posies super-fan, as it occurred to me that she might have been planning to come over to the festival herself. She replied saying that she wasn't coming and that she didn't know where to the get the tickets from. She suggested I should try asking Carsten, another Posies super-fan and the man who usually knows absolutely everything Posies related.

Time was running out and Carsten was possibly my final chance. I sent Carsten an e-mail via Myspace and waited.....and waited

By the time I got my flight out to Madrid, I still hadn't made any progress to my aim of getting to the festival and Carsten hadn't logged into Myspace let alone read my e-mail. I arrived in Madrid and got on with enjoying my holiday.

After a few days of seeing the sights, eating the tapas and drinking the beers of Madrid, I had almost given up all hope of getting to the festival, but I knew that regardless I was having a good time and the rest of my break would be fantastic.

It was Friday morning, Chewy was out on some business, everyone else was out and I was alone in the flat with just the bad television(Dawson's Creek dubbed into Spanish anyone?) and the internet for company, so I had a quick look on the net.

I looked again at the festival website, still nothing jumped out at me, checked to see if Carsten had read my e-mail, still not been read and I googled the festival, just in case something new was there. And then...a ray of light.

Suddenly there was mention of the festival on a Heineken website, so I clicked on the link. Naturally the link was to the spanish website, but thanks to the wonders of Altavista.com's babel fish translator, I was able to getting a shoddily translated version of a paragraph which mentioned the festival. The key part of the translation was that, Festival Rock Alaquas was a free festival organised and paid for by the local council. It was a free festival! But it was the day before the Posies appearance and I hadn't made any arrangements to get me to the show.

I wanted to go but wasn't sure if I could get there and even if I could, I speak little or no spanish, had no accomodation booked and I would going on my own.

I needed some encouragement again and there was only person I knew that could give me that necessary encouragement. I sent a text to Mira, it read :

"Hi from Madrid. Just found out festival is free - run by local council! Not decided whether 2 go yet as hotel fully booked near & my spanish is non existant"

I knew what she would say, before she said it, but I waited and then a reply appeared on my phone

"Do it! You'll have fun!"

Short and to the point. So there and then I decided if there was any way I could get to Alaquas, I was going

This was just the beginning of my adventure.....

First option of getting from Madrid to Valencia was to go by air. In the weeks before, there were return flights for as little as 100 euro , with 24 hours to go it was no longer the case. I looked on the Iberia Air website and the cheapest was now 400euro. Ouch. So it looked like it going have to be a train journey for me. No big problem, prices were cheap , but would I be able to get a seat?

The weekend, I was travelling is traditionally the weekend that the whole of Madrid travels back to Madrid having buggered off away from the summer heat to somewhere a bit cooler, come back home, so this might have been a problem. I went online to the RENFE(the national rail company in Spain) website to see about seat availability. The only way I could find out about seat availability was to register my credit card details online first and supply some sort of registration code that I could only get by queuing up in a post office or police station first. So online tickets were not an option. I was going to have to wait until the day of the festival to find out if I could get to and from Valencia.

At this point, I thought the odds were not in my favour, so I just had to get on with enjoying my holiday until I came to the moment of truth.

On the friday evening, it was another night of tapas and alcohol in Madrid. Most memorable was a trip to a tiny backstreet bar where I was assured before entering I would be served a cocktail in an Ikea vase of all things.

Inside, the bar was small, had a slight odour about it, only enough room for 10 people and an unusual bar man. Behind the bar was a man with a hat pulled over his eyes and a cigarette hanging from out of his mouth as he chopped fruit, crushed ice and mixed cocktails.

We got our drinks and yes, they were indeed being served in Ikea vases. Now it has to be said that Chewy did have to remove a few specks of cigarette ash out of his drink, but as he pointed out, the cocktails are so good, you don't care about the slightly dubious hygiene standards and he was right. The cocktails were delicious.

We staggered back to the flat at around 3am and I crashed out on my matress in the lounge. If I was to make it to Alaquas, I was going to have to get up by 10.30 in the morning. Drinking til 3am is probably not the best preparation for a tiring trip but it was a holiday, so it didn't seem so ridiculous.

Miraculously, I did wake up by 10.30 in the morning, but the train was leaving at 11.20 and I still didn't know if I was going to be able to get on the train. I got a quick shower, packed a small bag and we headed off to the train station at around 10.50.

We got to the station and went over to the ticket machine and searched for tickets. The 11.20 train was fully booked. Bugger! However the next train was 4 hours later and though not ideal, it would arrive in Valencia just before 7 in the evening, giving me the 4 hours before the music festival started, to find my way there. I then saw that there were seats available on the return train at 11.25 the following morning. I put my credit card in the machine and my tickets were dispensed. Valencia here I come!

I had another four hours before my train to prepare for the journey ahead of me, so it was off to a cafe for a coffee and then back to the flat to see about getting some directions of how to get from Valencia to Alaquas.

On the website, Chewy found a little map of some of the key places in Alaquas and he tried to decipher some of the instructions of how to get from Valencia to Alaquas. On one map there was an Alaquas train station, so it was seemed likley that I would get the train from Valencia to Alaquas. It looked like it would be a straight forward journey to get to the festival.

After some more tapas at lunchtime, we headed back to the station and I went to get my train. My bag went through the x-ray machines they installed after the Madrid bombings a few years back , I handed over my ticket and took my seat on the train. I was relieved knowing that finally I was on my way to Valencia, but I had this nagging suspicion there would be further obstacles down the road.

What if I got lost? What if I couldn't get to Alaquas? and what if though the festival was free I wouldn't be allowed in?

I had a plan that if it went wrong, not a great plan but a plan nonetheless.If my mission failed, I would spend the night hanging out in the bars of Valencia drinking beer until dawn. Also Chewy had given me the number of a friend in Valencia who I could call if I got stuck, though I only would have used this number as a last resort. I was going to have a great adventure, no matter what.

The train pulled into the North Valencia train station just on 7 o'clock, I was only 10kilometre from Alaquas, I could almost smell the beer and hear the music, but immediately, my first problem arose.

One of the plans was to get some information from tourist information office at the station, but with my train having arrived fifteen minutes later than scheduled, I had missed that opportunity as it had shut, dead on 7.

No problem, I thought, I can still get the train to Alaquas from the station quite easily. This was another problem. I went to the ticket machines and train timetables to find the right train to get, but there was no sign of Alaquas on any of the train timetables. I looked at various maps but couldn't find Alaquas on the maps they had on display.

I stepped out of the station and headed down the road in the hope that I would see a road sign pointing in the direction of Alaquas. If I could find one, I was going to walk the 8 kilometres as I was sure I could get there in less than 2 hours on foot. After twenty minutes of walking around I couldn't find a sign anywhere, so I headed back to the station in the forlorn hope that suddenly Alaquas would be on the timetables and maps this time, but no such luck.

Next, I walked accross to the metro station I had noticed. Maybe Alaquas was an underground station, it wasn't. Things were getting serious now, I was in a strange city, with no hotel, no map and no idea how to get where I wanted to go. I needed a miracle.

I was all set to give up and find a bar, when I noticed a map in the underground station. On the map I could see Alaquas and there was a town next to it with a name I recognised. 'Aldaia' was the name and I remembered I had seen this town on the map in the main train station. If I could get a train here, I was sure the walk to Alaquas might not be too difficult. Alaquas was south of Aldaia and with the train going from east to west from valencia, it wouldn't be hard to work out which direction south was even if there weren't road signs.

I walked back accross to the main train station and sure enough Aldai was on the C3 line and there was a train leaving in ten minutes. I went to the ticket machine paid my 1 euro single train fare, headed off to the platform and waited for my train to depart.I was on my way again.

The train took little more that 10 minutes to reach Aldaia, I got off the train and walked in the direction in which I thought Alaquas was.

Within five minutes I finally saw the sign I was looking for - Alaqaus. I was almost at journey's end, but I still had to find the football stadium. I continued down the main street but none of the roads on my little festival map were on it. I finally reached what appeared to be the outskirts of town and still hadn't seen anything I was looking for, so I headed back where I had come from and made a right turn towards what I thought might be the centre of town. It was only when I saw the clock tower above the local police station that I recognised something familliar from my map. The clock tower was indicated on my map. At last I had a starting point to get to the stadium to find out whether I was even going to get into the show.

As it transpires, the music festival was only part of the festival that was taking place in Alaquas. it was also the town's celebrations commemorating something to do with kicking out foreign invaders hundreds of years ago. I'm not sure it was all politically correct, but the whole town was out on the streets celebrating and watching a parade. I took a few photos and then headed off to the stadium. The parade and festivities could wait, I needed to know whether I was going to the gig that I had gone through so much to try and see.

I finally got to the stadium, saw a kiosk that had been set up outside and saw a few people drinking beer from plastic cups and noticed that they had blue wristbands on. The sort of wristbands you see at festivals all the time, my heart sank. I knew that this was a bad sign.

So I walked up to the kiosk, just knowing that a massive dissappointment was about to occurr. Before I even got to the kiosk, I saw the sign with those words, 'invitaciones es gratuitides y obligatirio'

Now I don't speak spanish but I knew immediately that this mean that invitations were free but they were obligatory and I didn't have one, but still, I pressed on.

I approached the kiosk and asked one of the 2 girls inside, "hablar ingles?" which I think means 'do you speak english, I hope. The girl said no and the other girl pointed at the sign saying 'no invitation, no entry'

"how do I get invitation?"

"no", she replied

Then in front of my eyes, I saw a hand waving a ticket. For a moment I thought "cheeky bastard, taunting me with his ticket", but then the ticket was in my hand. A miracle!

One of the people who were drinking beer outside the kiosk was giving me a spare ticket and for free!

I thanked him and his friend and offered to buy them a drink to say thank you, but he said that him and his friend were going to get their dinner but if they saw me later at the gig I could buy them a drink then.

I could not believe how lucky I was. Had I not , got the later train, been delayed at Valencia or gone straight to the stadium, when I did get to Alaquas, I would never have been given this spare ticket. I was just in the right place at the right time.

I got my wristband and then headed back into the town as there was still a few hours until the concert started and there were still celebrations going on in the town.

When I got back to the town, the streets by the police station were packed as a woman in a very shiny and colourful robe spoke to the crowd from the balcony of what looked like the town hall. They cheered and booed in turn at what she was saying to them before they played battle music as men on horses all dressed up jousted as the crowd cheered. I'm not sure how safe it all was, the pavements were packed leaving a narrow street for the men on horses to gallop up and down.

I couldn't see that much with all the people there, but it seemed liked good fun. Then when it all ended and one side was victorious there was a seemingly neverending barage of fireworks coming out from the clocktower of the police station.

The crowds started to disperse into the old town.

I headed back to the stadium for the start of the music festival. When I arrived there were only a handful of people there and so I got my drinks vouchers, got my first drink and found a good spot to stand in front of the stage.

By the time the first band came on there were around 500 people who made their way from the town for the continuation of the party at the stadium. The first band were called Second and were quite good, playing a mixture of songs sung in Spanish and English. They had a few good songs, their sound was tight and the singer seemed to have a rapport with the crowd of whom many were clearly fans. The guitarist was a bit of poser, it has to be said, coming to the front of the stage and gesticulating at the photographers in the pit to take photos of him but when there was a brief break for the singer's microphone to be fixed he played the intro from The Posies' Somehow Everything drawing cheers from a large chunk of the now rapidly increasing crowd.

If I doubted how popular the Posies are in Spain, I was in no doubt now.

After an hour long set, Second left the stage to the cheers of the crowd. My only problem at this point was that if there were four bands on the bill that night and the Posies were top of the bill, was I going to be able to keep my place in front of the stage without having to standing through another two hours plus before the Posies appeared?

Fortunately, at these festivals which start late, the headliners go on before the rest of the bands below them as not everybody attending is going to stay out all night no matter how good the bands playing are. So, ten minutes after Second left the stage, Ken, Jon, Matt and Darius were on the stage setting up their own gear in preparation for their set. I was relieved, because knowing I would be staying up all night, it was going to be good to be able to sit down whilst the bands on aftewards played.

Sometime after midnight, The Posies took the stage to cheers of the crowd and started with Ontario. This was the moment I was waiting for, that I had had so much trouble getting to and here I was in a small industrial town near Valencia watching the Posies play their local festival

As Ken says on his website, the sound was a bit sloppy but the gesture meant a lot. I for one was relieved that they did turn up. It was a good show though I've seen better but I was just so pleased that my mission had been successful.

At the end of the set, The Posies came out to sell some CD's by the side of the stage, Ken and Matt were particularly enthusiastic in their trading. Myself, I took the opportunity to get a copy of Jon Auer's new solo album and when I saw he had copies of his Birthday Party live CD I picked up a copy of that too. I had a very brief chat with him before he continued to sell a few more CD's and I went to get myself a drink.

The remaining bands that were on, I paid little attention to. One of them were quite old and played a lot of old covers in their set, but I suspect that they are popular in Spain as the crowd seemed to love them and knew the songs they did that weren't rock n roll covers and the last band on were only on for half an hour at most and by then most people had left probably to get some sleep. But it was 4.30am , so not really a suprise.

The lights came up and the last few people were asked to leave at 5am.

There was a real mixed crowd at the festival. Almost every age group were there. There were probably a few too many pissed up teenagers and a worrying number of mullets on display, but it was a really friendly atmosphere and I think I might have been the only english person there which made a nice change to the usual.

I then headed off back to the station at Aldaia to see when the first train to Valencia was. It wasn't until 8.30am, but there plenty of places in the town to wander around and plenty of comfortable benches too.

When 8.30 came around, I was feeling very tired, but it didn't matter, I'd had a great time and even if I hadn't been able to get into the show, I'm sure I still would have had a great time whether I had stayed in Alaquas or Valencia.

I still don't know how you get a ticket or invitation to this festival, judging by the crowd it might have been the whole population of Alaquas that was invited and anybody else who was there, like myself had got lucky, very lucky.

apologies if my spanish/valenciano isn't completely accurate, it's written from memory, but you get the gist ?!

the thank you's

thanks to whoever it was that gave me their spare ticket

thanks to Chewy and Eve for the accommodation, for the hospitality, the help with ordering tapas and the tour guide duties

thanks to Mira for encouraging me to take a chance for a change (I wouldn't have held you responsible if it had all gone wrong!)

thanks to The Posiesand finally...

thanks to the town of Alaquas for putting on the festival for turning up in the first place! If I'd known the previous night the Super Furries and Raveonnettes had been a no show, I don't think I would have gone, but I'm glad I did

Minus 5 Do Dingwalls

2006-07-13T13:37:00.000+01:00

Monday night was a great night as I finally got to see the Minus 5 featuring my music hero Scott McCaughey as well as a certain Mr Buck play in the UK. They did not dissapoint. It was great night all round.

Full photo album at Flickr

Dingwalls

Duloks Go Mofo!

2006-07-09T14:18:00.000+01:00

Last night the Mira, Mar & Alice aka The Duloks played Club Motherfucker Upstairs At The Garage. It was only a short set and I'm not sure how talking about cocks between each song goes down on a lesbian club night, but it was a real blast and it was the busiest I've seen Upstairs At The Garage, even when I've seen The Posies or Jon Auer playing there.

Duloks Mofo

and the latest video clip is at

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ga5M4xDx4W4

warning: the sound is very very poor!

Noddy Holder Returns!!!!!

2006-06-27T13:39:00.000+01:00

I'd just like to point out that I do not have a double chin as big as it appears in this photo. I'm not Alan Partridge during his Toblerone addiction phase......er.....honest

Duloks Deluxe

2006-06-12T13:59:00.000+01:00

"Help I'm turning into Mick Jagger" sang Mira Dulok. We were too late, she already had!

Not only that but Mar Dulok had become Keith Richards sans coconuts and Alice e turned into Marianne Faithful armed with an endless supply of fun size Mars bars.

It was yet another appearance in the, so far, short career of the Duloks, this time at the Gallery in Whitechapel in front of an enthusiastic audience mostly made up of people unfamilliar with their minimalist good times synth punk pop

They played all their 'hits' and debuted a new song, something of a departure from their usual in that it was longer than 2 minutes long and about being a lovelorn unicornor something.

The Duloks aren't going to change the world, though it would be fun to see them beating that crap out of Bono on the White House lawn , and their music isn't going to be feted by Tom Paulin on the BBC's Late Review, but the songs are infectiously catchy in a playground chant type way and the banter between songs is entertaining by itself.

I must admit I nearly didn't make it on friday night as the lure of cheap beer at my work's winebar was hard to resist, but I'm glad I took the tube journey from the west side to the east side of London to see them play.It was good to see that they went down so well in front of so many duloks virgins.

After thier set there were still another 2 bands to see, the first of which sounded like a girl version of a Bleach era Nirvana with a cute singer and the second I can't remember.

Let's hope, soon we'll be seeing the Duloks futher up the bill.

to see and hear the Duloks visit
www.duloks.com

Chewy

2006-06-07T17:46:00.000+01:00

I was going through my junk in my parents' garage last weekend trying to salvage the last of my prized possessions before they bugger off up north and found this photo of my old housemate from my student days, Chewy posing with his guitar looking like a real pro.

Anyway, I thought I'd share it with you. Enjoy!

The Hole In The Wall

2006-05-27T12:50:00.000+01:00

A couple of years ago I spent a year in Australia (as I've mentioned in previous blogs) and discovered that it is one crazy country. The world of sex is no exception to this craziness.

One evening a few of us from the backpackers hostel I'd been staying in, were having a lads night in the Kings' Cross area of Sydney.

Unfortunately at some point in the evening I became seperated from my friends due to my attempts to get some fast food down me to try and soak up the beer before I ended up unconcious in the gutter.

On realising I had misplaced my friends, I decided I would walk to the pub where we were planning to watch the football match they were beaming back from Europe later that night.
King's Cross is, how shall we say it?, a seedy part of Sydney renowned for it's sex shops and strip clubs, so as I walked down the high street I was repeatedly being acosted by people desperately trying to get me to come into their establishment and spend my money on overpriced watered down beer whilst no doubt various women took their clothes off .

As I walked past one shop, I saw a sign that caught my curious eye and in my drunken state, with my inhibitions having been lowered somewhat, I thought that I would go inside and ask them what it was. I was sure that whatever it was, I was just going to ask and then politely say goodbye and continue my way to the bar we had planned to be at. I knew it wouldn't be something for me but I just had to know.

I walked up the steps up into the shop, saw two shaven headed and heavily pierced men behind the counter and came straight out with it.

"Excuse me, but what is a suckotorium?"

"Sorry?"

"What is a suckotorium?", I repeated

"um...well..it's a suckotorium!", he countered

"yes, but what actually is it?"

".....er... well it's a room you go into.. and there's a wall...."

"..and?", I prompted him getting the impression he really didn't want to have to explain it.
"... there's a series of holes that you put your......er ...cock through it and somebody on the other side sucks it for you!" , he said.

"and you don't know who it is doing the sucking?", I asked.

"well....no", he answered

"That's fucked up! ", I said as I turned to leave, my curiosity satisfied.

"Don't worry! If you don't like the idea of that, you can go into the other room and do the sucking!"

His tone of voice said to me that he thought by telling me this I might turn around and hand over the $10 entrance fee

"that's completely fucked up! But thanks for telling me, it's been very educational", I said before finally leaving the shop and continuing on my way.

There was actually another sign in the shop, but I was sure I knew what it was already, it said "Cruising Lounge $10 entry plus $1 condom"

As I said earlier, Kings Cross is a seedy area of Sydney, so it really wasn't a big suprise, but on my way to the bar as I walked down George St - the main street in the centre of Sydney for department stores and all the major chains, I saw another shop which had a big sign saying, "Suckotorium"

I was shocked to say the least but I saw many other thing in Australia that would have shocked me more had I not already known they had suckotoriums in this country, even in major tourist areas.

There was the Councillor who got into trouble, not because he owned brothels, that's completely legit in parts of Australia, but because the authorities discovered an underage girl working in one of his premises. Then there's the internet cafe I went into where I quickly realised it wasn't one of your usual internet cafes by the fact that each computer was in a cubicle, with a kleenex dispenser on the wall, a plastic cover on the keyboard and a bucket of disinfectant in the corner!

Posies Gig

2006-02-06T10:33:00.003Z

And now for the last blog for today. I guess this is what happens when you have three cups of coffee first thing in the morning.

Last Thursday, I went to see the Posies at the Garage , Highbury. It was a great Posies show as I have become used to. But it was the people there that made it such a great night out. There was Taylor, Evelien, Suzy, Mark, Kazza and last but definitely not least, Mira.

I had never met Mira properly before, but I knew, from reading about her(especially here on myspace) that she was a bit wild and crazy. As it turns out, everything I’d heard was true and after I got over being a bit scared of her, found her to be a real top lass. (Michelle – if you could hear somebody shouting hello whilst you were talking to Mira on Jon’s cellphone – that was me).
Anyway, after the show, we all went to the bar for the aftershow and had a real good time, though it was a shame that Suzy and Mark couldn’t stay to the end. I had a brief chat with both Jon and Ken from the Posies and apart from lying to Jon about knowing a particular Chuck Prophet song - a lie that he saw straight through(excuse: I was drunk- if somebody asks you if you know something you just nod and hope to blag it), I didn’t make too much of a fool of myself.

Once we got a table, myself, Mira, Taylor and Evelien sat drinking and talking until kicking out time, talking in the way that you only talk after several drinks. I couldn’t repeat some of the things that were talked about, partially through drunk amnesia and partially because it’s just too much for a family website like this.

At kicking out time(1.30am), Mira got in her taxi back to the other side of London,(how much must that have cost?!) Taylor & Evelien walked back to their ‘hotel’, (If you’d have seen National Lampoon’s European Vacation you’d have known what to expect!) and I staggered onto the night bus with my dinner which was made up of a stale cheese roll and a bag of unsalted pistachios(it seemed a good idea at the time).

Somehow I managed to get into work 6 hours after leaving the bar, though I don’t think I did much work.

The Job Interview

2006-02-06T10:33:00.002Z

The same day the Rentokil man came, I had a job interview. This was not good, I had to wear a shirt, tie and a suit for the first time in a year. Where I currently work it’s casual dress, so me and an steam iron are almost complete strangers. As a result, I had to visit a friend just to use his iron and ironing board.

This was my first experience of being interviewed by a panel rather than just one person.

I had asked friends for tips on how to deal with it, before I went. I was advised to always look at the person asking the question whilst occasionally glancing at the others.

This would have been good advice if it hadn’t been that as I looked across the panel individually I was thinking, “you’re a wanker, I couldn’t work for you”, “I can’t stop staring at the big yellow mark on his bald head, is that pus?” and “you can’t be a supervisor, you haven’t started shaving yet, does your mum know you’re here?”.

The 12 year old only asked irrelevant questions, the yellow stained headed one asked questions but then didn’t pay any attention to the answers I gave and the wanker kept on asking complicated but stupid questions which could only be answered if you knew their own working procedures.

The wanker asked one question that was more or less, “the rest of the department are all off sick and you’ve got month end to do by yourself, how would you prioritise the various jobs that needed doing before the 5 pm deadline?”

The obvious answer should be, “you can get fucked if you think I’m going to risk catching bird flu so I can do your work to make that wanker(point at yellow stained headed man) happy” , but no, you have to humour them and take the question seriously. I quickly decided this was not a place I wanted to work.

Anyway, I didn’t get the job fortunately as I somehow got myself a job offer elsewhere on Friday.

I got an e-mail on Friday from somebody I know from a talkboard, who on the one time I met her, I moaned about trying to get a better job. She asked if I was looking for work, how much I wanted and how much notice, and within 3 hours I was on the phone to her and she said, “don’t worry, there’s no need to interview, the job is yours if you want it!”.

So in just over a weeks time, I start working in the finance department at a rather large advertising agency on a 6 month contract that could well become permanent.
Who’d have thunk fucking around on internet talkboards when you should be working could help advance your career? Well that’s what has happened to me.

Do Cockroaches Have Passports?

2006-02-06T10:33:00.001Z

Last week, we had Rentokil come to the flat to investigate reports of cockroaches in the flat I share. We dont get many, in fact usually we see one a week so I dont think they live with us, plus the flat is very clean. It doesnt really bother me as I spent a year in Australia in places where everybody huge cockroaches and in some places they fly!

He didnt find any, which re-inforced my belief that pesky little buggers are just visiting from a neighbours flat. Apparently there are two types of cockroaches we get over here in the UK - German and Chinese

The Rentokil man asked me, "Where do you usually see the cockroaches?"

I replied, "Usually on the counters or on the fridge door"

He said, "ah well they must be German ones, Chinese can't climb"

I dont know if they originated from China, whether the German ones really are German, or whether its a typically racist naming of anything we perceive as bad. Afterall, was there such thing as German Measles before the UK started have wars with Germany?

So Chinese ones can't climb. Does were they named that way because it was thought that Chinese people can't climb? Is this why the Wall Of China was so effective?

The other thing that bugged me was that we share the upstairs flat and its not as if we have a stairlift for Chinese ones to hitch a ride on.

Anyway, after the Rentokil man did his look around, he contacted the landlord to tell her how much it would cost to put down poison in all the rooms in the flat.

So the council are sending someone to do just the kitchen next week.

Is Tapas Spanish For Over-Priced?

2006-02-06T10:33:00.000Z

Last thursday I met up with a few old work colleagues from the days when I worked for a crappy newspaper that died rather miserably . I found out last night that the people who interviewed me for the job there, back in 1998, were drunk during the interview. The boss was away and they both decided to nip to the pub and down some shots before coming back to interview me. To paraphrase Homer Simpson "Alcohol the source and the solution to all of lifes problems!"

Anyway, after a few beers, we all went off to a Tapas bar to get some food and have a few more beers. 4 tiny portions of food, a pan of paella and 6 bottle of beer between us all later we had run a bill for 65 ($130)!

I can only say I'm glad that the bill was going on my friends entertaining expenses. I couldnt believe it when he said that he gets 200 entertaining allowance per week from his job. I spend little more than a tenth of that on food in a week!

The Nutter On The Bus

2006-01-22T15:48:00.000Z

One of the best things about living in Wood Green is knowing that you live in the same town as Shouty Man , though the fact that Staskey & Hutch legend David Soul got his British citizenship at the local civic centre does run it a close second.

Shouty Man is a local living legend and is the regular nutter on the bus.

He's an elderly West Indian gentleman who spends a lot of his time shouting an indecipherable patois in the direction at buses and other people. No one has the slightest clue as to what he's saying but he obviously thinks what he's saying is important.

To some this would be a bit disturbing, but he doesn't direct his rants at anyone in particular and is never right in your face, so he's mainly an amusing distraction.

Despite his affliction, he appears to lead a fairly normal life, wears some pretty smart clothes and you'll always see him in the local shops buying his groceries. I've even seen him at the lottery ticket counter getting his numbers, saying thank you to the girl behind the counter before resuming his usual manic shouting, once he's got his change and ticket.

There are quite a few drunks who hang out around the bus stop outside the supermarket, but he's definitely not one of them.In fact on the one occasion I have seen him drunk (at christmas) he was ranting in his usual manner and laughing to himself between rants.He looked the happiest man in the world and from what I've noticed he is a much loved by the people who see him out and about regularly.

Sometime, I'll film him on my mobile and post it so you can see what I mean.

He can't hold a candle, though, to the nutters on the buses and trains, I used to see in my student days in Birmingham(that's the one in the UK-US readers).

There was the "do you love me?" man who used to be a regular on the number 11 outer circle bus I used to travel on regularly.

This man used to get on the bus and sit with the middle aged women on the bus, say "do you love me?" and the ladies would always laugh, hug him and he'd be happy.

He seemed like quite a harmless guy and I would see him week in week out on the buses around Birmingham never causing a problem. That was until one day......

He got on the bus and sat himself next to a young fairly attractive girl and did his usual, "do you love me?".

Not having seen the man before, the girl just smiled uneasily but didn't reply.
Then a few stops later he turned to her and said, "sorry love, I'm not being rude or anything but................................."

and then he said it,

"I'd really love to give you a good hard shafting"

I didn't know where to put myself, it was mix of stifled laughter and my jaw just hitting the floor in shock. There was a look of disgust on the girls face was a picture and I just hadn't expected him to say something like that.

Needless to say, the girl got off at the next stop and waited for the next bus to come along.
Laughter at inappropriate times, is a problem I often have and the more you know you shouldn't laugh the more you laugh. Just like the time I was on the train from Liverpool to Birmingham sat opposite a woman and her young child.

Towards the end of the journey there was a commotion going on in the buffet car next to carriage I was in. There was a drunk Irish man shouting at someone.

"When we get to New Street, I'm going to take you into the toilets and f*ck you up the arse!", he screamed.

I don't know whether the man(or woman) he was shouting at was indeed going to let him commit such an act in the toilets of the station the train was heading to, but what I do know was that the young child opposite could hear every single word of what the drunk man was saying.
The child's mother had a look of absolute disgust on her face as if to tell her child that what he was hearing was very rude and just plain wrong.

"I'm going to f*ck your arse so hard...", he continued

I started to laugh.

The woman opposite looked at me with a look that said, "how can you laugh at someone saying that filth? What sort of example is that to set to a young child?"

I put my hand over my mouth and try to stop myself from laughing, but that just made it worse. Knowing that I shouldn't be laughing and that it was setting a bad example to the child, made it just unbearable.

"I'm going to f*ck you so hard!"

I was by now dying with stifled laughter, my face went bright red and I couldn't breathe, I was desperate to let out a huge and hearty laugh, but I couldn't.

Fortunately fairly soon the train reached it's destination and I was able to get away from the woman and child so I could finally let out one the biggest laughs I have ever experienced.
I'm sure that the woman would have told her child that the man in the buffet car was a bad man, but I'm also sure she would have said that I was too.

I'm sure over the years, I'll meet plenty more nutters on buses and trains, I just hope that if one day, I have children and I'm on the bus or train with my son or daughter, that I don't meet nutters like the one on the train or the "do you love me?" man. How I'll stop myself from laughing, I'll never know.

2005-12-14T15:36:00.000Z

Monday night was when we had our office Xmas Party. To say it was disappointing would be a understatement. There was no gossip to report whatsoever.

Myself, I got very drunk and made a decision to leave early as I was in danger of being the subject of gossip with the way my beer goggles were working.

You see, I have a colleague who I’m very attracted to, when I’m drunk, who although she is glamorous and quite sexy too, she is a bit of a pain in the backside and 13 years older than me, so it really would not be a good idea.

I got to the stage when I was so drunk that I was starting to believe that it might be a good idea to make a move and so I took the decision that I had to leave immediately.

I always enjoy the gossip about office parties but not when I’m the subject of the gossip.

I’m also still annoyed about an incident, or rather the lack of, at an office party when I was working in Australia two years ago.

It was only the day after the party, when a non-drinking colleague of mine pointed out that at the party there an attractive girl who kept following me around.

Having got very drunk at the party, I had no idea that this was so at the time and I certainly couldn’t recall any girl following me around. So I asked him who it was.

He replied, “I don’t know her, she’s got blonde hair”

“what did she look like?”

“she was quite attractive”

“but who was it?”

“I don’t know”

“can’t you look at the photos in the address book and see if you recognise her?”

“I’m a bit busy, I’ll take a look tomorrow”

Where I worked, there were 250 employees of which 230 were women, mostly aged between 18 and 30, so knowing that she had blonde hair didn’t really narrow down the search. I could hardly phone each and every one of them saying, “Are you the girl that was following me around at the christmas party?”. Alas he never told me who it was.

The thing is, I was in Australia for a year and the only way I could have stayed there, would be if I married an Australian girl. She could have been the girl I was going to marry. Instead of having xmas in freezing miserable England I could be around a swimming pool with a barbeque opening my Christmas presents.

Being a single man in his early thirties, I find it’s not the girls I went out with where I have regrets, it’s the ones I didn’t go out with for one reason or another that I regret. Every girl I didn't kiss could have been the one, even if the reality is that they could have all been complete nightmares.

I still regret the time, when I was 18 and very stupid, that I didn’t go out with a girl who I liked, who liked me too, because, and please don’t hate me for this, I thought that if I did, people would think I was going out with her because of her unfeasibly huge breasts rather than her personality. I probably am the only man who has ever not gone out with a girl because her breasts were too big.

Anyway back to Christmas parties. Finally I’ll tell you the major gossip from a Christmas party that happened a few years back.

Where I worked at the time, many of the employees worked in the world of political journalism and relied on having passes for the House Of Commons to be able to do their jobs.

After one famously drunken Christmas party where a food fight had been started by the finance director, of all people, one of the editors staggered out of the restaurant to try and get a taxi home.

As he staggered down the road, a policeman seeing that he looked a bit the worse for wear, approached him and asked him if he was alright.

He replied, “show me your truncheon and I’ll show you mine!”

Big mistake.

“right that’s it you’re nicked”, said the policeman who promptly arrested him.

This was a major problem for the editor. If the police arrest anybody who has a House Of Commons pass in their possession, they are required to report them to the House Of Commons. Being arrested for drunk & disorderly in possession of a House Of Commons pass is a security risk and so it is taken very seriously.

If the police reported the editor, he would have his pass taken away and his career would have been over. So the editor, doing what any self respecting man would do in this situation, promptly burst into tears and begged them not to tell them.

Fortunately, taking pity on him the police decided to let him go without being reported.

Unsurprisingly, the editor phoned in sick the next day, because he knew the story would all be around the company by 9.30 and when he did come back to work he kept a low profile for a while.

I’m sure at another time, I’ll tell some more Christmas party stories, like the executive at a major media organisation who woke up with his pants around his ankles and a £14,000 American Express bill for hookers & coke and how he explained it to his wife and I’m sure there will more stories in the future too.

Talking Bollocks Part 2 featuring Roddy & His Flaming Lady

2005-11-18T12:09:00.000Z

What is it about men that makes us want to touch our own nuts every 5 seconds? Are we making sure they haven’t slip down our trousers and been lost

I touch mine a lot, I have to admit. I don’t mean I put the full hand down the pants and grope myself(regularly), but I do tend to give myself a quick tweak through the pants now and then. This I try to put down to the fact that I wear boxer shorts which means that they have a little bit of room to move in my pants and if they swing the wrong way, when I sit down I could do myself an injury.

Of course I could avoid this problem by wearing briefs, but they don’t flatter you unless your built well in all areas , I have a big mirror on the wall in my room and if I caught a glimpse of myself in briefs with my stomach hanging down a little and my pet budgie smuggled in my briefs, I think the shame would be enough that I’d never leave my house again.

So that’s my excuse for touching myself.

I have a friend, Nicola, who I used to work with and she used to be constantly telling me off for adjusting my crotch, no matter how briefly or subconsciously, I did it

That was until the day that we were on the tube and she pointed out to me that my zipper was undone, yet again. I responded in a loud voice, “And,just what are you doing looking at my crotch?”

She went bright red and I don’t think she ever mentioned it again.

I’m not really painting myself in the best light, but I should tell you about other crotch related incidents that didn’t involve me touching myself, just to prove that I’m not so bad.

There was the time that I was getting some cheques signed by the Managing Director of the company I was working for.

On this occasion I had an urgent cheque that needed signing, so I went into the main office where the MD was sat in the main office doing some work on his PC. I brought a pen, knowing that knowing him he wouldn’t have one of his own.

I approached him and asked him to sign a cheque, handing him the invoice, the cheque and the pen. He was about to sign when he decided to take a closer look at the invoice and as he did so, he put the pen down on the desk and without any awareness of his surroundings and the people in the room, he put his right hand down the front of his pants and had a good old scratch of his nuts.

He then picked up the pen and signed the cheque. He passed me the invoice and the cheque and I walked off. As I walked out of the room, he said, “Don’t you want your pen back?”

“No, you’re okay”, I said briefly glancing downwards, “you can keep it.”

I’m absolutely sure he didn’t even notice that he had done it, but it wasn’t even subtle, it was a huge yank of his meat and two veg he had taken. I sometimes chew on my pen, so do you think there was a chance in a million years I would want my pen back?

Another nut adjusting occasion was when I was a student, Roger, a friend of mine had his hand in his pocket, quickly rearranging himself, subtly, so he thought outside the library building.

A passing girl, went up to him and said, “Enjoying the pocket billiards, are we?”

Roger’s jaw hit the floor and he could barely speak for an hour, with the embarrassment. All he could say was, “I cant believe she went up to me and said that”

Now these stories are quite tame, compared to those that can only be put in the “why the fuck would anybody do that ?” file

As you might know, I went backpacking in Australia in 2003-2004. What I witnessed I try to put down to the backpackers being young and stupid. I was 30 when I went on my travels, but most backpackers are in their late teens or early twenties and are there to relax and let off steam either before or after going to university. They get as drunk as they can and sometimes, some of them go a little over the top, which is quite easy in a country with 24 hour bars and cheap beer. Some of the lads in the hostel I was staying in were known to go on a night out and not stop the boozing until the following afternoon. One particulary backpacker, known as Jimmy V went once went on a 2 day bender without sleeping.

I have stories about him, but he deserves his own blog for all the stories I have about him.

But does this explain why anybody in their right mind would do a mangina?

What is a mangina?

Basically, it involves dropping your pants, tucking you bits between your tightly held thighs and shouting, “hey look lads! Mangina!!”

I really can’t explain why so many backpackers did this, especially as the next day, you would usually hear the culprit saying, “oh my god I can’t believe I did that”.

Fortunately for me, I never actually saw a mangina as usually, being a little bit older and being a little bit more sensible with my drinking, I would be sober enough to spot a wobbling drunken backpacker trying to undo the button on his jeans and could look away and pretend not to know him before I saw anything that would make me feel sick.

Except for one occasion.

It was New Years Eve 2003 and half the backpackers hostel I was staying at decided to go down to Darling Harbour , to enjoy the fireworks at Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House. Though drinking in public, officially is illegal, on some occasions the police turn a blind eye and boy did the backpackers take advantage!

As the last of the fireworks went out, there were several thousand drunk revellers enjoying themselves, but none more so than Roddy.

Roddy, was a big Scottish rugby player of a bloke, who to say the least had a tendency to be crude and obnoxious at every opportunity.

Roddy had a party trick, it was called the flaming lady. This involved doing the mangina but then doing something a little extra – setting fire to your pubic hair. Apparently it burns out very quickly and leaves you with a patch of singed hair.

He dropped his pants, revealing his flabby lower half, staggered quite badly with the combination of drink and the pants around his ankles. He tucked his bits in, pulled out his lighter from his breast pocket and just as he was about to light his pubic hair, a miracle. Out of the darkness from behind where he was stood, a fight had broken out between gangs of local teenagers and a tornado of a brawl knocked Roddy out of the way. All he could do was whip his pants up and dive for cover.

I’m led to believe that he did do the flaming lady trick on other occasions but I’m glad to say I didn’t witness any of those events.

If you’ve read my blog since it started, you will know that I don’t live a totally innocent life, but I like to think that compared to some of these incidents, I’m quite a reserved person, I hope you’ll think the same.

Just Be Glad....

2005-11-14T14:50:00.000Z

.. that my last entry was about something as mundane as washing clothes.

Had it not been for my flat move putting a serious hole in my finances preventing me from trying it, it might have been a blog about colonic irrigation therapy!

Washing Saturdays Ironing Tuesdays aka Can You Spare 20p?

2005-11-14T13:31:00.000Z

I admit I lied when I titled this Washing Saturday’s,.It’s Sunday when I do my washing, really and now I’m going to make another confession. There are no Ironing Tuesdays either. We do have an ironing board, but no iron.

If ever I do need to iron anything, I might well post my shirt to my parents and ask them to do it before posting it back.

Anyway the point of this story….last night something terrible happened.

I washed a load of my clothes – the standard bloke wash - everything in together at 40 degrees and set the tumble dryer to dry them for a couple of hours once the wash had finished.

But something happened. Or rather something didn’t happen. The machine went around and around but not much else. At the end of the cycle I opened the door expecting the nice feel of soft warm clothes on my hands only to be greeted by cool damp socks and t-shirts.

I thought this was strange and thought for a moment that I hadn’t switched the dryer on, but after deciding that one glass of red wine doesn’t make you that idiotic, I came to the conclusion it was something else. Maybe I’d overloaded it leaving no room for the hot air to circulate.

I removed half the clothes from the dryer and put them on coathangers and hung them around the flat. Thankfully with my flatmate away, it wasn’t going to cause her any inconvenience. I then switched the drier on for another 90 minutes with the rest of the clothes and returned to my bottle of wine and tv show.

90 minutes passed, now a little the worse for wear, I returned to the dryer and hoped that this time I’d be able to warm my cold head with a lovely warm pair of clean boxer shorts for a few seconds. I was to be disappointed again.

On feeling the still damp feel of my clothes, I looked to the crack in the ceiling or the heavens depending on you denomination and shouted, “Noooooooo!”

This is a major crisis! You see, living in a flat, we don’t have a garden to hang the washing out on, we don’t even have a clothes rack, so having a tumble dryer is a godsend.

Unless the dryer miraculously repairs itself, every weekend, from now on, after washing all the clothes and anything else, I’m going to have to bundle everything into a binliner and head off to the launderette and shove it all in a coin operated dryer.

This may not seem too bad, you would think, but in Wood Green change machines in launderettes never work and they are rarely staffed at weekends, so I’m going to have to save all the 20p’s I can over the course of the week.

I may even end up spending money just to get an extra 20p. Just a few minutes ago, in a shop, I had to consciously find a way to spend the right amount of money to make sure I could get a couple of 20p’s to start me off, I’ve got another 4 days to build up enough 20p’s to get all my clothes dry.

So if you see me walking down the street and I start to cry, think of me and if you can put 20p in my hand, I will be grateful.

Favourite Song Lyrics pt. whatever/apology

2005-11-06T15:39:00.000Z

I apologise for the lack of new entries over the past month, but since my flat move I don't have so much time. I promise more new stuff soon, but in the meantime here's the latest entry in my favourite song lyrics section.

I'm in love with the real world
It's mutual or so it seems
'Cos only in the real world
Do things happen like they do in my dreams
Some of the rules may be different
But maybe they'll stay the same
In the real world
In the real world
In the real world
We both win when we play the same game

I'm in love with somebody
I wish somebody loved me too
You may wonder how this concerns you
Well perhaps the somebody is you
I don't even know what your name is
But I just hope that you'll stay
In the real world
In the real world
In the real world
Things happen this way

taken from Real World written by Pete Shelley, appears on Love Bites by Buzzcocks

p.s if anybody wants to buy me lap top I wouldn't complain

2005-10-03T15:26:00.000+01:00

OK, I promise this will be the last time I mention Half Man Half Biscuit on this page, but there was a interview with Nigel in Friday's Liverpool Echo. Click on the image to read the full article. Also courtesy of the Half Man Half Biscuit unofficial site here's some bits than didn't make the final edit in the article.

JOHN PEEL -"His 'Womble' anecdote is surely the greatest ever for the image it conjures up."

And . . ."He never had 'favourite songs' or 'favourite albums or bands' particularly (yes, if pushed he would saythat 'Teenage Kicks' was perfect - he was correct of course) and he would wince when asked, for instance, toname his 'Top Ten' of anything - he got enthusiastic about a record at least five times per show I'd say andwould heap praise on hundreds of groups and songs. This, of course, gave the green light for some of thosegroups to shout from the rooftops how they were 'one of John Peel's favourite bands' and that he liked theirsong so much he wept uncontrollably each time he heard it."

ACHTUNG BONO - WILL BONO EVER GIVE UP POLITICS/PREACHING TO THE CONVERTED AND RETURN TO MUSIC? - "I must admit, I'm not exactly firing live ammunition here - the play on words re Achtung Baby - and althoughthe sarcastic halo on the cover could well be construed as an attempt to prick the ego of this 'prancing popinjay',that particular aspect of the sleeve was suggested by Dave the Milkman who remains convinced that they're just asecond division Bunnymen."

AND THE 57th GREATEST MERSEYSIDER'S GREATEST MERSEYSIDERS ARE? - "Colin Kirkus and Menlove Edwards are certainly two who I'd have voted for."(they're 1930's climbers, in case you were wondering - Gez).

TELLING FIBS - REMEMBER THE HMHB "TRIBUTE BAND" - IT AIN'T HALF MAN, MUM - YOU TOLD THE GUARDIAN ABOUT? - "Did I ever tell you my embarrassing tribute band story? We were playing a concert somewhere and on the dressingroom door was a notice of running times for the evening which said 'Can't' 8-30-9-15' 'HMHB-9-30-10-45'. I assumed(stupidly in hindsight) that 'Can't' were perhaps a Can tribute act and immediately entered their dressing room toask which one of them was Holger Czukay. Turns out they were a band who played punk classics and they were actuallycalled 'I Can't Believe It's Not Punk' - which explained their looks of askance in response to my smartarse query.They were good an' all......"

SHIT ARM, BAD TATTOO- "It isn't particularly about anyone specific....I have in mind slightly overweight bass players in local Punk (old'skool')/Heavy Rock outfits who all seem to have flabby upper arms which is fine but not if you're going to gety'self a 'Tat'."No-one specifically refers to the Book of Revelation(s) but there are plenty enough certainly who add thatsuperfluous 's' and often do it whilst pontificating, thus making them appear doubly idiotic. 'If you're going topontificate, don't manufacture brickbats for any possible counter attack' - that was said by either AndreyTarkovsky or Stuart Boam (ex-Middlesbrough) - I can't remember which.

"WORKING ON ANY COVER VERSIONS FOR LIVERPOOL, ABERDEEN, GLASGOW, PRESTON? - "Huge row over this within the ranks - vying for acceptance were Idumea by the Watersons, Big Hands by Crass,The Bed by Lou Reed and The Biggest Aspidistra in the World, by 'our Gracie' of course. In the end we thought'sod it let's do Nantucket Sleighride' but we rather predictably found it too difficult to play. Shame really...."

PHOTO - WHAT SHALL WE DO? - "Do we HAVE to?..Album cover perhaps or Geoff maybe. Woman up the road now knows I'm in a band. It's horribleand tiring trying to explain why we can't play at her Brother-in law's 21st. Actually, maybe we should.That'll learn her......."

It's Great To Be Here Again!

2005-10-03T14:38:00.000+01:00

Shortly before I returned to the UK from Australia in May 2004, I called my parents and asked them if it was ok, that on my return I stay with them for a few weeks until I got a new job sorted out. Naturally, they said yes.

Before Australia I had lived away from my parents for around 7 years, plus there was the 2 years I spent dropping out of university, so I was used to being in complete charge of my own life as anybody my age would expect.

Going back to live with your parents takes back some of that independence and it's difficult to cope with. But I figured I’d only have to wait a few weeks before getting a new job and then shortly afterwards I would move to a houseshare or flatshare back in London where I intending to work.

Unfortunately, I only achieved the former in the timescale I had set myself.

Happily, yesterday, October 2 2005, I finally moved to a house a lot closer to work. Where previously I spent nearly 4 hours a day travelling between Southend and London to and from work, it is now 2 hours a day giving me an extra 2 hours of leisure time each day.

There are other benefits too. Firstly I can swear a lot more frequently. Whilst I could get away with the odd ‘shit’, words like ‘wanker’, ‘fuck’, ‘cunt’, ‘twat’, ‘arsehole’ and ‘motherfucking cocksucker’ were pretty much off limits in front of my parents unless it was a very special occasion. I’m not saying I intend to use any of these words very often, but it’s nice to know that should the need arise, I can do so.

Other benefits include the fact that now I will be eating what I want, when I want and will be cooking it myself. The luxury of somebody cooking for you wears off after a few weeks and even if I’m not a very good cook myself it’s very liberating.

Whilst it’s not the cleanest, wealthiest and safest part of London to live it has certain charms which is why I chose to move back to Wood Green. This is where I lived for a few years before my Australian jaunt.

First of all there are the people. In terms of London, Wood Green is one of the most diversely populated parts of London boasting, Turkish, Greek, Kurdish, Irish, Chinese, Caribbean, Albanian, Kosovan and Polish communities.

As well as many of the people being nice and even friendly (a rarity for London), it also means that the food on sale in the shops is as diverse as the people, eating is never dull in Wood Green.

Then, there’s the takeaways. Just thinking of how many different styles of takeaways on my walk from the station home is making me drool as I type this.

The only sad thing about returning to Wood Green is that my favourite pub O’Rafferty’s shut down last week and more likely will be demolished and replaced with some swanky new flats.

O’Rafferty’s was a dive, it has to be said, but a friendly dive with a sense of community and cheap beer. At times it could be quite busy, but it was the only pub which could have just 5 customers in the whole place on a Saturday night and you’d still have a good time.

So now I have to find myself a new pub to drink and watch football in. The Nelson down the road isn’t the best, but some of the O’Rafferty’s regulars have moved there, they show the football and the jukebox has a choice of over 2 million songs(including lots of world and indie music), so it will have to do.

Last night as I walked back to the flat from the pub, I discovered there’s a Chinese takeaway on the corner of my street. I don’t think I’ll ever cook again! Well maybe on Monday’s when they’re closed but other than that it’s monosodium glutamate city here I come!

2005-10-01T20:49:00.000+01:00

Me, Myself & I

Never mind the quality, feel the width

2005-09-26T09:57:00.000+01:00

Yesterday, when I was out and about shopping for CD's I was hungry and really didn't want a burger, so I went to the local branch of Subway.

It's reassuring to know that I'm not the only one who has the same delusions of how long six inches really is.

Lying In Supermarkets

2005-09-19T14:03:00.000+01:00

July 6 2003

I’d been in Australia for 3 weeks and was staying with my brother in Wallsend a small suburb of Newcastle in New South Wales.

It was typical winters day for this part of Australia, sunny and around 20 degrees C. I was in the local supermarket. I was only there to buy a couple of pots of yoghurt and some coca cola.

I found what I was looking for and took them to the checkout and waited to be served. It got to my turn to be served and the checkout girl said, “G’day, how are you?”

“I’ve got severe tonisilitus. When I try to swallow it feels like I’m choking and I nearly throw up. I can’t sleep, I’ve got severe headaches brought on by the infection. It’s my 30th birthday, I’m on the opposite side of the world to my friends and family, except for my brother who I am staying with, which is fine except he’s away at a conference and I’ve just paid the doctor $60 to tell me that I need to take these antibiotics and that I can’t drink at all for 10 days. So I’m ill, I can’t drink, I can’t sleep, I’m on my own and it’s my 30th birthday. So how do you think I am? I feel fucking awful!”

is what I wanted to say, but what I actually said, or rather I croaked, was ,”fine thank you”

This is what I dislike about the modern world. The fact that we have to pretend that everything is great even when it’s really shit. It’s like the world is being run by Barney The Dinosaur and that if we show even the slightly hint of being less than happy we’ll be punished with social exclusion.

But why did the girl behind the checkout ask me how I was? Now, it is possible that she was genuinely interested, but in most cases it is because she is being paid to feign interest in every single customer that comes into the shop, even the weird man who hands fumble suspiciously in his pockets as he stares at her breasts. Even if they themselves are having a bad day they have to lie to you too, should you reply, ”fine thank you. And you?”

That’s bad enough, but as customers why do we go along with the lie? Why do we have to say that we’re fine even when it’s obvious to everyone that we’re not? We’re not being paid to lie, we’re paying them so that they can lie to us that they are interested in our welfare and we then lie back to them.

If ever we said, “actually I’m not feeling well” or “not too good”, the moment we take our shopping and leave they will turn to a colleague and say, “what a miserable bastard!” , even though you’ve done nothing wrong and just told the truth!

So what we’ve actually got is both the employee and the customer lying to each other just so that managers can convince themselves that customers will come back to their store because the staff are so friendly, not stopping to realise that if every shop does it, how will the customer decide who has the friendliest staff? Will it be the supermarket where they say, “that will be thirty five pounds and forty pence. Now would sir like to fondle my breasts?”

Obviously, if that was the case, maybe I wouldn’t be complaining now, but you get the idea.

2005-09-18T20:56:00.000+01:00

You saw what happened to Verruca Salt, so don't even think about it

My Lovely Horse?

2005-09-15T22:19:00.000+01:00

Move you bastard!

Just over a month ago, I had a fabulous holiday in the Savoie region of France where I enjoyed the sights, the sounds and the smells.

Amongst the highlights of the holiday was going horseriding. I’d never done it before but my friends were going and I thought I’d give it a go.

Being a novice I went on a basic 1 hour trek and the horse in the photos is the one I was given to ride. Foolishly I expected I would be given a little bit of training and a nice easy horse to ride. How wrong I was.

I knew the horse was a bad ‘un when they had trouble just getting him to walk with me to the paddock.

I got onto the horse, they lengthened the stirrups to the right length for me and then told what to do. The man said, “to go left, do this, right is like that. This is stop and to make him move you do this.”

That was about that with regards to teaching me how to ride.

Then about 8 of us started the 1 hour trek. I think I did pretty well but the horse was a complete pain in the ass, constantly trying to stop or veer off course so he could eat some leaves.

At the end of the hour, I had enjoyed myself but was quite glad to see the back of the horse and hoped that when I came back a few days later I would have a more manageable horse.

So, on the Thursday we went down again to the stables for another 1 hour trek.

When it was time to be given our horses, the woman who was leading the trek handed out the horses one by one and then turned to me and said, “and for you….it’s your friend!”

“Nooooooooooo!”, I thought, but then I thought to myself, “he might have been tired the other day and might be better behaved today”

She then said, “he’s a bit tired today”

Again I thought “Nooooooo!”

What followed was a very long hour, where every time we went down a slight slope, with his tiredness and the wet weather, his hooves would slip scaring the shit out of me.

He kept lagging behind the rest of the horse and then suddenly without warning going into a trot, which to a beginner like me feels like a gallop and can be quite sore on the buttocks.

He tried to eat even more, making a point of dragging me through the branches of numerous trees. When I wasn’t being slapped in the face with wet leaves I was nearly being taken clean off the horse by the thick branches.

After 45 minutes I was saying to the horse, “worst horse ever, you’re the worst horse ever”. I’m sure though the horse was French he could tell by the tone of my voice, so he went into another trot as I said, “bastard bastard bastard”.

At the same time, the horse behind went into a trot and the young boy riding him got scared and started to cry.

I looked at my horse and said, “ha, well you’ve dragged me through numerous branches but you haven’t made me cry!”

The following night when I went with my friends for a meal and ordered Steak Au Cheval, one of my friends said, “Gordon, that’s not horse meat, it’s just the style of steak”

It had never occurred to me that it wasn’t steak but it got me thinking that if it had have been steak, I could have imagined it was ‘my’ horse

“so you think you can start trotting whenever you feel like it?”
chomp, chomp chomp
“you think you can nearly kill me slip and sliding on the slopes?”
chomp chomp chomp
“you think you can take me in the wrong direction just to eat some leaves?”
chomp chomp chomp
“this is for nearly knocking my off your back when we went through that tree!”
chomp chomp chomp

Believe it or not I enjoyed both treks immensely as despite all the problems with the difficult horse, I survived and the challenge of staying alive was fun. I’m sure I’ll do it again sometime.

I’m not bitter towards the horse in anyway though. I know I’ll always think of him…whenever I buy glue.

Richie Is A Bank Manager

2005-09-11T20:16:00.000+01:00

punk rocker or bank manager?

I don't know if he is a bank manager but when you hear that he left the Ramones because he wasn't given a cut of the T-shirt revenue..well draw your own conclusions.

Favourite Song Lyrics - Part 9

2005-09-09T14:19:00.000+01:00

John Peel on more than one occasion described Half Man Half Biscuit as a nation treasure. He was right. He also said that when he died he wanted them to buried alongside him. Fortunately for them he got that one wrong.

Anyway, In honour of the release of Half Man Half Biscuit's latest CD Achtung Bono, I present Joy Division Oven Gloves and as you can see from the picture above, they do exist. It's unlikely to match the 600,000 sales their 1988 debut Back In The DHSS but as Nigel says, it pays for the groceries and the Tranmere Rovers season ticket.

Well she says it's too hot,
Yeah, But guess what?
I've got Joy Division oven gloves
If it's her desire
I'll put my fingers in the fire
Cos I've got Joy Division oven gloves
I've got Joy Division oven gloves

ooh ooh tropical diseases
ooh oooh chemical alarm
ooh ooh I'm a little blase
In my Joy Division oven gloves
In me Joy Division oven gloves

Well I've been here
And I've been there
In my Joy Division oven gloves
I've been to a post-punk postcard fair
In my Joy Divion oven gloves

ooh ooh Nagasaki towpath
ooh ooh tickling the laird
ooh ooh checking out the Quantocks

In me Joy Division oven gloves
In me Joy Division oven gloves

On a sinking ship the sailors yearn
For some Joy Division oven gloves
Nero fiddles while Gordon burns
In his Joy Division oven gloves
Talk to the hands talk to the hands
In your Joy Division oven gloves
Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!
In your Joy Division oven gloves

ooh ooh piccalilli shinpads
ooh ooh polishing the knave
I keep wicked for the Quakers
In my Joy Division oven gloves
In my Joy Division oven gloves

My grandfather's clock was too tall for the shelf
So I sold it and opened up a store
Selling Joy Division oven gloves
We got Joy Division oven gloves
Get your Joy Division oven gloves
Hallelujah!

As usual with their lyrics it's full of obscure and not so obscure references. Fortunately there's a website which explains most of them.

http://cobweb.businesscollaborator.com/hmhb/records/Achtung.htm

The Proms - A Philistine's View

2005-09-07T14:02:00.000+01:00

Every year the BBC holds a series of classical music concerts that are broadcast either on the radio, on TV or both – The Proms

Last night was my second such experience of attending The Proms and contrary to popular belief it’s not just for the posh nobs, poor people are allowed to attend too! As long as we are willing to queue up for one of the few hundred £4 tickets and are willing to stand whilst the great washed sit in comfy seats, we’re all welcome too.

Having said that quite a few of the people who go in the cheap entrance are young middle to upper class kids whose excuse for slumming it with the plebs like me, is that daddy hasn’t sent this month’s allowance yet and “it’s sooo hard getting by on just two grand a month these days”.

The section that I was standing in was the Gallery which is up right at the top of the Albert Hall and gives you plenty of space to stand and get a good view of the orchestra and just about everything else.

Binoculars come in handy. First of all it gives you a good view of the orchestra and secondly it give you the chance for a bit of a perv. If you’re really lucky there might be some cute girls or guys(if that’s to your taste) in the orchestra, so you’re covered both ways.

Up in the gallery you will see people who pay their money to get in and promptly get out a pillow and lie down. If they only want to listen to the music, why don’t they stay home and listen to it on the radio? It’s not as if the sound up at the top of the building is that great and it’s certainly not very loud. At home you can whack it up to 11 and really hear the music especially with the advent of digital radio and the sound quality it brings.

I have to tell you at this point that a friend of mine, the previous time I attended, went for a lie down as his feet were hurting and promptly fell asleep. It was only when it got to a particularly quiet moment in the music that he started to snore. We had to race over to give him a kick before his snoring ended up being broadcast across the world by the BBC.

Once the performance is about to start, the lights go down and everyone applauds then is silent as the orchestra begins. Nobody talks and if anybody makes the slightest bit of noise everybody turns, gives them a dirty look.

When there is a short gap between movements in a particular piece, that’s the time to make a little bit of noise, though not too much.

At this point half the hall coughs as if they’ve been holding the cough in until a suitable moment arrives where it won’t disturb the performance. This I find odd as I find that when you’ve got to cough you’ve got to cough and not one of the coughing people in audience ever does a big green flegmy one, more a brief “a-hu” type cough, the sort you do when you’re trying to get somebody’s attention. I get the impression that you’re not a classical music connoisseur until you learn how to cough properly during a performance.

Last nights performance included a British premiere of a new violin concerto, which amused me greatly as not only was it complete crap but the violinist that the music was composed for came onto the stage in a white suit as if he was worried we would mistake him for one of the other musicians. He was already on his own little platform, we knew he was the main man. Maybe next time he will wear Slade guitarist Dave Hill’s Super Yob suit, now that’s show business.

During the interval there was an announcement of how much money had been raised for charity by the people attending the concerts over the past month. Rather than have a simple announcement over the PA system, they have to have a group of fundraisers all at once announce like they are some sort of choir in a really wooden and stilted way , “over….the past month……you have raised….. a total ……of ……59,000……pounds….thank…..you”

I quickly did the math. This was concert 69 of the Proms this year, there are approximately 4,000 or so people at each concert and yet they raised less than £1,000 per concert? I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

After the interval, we had a performance of a piece of music from a more established and well know composer, Beethoven. I’m not aware of having heard it before, but it was quite pleasant and easy on the ear, but that’s about it.

I have to say that though I find classical music generally quite pleasant, it doesn’t excite me like a rock concert does and no matter how many times it goes from 5/4 to 4/4 and back to 5/4, classical music’s appeal will only be limited and I don’t think I could ever pay more than the £4 entrance fee I paid unless I was really trying to impress someone. It sounds nice but that’s about as far as it goes.

I have come to the conclusion that you can pass yourself off as some sort of expert as long as you follow the following advice

* Get yourself a programme as quickly as possible, read it and memorise some of the technical facts about the music like “this piece is not so much in 3 movements more that it is a tryptch” and other such gibberish

* Scowl and generally tut at everyone who makes any slightest sound, coughs in the wrong places, has squeaky shoes or smiles. If they’re smiling it’s obvious they’re not ‘appreciating’ the music.

* During each and every break between movements cough loudly and at least 3 times

And finally

* when the applause starts clap either for much longer or much less time than the people around you. It’ll give the impression that you either strongly approved or disapproved of the performance.

Myself, I'll probably go again, but that's partially because the Albert Hall is next to where I work and it's a cheap way to pass an evening.

I'm Not Feeling Myself(And Neither Is Anybody Else)

2005-09-01T13:14:00.000+01:00

You might have noticed that my blog has changed it's format and I've made an addition - a photo.

No the photo isn't me, it's true, but I figure that if a certain nameless blogger can pass himself off as Arthur Mullard then why can't I be Sid James?

School Reports - Part 2

2005-08-30T13:47:00.000+01:00

Now onto the 2nd year at my old school.

This was the year that I realised to be near the top of the class I'd have to do some work. I then realised it was 3 years until the serious exams started so I just took a back seat and relaxed.

Also, by now one of the common themes of my reports started to show. Presentation was never my forte and put it this way I couldn't even draw a straight line with a ruler.

I should point out at this point that the teacher's remarks for Physical Education were the same for every pupil in the class. The teacher's couldn't be arsed to put effort into the reports and headmaster didn't give a damn about PE anyway.

2nd Year - August 1985 - July 1986 (Age 12-13)

DECEMBER 1985

Art E (attainment) C- (effort)
CDT E C-
English Language C C
French C+ B
General Science D D
Geography D C
History C- B-
Mathematics B B
Music B B+
Religious Education D C
Technical Drawing C+ C
Woodwork C- C

Form Teacher’s Remarks
Times Absent – 6
Times Late – 0
Detentions – 0

Gordon is a quiet member of the form. He must continue to work at improving the presentation of written assignments and put more effort into the subjects he obtained low grades in.

House Mistress’ Remarks

Gordon must(underlined) make a consistent effort in all (underlined) aspects of the school curriculum, not(underlined) just a select few subjects.

He must pay attention to improving the presentation of his work.

Housepoints: 3

MAY 1986

ART E D

Gordon has made little attempt to improve his poor standards. He must try to be more self critical of his work and then put in a concerted effort to improve.

F Fulton

English C C

Gordon has plenty of ideas and imagination, but must concentrate much more on better presentation and the elimination of minor errors. His examination mark of 53% was also rather disappointing.

K Taylor

French C+ B

Gordon’s oral work is good and his homework preparation has been thorough all year. His main problem is his handwriting. In a subject where accuracy is everything he will lose marks through the teacher’s inability to read what he has written.

J Pretten

Science C B-

During last term Gordon made a real effort to improve the standard and presentation of his work. This resulted in his improving his topic test and examination position from near the bottom of the class to the middle.

I am pleased with his efforts and hope that he continues to show improvement in this subject.

J Goddard

Geography D C-

Gordon is an extremely quiet pupil who does not ask for help when he needs to. He must make every effort to overcome his reluctance to seek assistance.

Presentation of work is weak and diagrams are particularly untidy. Gordon’s examination result was poor and exposed serious gaps in his knowledge and weakness in basic skills.

A much greater effort is required next year.

Examination result 36%

M Canner

History C C

Gordon has produced some satisfactory work in history but shows a lacke of preciseness in his written work.

A Anderson

Mathematics B B

Set ¼. Gordon has been consistent in his effort throughout the year. His position in both set and Band 1 has risen as a result of his coursework tests and March exam.

There is still room for improvement in his work presentation.

J Wilde

CDT

Metalwork E D

A much more determined effort is required to improve standard of work.

D Holt

Woodwork C- C+

Gordon has tried but some results are poor

JGP

Tech Drawing C- C

Gordon has great difficulty with TD and with a score of 43% the exam scored better than I had hoped!

W Lawrence

Religious Education D C

His work effort has remained consistent but he fails to apply his knowledge.

J Price

Physical Education

He has experience some problems in a few of the activities this year but I am pleased to report that he has perservered, in the face of such difficulty and made progress

Well done!

R S

Form Teacher’s Remarks

Times Absent 9

Times Late 0

Detentions 0

Gordon has worked hard to improve his presentation of work this year; but there is still room for improvement. An encouraging maths and French result; but clearly practical subjects such as Art are not his forte.

Continued effort is required.

(and now my 2nd favourite line from any report)

Can be rather silly at times,

but is acquiring a more mature outlook.

J Goddard

House Mistress’ Remarks

I hope Gordon will heed comments made by members of staff re: presentation.

A sustained effort in all aspects of the school curriculum is essential for future success

J Ross

In my next post I'll tell you about some of the freaks that taught me.

School Reports - Part 1

2005-08-26T13:48:00.000+01:00

A few months ago I retrieved my old school reports my folks' garage. I planned to serialise them and post them here on my blog for your pleasure.

I soon realised it was a bigger project than I thought and so I shelved the idea for a while.

However, I have now decided to give it another go. Rather than wait until I got the whole 7 years worth typed up, I have decided to share the 1st year's reports with you now, as a taster of what's to follow.

I remember a few years ago, my mother mentioned that she used to hide my school reports from my father because he would have 'hit the roof' had he read them. I was suprised as I always thought they were OK. But now 20 years on I read them and I think I can probably see why.

As the years pass, you'll see there are some common themes to what the teachers said about me and to be honest this 1st year by itself isn't too interesting, but it's a start. I'll give you some more background to the teachers and what they were like soon.

First Year - September 1984 – July 1985 (age 11-12)

FEBRUARY 1985

Art D+ (Attainment) B (Effort)
CDT D+ B
English Language C- C
French B B
General Science B C
Geography C C
History C- C+
Mathematics B B
Music C B
Religious Education D D

Form Teacher’s Remarks
Times Absent – 2
Times Late – 0
Detentions – 0

A very quiet pupil who puts a lot of effort into his work

House Master’s Remarks
Quite an assortment of grades!
Gordon should strive for consistency of effort an success in all subject areas

JUNE 1985

Art A C+

Gordon always tries hard and I am pleased with his consistent effort

English Language C C+

Gordon is an interested worker and has made progress this year. He must however, make a determined effort to improve his poor presentation

French C+ B+

In spite of certain difficulties, Gordon has worked very well throughout the year. He shows enthusiasm and tries his best to make valid contributions to classroom work. I hope he continues to work well in the future

General Science B C

He works hard and has achieved good results in this subject this year. However, his work is very untidy and an effort must be made to improve this.

Geography C- C-

Gordon’s biggest problem in this subject is mapping and diagrams. He seems to absorb the facts that he is presented with but the standard of his maps and drawings is woefully weak,
Unfortunately a large proportion of geography work is concerned with these skills and Gordon must make much greater effort to overcome his difficulty in this area. His exam result reflects a reasonably sound knowledge of the work covered.
Exam Result 60%

History C- B-

Gordon’s class and homework is spoilt by messy presentation and carelessness. He must aim for greater accuracy with all aspects of his written work, always reading it through to make sure that it makes sense and take time to check his spellings. His examination result was most pleasing showing clear signs of revision. I hope that he channels some of his obvious “historical” ability toward his term work next year.

Mathematics B B
Set 1/3 Exam Position : - 31/182

Gordon is a very capable pupil and he works well. However he must make an effort to improve his presentation which is very poor indeed.

Music B- B

Gordon Showed a considerable improvement during the last term. He seems to enjoy the keyboard sessions and the choral work.

Technical Drawing D+ B

Gordon does try to improve his drawing technique, but has great difficulties

Woodwork C- C+

Works well mostly, and with interest, but poor exam

Metalwork D C-

Greater effort required to improve standard of work

Religious Education C D

I am pleased to see that Gordon’s attainment has improved since Christmas. However I am not overly happy wit the effort he is putting in, in his class work. I am sure he can do better in this area and consequently achieve a higher grade overall

Physical Education

He has taken part regularly and has made steady progress, through hard work and a determined attitude.
When he has encountered certain obstacles he has tried even harder in order to overcome such difficulties.

Form Teacher’s Remarks
Times Absent – 4
Times Late – 0
Detentions – 0

Note: there were no comments made due to my form teacher retiring suddenly, not due to ill health, I might add. All I’m saying is, all boys school, elderly batchelor…..

House Master’s Remarks
Gordon is certainly not destined to be an artist!
His maths and general science attainment grades are both good and I hope that he strives to achieves similar grades in other subjects in future years.

Before & After

2005-08-18T10:33:00.000+01:00

Inspired by Suzy Mill's Human League-esque photo revelation on her blog (see link on right of page), I thought I would share with you 2 photos illustrating the disspearance of my hair, down the years.

The first photo was taken in 1992 and the second was taken this year.

You'll be pleased/disturbed to hear that the hair is now in a bag, stored in my parents garage. I will retrieve it one day.

I'm sure you'll excuse me if I now go off for a cry in the bathroom.

2005-07-31T09:53:00.000+01:00

I'll write a caption when my stomach feels less delicate

A Stiff Rejection

2005-07-26T11:09:00.000+01:00

Stiff Records
32 Alexander Street London W2
Telephones 01 229 1177 and 01 229 7146

Dear Hopeful,

As must be pretty obvious by now, we haven't even got the decency to write a personal letter to you (but at least we've sent one).

If we've had it too long, we apologise; if it's not the right one, don't worry - it's probably better than the original one you sent in; and if there is no tape with this letter, then we've either lost it, or are considering taking it further and putting it out as a hit under another name.

Thanks for sending it in anyway and don't give up, even though the best record company has in fact turned you down.

This is an official rejection letter.

Yours

Eamon Bytback

(there is then a red stamp saying)

SORRY

IN THE DUMPER

This was the rejection letter that the Undertones received from the record label famous for signing Elvis Costello, The Damned, Madness and Nick Lowe. Happily for the Undertones their song Teenage Kicks was heard by Sire Records excecutive on the radio being played by John Peel and the rest, as they say, is history. Nice letter though.

It's Not All Bomb, Bomb, Bomb

2005-07-25T14:14:00.000+01:00

After the last few weeks, you would think that travelling on trains in London is a tense and sometimes dangerous experience, but that couldn't be further from the truth. It's true that it can be stressful, when you're in a hurry and the train is delayed and that other passengers can be rude & aggressive, but it can also be a source of much amusement, especially when people are returning home after a few drinks.

It seems to be that the later in the week it is and the later in the evening it is, the more you see drunk people on the train going home. Often I find that I am one of those people and as a result I witness some bizarre things.

Last Thursday was such an example when I found myself getting the last train from London to Southend after a particularly boozy evening. There had been problems with the trains after a number of security alerts, so I went for a few drinks with work colleagues before heading off home.

When I got on the train, having consumed a number of drinks that evening, I found myself needing to relieve myself and so I headed to the bathroom.

In the past toilets on trains were always dirty smelly places that you would only use as the last resort and that was only if it wasn’t out of order. Nowadays, on some trains at least, it is a much more pleasant experience or it should be.

The trains to Southend, where I currently live, have particularly clean and modern bathroom facilities, but there are a number of flaws in their design.

One such flaw, is that there are two emergency alarms, one on the wall and another under the wash basin close to the floor. Next to both alarms is the standard notice informing the user that it is an emergency alarm and that there is a fine for improper use. This is wrong, I believe. The alarm below the sink should really have an extra notice stating

“Whilst you are encouraged to use this alarm in an emergency, the user should be aware that the need to use this alarm will probably be as a result of you being on the floor with your pants around your ankles lying in a pool of your own feculence. Pressing this button may result in great embarrassment and humiliation.”

The other flaw is that being a modern piece of technology, the door opening and closing is done electronically by pressing buttons. This in itself is fine, but there is another button to lock the door.

Now here is the critical design flaw . You can only lock the door 10 seconds after the door has shut and pressing the button early will result in the door opening.

Though complicated, it does not take the work of genius to operate it correctly. However, when you are drunk, it can seem to an untrained user, unbelievably complicated. This factor added to other drunk people waiting to use the bathroom and relieve themselves can often have embarrassing results as they press the open button and get a glimpse of a fellow drunks’ member.

Anyway, back to Thursday.

I went into the toilet, pressed the close button, waited ten seconds and then pressed the lock button. I did what I needed to do, washed my hands and then pressed the open button.

Now, I know what you were expecting. You were expecting me to tell you that something embarrassing happened to me. Well, believe it or not, despite what you might have read, not every embarrassing story revolves around me. The star of this story, on this occasion was somebody else, a complete stranger.

I came out of the bathroom, saw that there no seats available in the main area, so I sat on the single seat that was next to the bathroom.

About halfway through the journey, a drunk girl made her way to the bathroom. She was brunette, probably about 25 years old and fairly attractive.

She pressed the button, stepped in side and then the door closed behind her.

A few minutes later, I heard the familiar creeking sound of the door starting to slide open. I looked up from the book I was reading, only to see the girl leaning against the door as if she was trying to stop the door from opening. I glanced downwards and saw that her jeans were around her feet. I can only say it was fortunate, for both of us, that at least her knickers were not down there with her jeans.

She looked at me, smiled in a slightly embarrassed manner and then paused for what seemed like 10 seconds, not seeming to know what to do. I smiled back and then whispered, “You need to press the button behind you.”

“oh, right”, she said as she turned and pressed the button before the door shut again.

A few minutes later, the door started to open again, I looked up again, probably wondering what state of dress she might be in, this time, and saw that everything was where it should be.

She looked at me, smiled and said, “sorry about that”

I smiled back and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t be traumatised”, before she made her way back to her seat.

About ten minutes later, she got off the train and as she walked passed she looked briefly through the window at me. I suspect she was thinking, “Christ that was embarrassing, I hope I never see him again”.

To be honest, I don’t think I’d recognise her if I saw her again, not unless I saw her with her jeans around her ankles, obviously. That image will stay with me for a long time and I’ll laugh every time I think of the sight.

Favourite Song Lyrics - Part .........8?

2005-07-20T10:33:00.000+01:00

Favourite Song Lyrics are back, I'm afraid, but please remember it's not because they mean something really deep, more that I simply love the song

Here's wishing you the bluest sky,
And hoping something better comes tomorrow.
Hoping all the verses rhyme,
And the very best of choruses to
Follow all the doubt and sadness.
I know that better things are on the way.

Here's hoping all the days ahead
Won't be as bitter as the ones behind you.
Be an optimist instead,
And somehow happiness will find you.
Forget what happened yesterday,
I know that better things are on the way.

It's really good to see you rocking out
And having fun,
Living like you just begun.
Accept your life and what it brings.
I hope tomorrow you'll find better things.
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.

Here's wishing you the bluest sky,
And hoping something better comes tomorrow.
Hoping all the verses rhyme,
And the very best of choruses to
Follow all the drudge and sadness.
I know that better things are on the way.

I know you've got a lot of good things happening up ahead.
The past is gone it's all been said.
So here's to what the future brings,
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.

written by Ray Davies taken from the album Give The People What They Want by The Kinks

Even though when wrote this song, Ray Davies had a mullett, it's still a good song, though I don't really like the original version. Fountains Of Wayne covered the song on the tribute album This Is Where I Belong which is available on Rykodisc records and do a superb job.

I also highly reccomend it as I do the Give The People What We Want tribute on SubPop which has some great covers including Fancy by Jon Auer (just for you Michelle!)

Love Is More Than Words

2005-07-16T21:00:00.000+01:00

Love without Arthur Lee

This photo was taken on thursday, by myself, at the Islington Academy, at what turned out to be a great show despite the singer deciding on the eve of the tour that god didn't want him to go.

This event had left the band in the awkward predicament of having to go ahead with the tour, just so that they could pay the bills. Members had taken time off work, plane tickets had been bought and all manner of other costs had to be covered.

Some venues cancelled when they heard that Arthur Lee was not going to be appearing on the tour, partial refunds were offered to those who wanted to see the show even without the singer and full refunds were offered to those who thought it wasn't worth bothering with.

This particular gig had originally been scheduled for the same day as the terrorist attacks on London and obviously had to be cancelled, so a week later they put on a show to close the tour and what a great show it was.

It was particularly exciting for me as it was the first time I would be seeing Love with their original guitarist, Johnny Echols who though now in his sixties is still a great guitarist and a great singer too.

Anyway the gig itself was fantastic with guitarist Rusty Squeezebox(I don't think that's his real name) covering vocal duties superbly and I got my partial refund which was swiftly spent on a DVD of the band with Arthur Lee when he was on top form at the Royal Festival Hall 2 years ago, from the merchandise stand.

For whatever reasons Arthur Lee let the rest of the band down by pulling out of the tour at the eleventh hour, but the band were fantastic without him and I hope that with or without Mr Lee, they will continue to put on great shows in future and I dearly hope that promoters won't be scared off booking the band in future as it would be a great loss.

At the end of the show, as the band left the stage Johnny Echols picked up the microphone and said, "I want you all to do me a favour. Love one another" and I'm sure that unlike some people, when he says it he means it.

note: more photos from the gig appear on the website linked at the side of this page

Keep On Shining

2005-07-14T13:45:00.000+01:00

So, last Thursday morning I set out to work late having spent the previous evening celebrating my 32nd birthday.

It seemed like a day no different to any other except for the hangover I was suffering from.

As the train pulled into Fenchurch Street, myself and the other passengers got off the train unaware of what was unfolding nearby. I came out of the station and walked up to Tower Hill underground station as usual, only to see people crowded outside as London Underground staff handed out directions to bus stops and other stations.

I walked up the road to Monument, which was the next stop on my usual journey, only to see that that was shut too. Knowing that if I needed to get a bus to work I would have to walk to the next station, I continued walking as far as Cannon Street, but again the station was shut. I thought at this point that it was probably just the one line on the underground that was having problems so I took a diversion to St Paul’s which is on the Central Line. I arrived only to see that that was closed as well.

Across the road from St Paul’s I noticed that there was a bus that went as far as Victoria that I could get and knowing that it was only 2 stops from where I work I thought that it would be walkable if need be. So I got on the bus and sat there as it slowly worked it’s way through the chaos that is the streets of London.

At this point I decided to switch on my the radio on my MP3 player to see if there was any travel news, so that if the line re-opened I’d be able to get off the bus and rejoin the underground, but alas this was not to be.

On the radio at this point they were talking about there being problems and the whole underground system being shut down, but little information about what had happened. We were all being advised to travel by bus, I was already on the bus, so no problem, I thought.

It was as the bus was about half way to where I was going, that it was becoming clear that there had been incidents at various underground stations, including Aldgate East and Liverpool Street which were about 5 minutes walk from Fenchurch Street and Monument respectively where I had been, probably some time around the time the explosions had happened. But at this point I was still holding out for it being an incident caused by shoddy engineering work and not anything particularly sinister.

Suddenly on the radio they had a reporter on who was saying that a bus had blown up at Russell Square and that a witness had filmed it on their video phone.

On BBC London, they were doing their best not to speculate and only report facts, which on one hand was good because false rumours going around would only cause panic but on the other hand it meant that it was taking longer to let the listener know what was going on and be able to make a decision as to what to do next.

The presenter on the radio, asked the reported, “Have you seen this clip?”

She replied that she had, but then he asked, “Does it actually show the bus actually exploding?”.

Sitting on a bus, I was hoping that she would say no.

She said “No,”

“That’s a relief”, I thought

“….but you can see the bus ripped apart and people lying on ground dazed and injured.”

“shit!”, I thought.

For a few moments I sat and decided what I was going to do next. My initial reaction was that there might be more buses blowing up, but I then thought rationally that there were hundreds of buses in London, one had been bombed, but the odds of it happening to me was remote.

So I stayed on the bus as it headed towards Oxford Street.

I decided to switch my radio off at this point as all it was succeeding in doing was make me worry, not so much about my own safety, but the safety of others and also how people who knew me might be worrying about me.

I should tell you, though I threw away the butt plug (as mention in the April 4th entry), I still have the packaging. The thought did cross my mind that if I died suddenly, my parents might find it when sorting out my things, misinterpret it and next thing I know I’ll be buried in a pink coffin to the strains of Gloria Gaynor.

It really did cross my mind at such a dangerous and scary time that that might happen, I can assure you.

About ten minutes later I overheard a woman sat behind me on the bus mumbling something about other buses blowing up. I switched my radio back on and indeed they were reporting about three buses being bombed.

I thought that after one bus exploding, it was a little worrying, but three buses? Then I realised that I had phoned into work shortly after I got on the bus to say that I was on my way and that I was on the bus.

I don’t know about you, but if somebody phoned me and said they were on a bus and then I heard reports about buses blowing up, it would worry the shit out of me.

At this point I decided that it might be better to walk, but then realising how far I still had to walk I thought, “hmm, maybe I should stay on the bus a little longer”

Even in such a worrying time I was still weighing up the risk of staying where I was with the inconvenience of having to walk.

So I stayed on the bus for the time being and it was only when the bus got as far as Marble Arch that I thought it would be a good time to get off the bus. At this time, half the passengers had got off the bus after a middle aged woman said rather loudly that three buses had been blown up and that everybody should be vigilant.

There’s nothing like scaring the shit out of people, is there?

I walked down the stairs and stood by the exit of the bus waiting for it to stop, but the bus didn’t stop, at first.

It went around a large roundabout twice whilst the driver decided which exit to take as the road it was supposed to go down had been shut by the police. I could see that some passengers were worried, thinking the driver might be purposely keeping them on the bus, after all he did have a beard and that’s enough reason with some people to be suspicious. The driver pointed out what the problem was and the worried passengers calmed down, except one.

The moment the bus found an exit from the roundabout, one woman insisted that the driver stopped immediately and let her off because three buses had blown up. I’m not sure if the driver had known about the story being reported about three buses, but suddenly he look worried.

I have wondered since if the driver and other drivers hadn't been tempted to park anywhere they could and run away, but as far as I know, I don’t think any driver did abandon their bus.

The bus parked on the side of the road and the driver opened the door to let the worried passenger off. Seeing that we were just by Hyde Park and knowing that my office was the other side of the park I decided that it probably was a good time for me to get off as well. Besides the park was the safest place to be at such a time and I can’t say I’ve ever seen a duck strapped with explosives.

So I got off and headed towards the other side of the park. I pulled out my mobile phone so I could call a friend I knew would be home watching TV to see if he knew more about what was going on. Just as I went to dial, my phone rang. It was my father.

I answered, “Hi, I’m just walking across Hyde Park to the college”

“Just calling to see if you had any problems”, he said

“yeah, I’m fine, don’t know how I’m getting home tonight, though”

“right, ok , bye”

It would not have surprised me if the brevity of the call was because he was worried about getting into trouble with my mother for making expensive calls on her phone.

The next thing I did was phone work just so the colleague I had told I was on the bus, knew that I was now walking and that I wasn’t on any exploding buses.

As I got closer to work, I started to worry a little bit more about my friends and whether they were ok. So I started planning as to what I was going to do once I had got to work and switched my computer on, to check whether they were ok. I knew that I needed to know as soon as was humanly possible that they were safe and well.

I arrived at work and saw that the office was half empty with colleagues having given up on trying to get to work. I switched on my computer, checked a few websites to see if the people I knew from London were online and all but one were there and OK.

I knew that the chances were that the one person I knew who wasn’t online was on their way into work and had got seriously delayed, but I was still a little worried, so I sent a quick e-mail simply saying hello, trying not to be melodramatic and waited for a reply.

About half an hour later I got a reply and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I have to confess I had a tear in my eye as I read the reply. I quickly headed for the men’s room, wiped away the tear and my composure soon returned.

Much of the rest of the day at work was spent talking to people checking if they knew of anybody unaccounted for, but it appeared that we all had either made it to work or just gone home. An Iraqi colleague of mine, on hearing of the bombs on the tube, left work immediately and went home. The mix of high emotions and people's prejudices meant that thursday was an especially bad day to me a muslim in London. He rightly decided that getting home to be with his family was more important than working.

As the day went on, there was lots of speculation about what had happened and what was happening. We had a bomb scare at one of buildings on campus and there were stories of the tube station and some of the embassies down the road being sealed off after suspect packages were found, but we never really knew what was true and what was false until we heard on the radio official statements about the situation.

It was after about an hour of being at work that the radio announced that it was one bus that had blown up and not the three that had been reported earlier which had led to many people abandoning all public transport in London in favour of walking.

At around 1pm, despite the fact that on the radio and TV they were telling us to stay where we were and not travel until told it was safe to do so, my boss came in and said that we could all leave at whatever time we needed to to get home.

Myself, I'm still on a temp contract and so the idea of leaving early didn't appeal to me or my bank manager. So I stayed on until I decided what I was going to do about going home. I was supposed to have been going to a gig in Islington in the evening but that had been cancelled. Going home didn't appeal to me, so I called a friend in North London and asked if I could come up there and sleep on the sofa.

At around 5pm with buses still off the road in the Zone 1 part of London that I was, I decided to head off with a colleague to Hammersmith and try and get a bus from there.

On the way there I saw Ken Stringfellow who plays in a band called The Posies and also plays keyboards with REM, the latter of whom were in town for a few dates in the UK. On any other occasion I would have said hello, but with what was going on, my concern about how I was going to get to North London and the fact that I hadn't yet bought the new Posies CD led to me not bothering.

I got to Hammersmith and found a bus that was going to Camden Town and got on. The bus promptly went back towards where I had just walked from . I wasn't happy about that but the roads looked quiet, so it might not be a problem getting to where I was going, or so I thought.

Three and a half hours later I got to Wood Green in North London, having taken two buses, done a fair bit of walking, when one of the buses terminated early and dumped us all in the pouring rain, sat through numerous traffic jams and gone past most of the tube stations where the bombs had exploded.

Once in Wood Green I headed straight for the pub. On arrival, the landlord spotted me, said “ah Gordon, good to see you’re still alive. I counted you all out and now I’m counting you all back in!” and shook my hand. Even in such stressed times, people can smile, laugh and joke. I’m glad that we do.

Over the next few hours, I drank many beers and talked about anything and everything with my friends. We even finished the evening with a quick beer in another pub where they were having student karaoke night. A day which had started off so tragically was ending to the sound of a hundred students singing Chas n Dave’s “Snooker Loopy”.

I then went back to my friend’s house to sleep on smell sofa with the smelly duvet and the smelly pillow.

So that was my 7th July experience. It was mostly inconvenience though they were worrying times. So far 52 people have been confirmed as having died and another 150 or so were injured, the other million or so of us who use the London Underground got off without a scratch.

In the week since that fateful day, there has been much grieving by friends and relatives of the dead and seriously injured and my heart goes out to them. I can’t imagine how you would ever recover from something like that if it happened in my family.

A girl who works on the same floor as me was on one of the trains hit by a bomb and though she wasn’t badly injured, it’s going to be long time before she feels well enough to come back to work or get on another train. She saw dead bodies and people missing limbs, the sight must have been horrific. Though I don’t know her that well, I would always say hello and smile at her in the corridor whenever I passed her and I feel dreadful for her.

I wouldn’t like to imagine what it would be like if I actually knew someone who was badly injured or killed in such a way.

I also feel dreadfully sorry for the families of the alleged suicide bombers. Losing a son must feel dreadful, but what must it be like losing a son and then discovering that they carried out such a dreadful and wicked act?

What do I feel about the suicide bombers? I am an atheist but christians don't have a monopoly on forgiveness. I don't believe in hating people no matter what they do, but it's the people who sent the bombers out to their death with the aim killing scores of people who I'm most angry with.

I hope the people responsible are caught and punished for this heinous crime. I don't agree with the death penalty and I'm glad we don't have that option in the UK. If we are to convince the muslim people that we are with them and not against them, revenge is not the answer.

So what happens now for the people who live or work in London?

Since the events of a week ago, a lot of Londoners have talked about the fact they are continuing on as normal as if to show the terrorists they won’t be scared by their vile acts. Personally, I don’t think this is totally true.

It is true that it does show the terrorists that even when they are scared, people will try to carry on as normal, but that isn’t the primary reason for wanting to carry on as normal.

On the morning after, my first thought wasn’t , “I’ll show them terrorists what I think of them”, it was “I’d better go into work otherwise I won’t get paid”. Sure it was inconvenient, but I couldn’t choose not to work, it’s just not an option.

Over in Iraq, in recent times, we hear about suicide bombers killing and maiming both soldiers and civilians almost every day, but do the Iraqi people all stay at home because it’s dangerous?

Wherever there is a terrorist attack, anywhere in the world, the reaction of people is not to hide, it has been to try and get back to living as normal a life as possible as soon as they can.

Being killed by a terrorist explosion is still no more likely than the chance of being stabbed on the London Underground. I’m scared of being stabbed too, but I’ve never not gone out because of that risk.

London can be a scary place and it has just got a little scarier, but if we don’t carry on doing what we do, what’s the point of living?

Business As Usual - My Favourite Aunt

2005-07-07T16:24:00.000+01:00

Well, we all know what happened today and maybe as blogger in working in central London I should write about my experience of the day, but I haven't got home yet, nor do I know how I'm going to get home, so my experience isn't over yet. I'm sure other bloggers are writing about it as I type, though.

So it's business as usual and I'm going to tell you the story I was planning to tell before I left the house this morning.

My family isn’t you’re average family. It’s spread across 3 continents with numerous cousins that I’ve never met and almost all of them have a bizarre life story or personality I could tell you about.

But the relative I want to tell you about today is my Aunt Paddy.

Now Paddy is not your average Aunt. She’s unbelievably chatty, so much so that if you walk down the street in my hometown with her, she will know every second person she passes and will stop and talk to them. It can take an hour to walk 500 yards when you’re with my Aunt Paddy.

An example of how quickly and easily she makes friends is the time she got the train back to Liverpool from London and spent the whole journey chatting and drinking with Usual Suspects star Pete Posselthwaite who told her he was glad that he had got the train instead of flying because he wouldn't have met her.

I remember about at my brother’s wedding, at the end of the reception, just as the bar was closing, took me aside and said to me,

“When are you going to settle down and get married?”

“I don’t know if I want to get married.” I replied

She then turned to me and said,

“Look I’m your Aunt, I’m 70 and I’m drunk so I’m allowed to say this……………….. Don’t you want to have sex regularly?”

“Well, maybe it’s the quality that counts rather than how often”

“How long is it since you last had sex?”

“About 3 months”

“Hmmm, ok I’ll let you off”

She then proceeded to go back to my cousins’ hotel room to help them finish off a crate of beer.

So that’s my Aunt and that helps explain why yesterday, when I was opening my birthday cards, the card she sent me said,

“Did you know that sperm banks pay money for donations?”

and when I opened it, it said,

“That means you’ve let a fortune slip through your hands over the years!”

So right now I would like to publicly thank my Aunt, through this blog, for sending me a birthday card about masturbation.

Thank you

Apology

2005-07-03T00:10:00.000+01:00

I just wanted to apologise for the lack of interesting posts over the past few weeks. It's not because I haven't got anything to say, if anything it's quite the opposite. I have quite a number of ideas in the pipeline, it's just that most of them seem to be taking more work than I first thought.

I have now added a links to my favourite blogs and other websites. I've also added a counter which I'm proud to say is almost up to 100 after just a week, though if truth be known most of the hits is me, logging on to see if the counter had gone up any further.

Anyway, rest asssured that in the coming weeks I will be back to posting more than just dodgy song lyrics. I know it doesn't fool you, the reader, into believing that I've not neglected my blog, but it works for me.

Amongst the stories to 'look forward' to is:

Lying in supermarkets
The longest day of my life
Arguing about wiping after number two's
My old school reports serialised with added commentary
Barney the Dinosaur
Why me and Tom Cruise will never be best friends

And if that doesn't whet your appetite I'm sure I can come up with some embarressing stories involving my own genitals.

Favourite Song Lyrics - Part 7

2005-06-26T17:39:00.000+01:00

now we've kissed I've written this list
I think you ought to know

them's the vagaries
them's the vagaries

well, I'll not sit backwards on the train
I can't say I'll always flush the chain
and what I call pleasure you may call pain
I'm talking 5 day tests*

prepare to lose your dignity
as I ride to victory
down the aisle at tesco wearing
nothing much at all

(bridge)
ancient pack horse bridges we'll avoid
marijuana bores must be destroyed

bin men thin men, lexicographers
squid - yes, not so - octopus
egg sandwiches on coach trips in june
I simply won't be there

no way - joke shop excrement
don't say the light show's excellent
it makes you smell of a laboratory
instead of a fan of the band

taken from Them's The Vagaries written by Half Man Half Biscuit from their album The Cammell Laird Social Club

* five day tests - international cricket matches which these days finish on the fourth afternoon (especially when Australia are one of the participants).

and a special topical lyric extra:

You call Glastonbury "Glasto"
You hope to go there one day
When they've put up the gun towers
To keep the hippies away

taken from Corgi Registered Friends by Half Man Half Biscuit

Infamy, Infamy, They've All Got It Infamy!

2005-06-16T10:20:00.000+01:00

I had a very strange dream last night of which I only recall some details, but by themselves they show just how weird my dream really was.

The first bit I remember, was when I was at football match involving my beloved Tranmere Rovers. Just in front of where I and a friend were sitting there was a disagreement between two players, one of whom, the Tranmere player was suggesting that he was being elbowed by the opposition player.

The referee came over to sort it out. Myself and my friend informed the referee that we had seen the whole incident and that the Tranmere player had been elbowed by the opposition player. The referee taking our word for it, showed the opposition player a yellow card.

The Tranmere player came over to us, thanked us for our help and asked what our names were.

My friend told him what her name was and I said, “and I’m Gordon”

The Tranmere player responded, “aye!”

he was Scottish incidentally,

“Aren’t you the guy that stuck that thing up his ass?”

Even in my dreams I can’t escape from that story.

Oh and the other bit of the dream I remember is being kissed by Sonia Jackson from Eastenders, which is probably even more disturbing.

Blackpool - My Mental Anguish

2005-06-08T14:33:00.000+01:00

I have to tell you I've held a grudge against my parents since childhood.

Did they mistreat me, abuse me or make me go without? No it’s much worse than that, in my mind, what they did. I’ll tell you the story.

When I was seven, my folks took me and my two brothers to Blackpool for a day. I say it was a day, but it wasn't even half a day, even if I include the time spent travelling to and from the god awful place.

Despite Blackpool being less than two hours away by car, we didn't get their until mid-afternoon. This was partly by design, I suspect andpartly because no matter how organised my parents, especially my father, claim to be and no matter how much they used to go on & on at me and my brothers, to be ready to leave on time, it was always the case that myself and my brothers would end up waiting by the car whilst they dicked around in the house.

There would usually be some bizarre excuse like, they hadn’t finished washes the dishes or they had forgot to polish the cat. Alternately, it would more than not, be that whilst we had all got ready on time, it would be my father who hadn’t had his morning shower, shave and shampoo.

Even now this is a source of much frustration, despite the fact that, though we would be excited about where they were taking us, whether it be a day out or a family holiday, ultimately we knew we would be disappointed.

I cannot begin to describe, throughout my childhood, how depressing it was being taken on holiday to a proccession of diabolical camp sites where you could always be sure that even if it was the height of summer, it would always rain incessantly.

Most camping holidays were usually in a site in North Wales which geographically would be 10 miles away, but because of there being no way to cross the River Dee, the drive would take a few hours giving us the false impression that we had travelled a long way. Other camping holidays were in place like Scarborough, Northumberland or some other cold windy place even further up North.

On the rare occasions we didn't go camping and stayed in a run down B&B instead, Grandma would come along. This would usually mean that if the weather was anything better than monsoon conditions, we would be dragged around endless ornamental gardens and be bored out of our minds as grandma expressed her delight at a well potted aspidistra. Once, when Grandma came along, because of my fathers' car being a bit cramped, I had to sit wedged in the boot of the car, surrounded by suitcases and pillows all the way to Derbyshire.

I can only be thankful that on the occasion, that grandma, after one too many sherries, asked the waitress in a chinese restaurant for 'flied lice', I was too young to know what racism was or to be embarrassed by her behaviour.

Anyway, back to Blackpool. We arrived mid-afternoon, had our picnic lunch in the picturesque car park outside Blackpool FC's stadium, whilst a match took place inside.

After my parents had managed to dick around a bit more, deciding on whether to leave their coats in the car, thus wasting yet more vital time to 'enjoy' the delights of Blackpool, we eventually made our way to the Pleasure Beach, where all the the best fairground rides in europe were supposedly located.

When we got to the Pleasure Beach, this was when my parents chose to announce that despite giving us the impression before they took us that we would be going on lots of rides, we were only allowed to go on 2.

Yes, that's right, two lousy rides. When you consider that these rides last on average two minutes, just by doing the simple maths you would know that we were set for four lousy fucking minutes of enjoyment.

In the event, I went on a big dipper, which was fun, but the other ride was just a car on a track that went at high speed down the track into some water and got a bit wet. Being just seven and not at all keen on water, I spent the durarion of this ride ducking down and missing most of what enjoyment could be gained from the ride, so in reality I got two minutes of pleasure in total.

The rest of the time at the Pleasure Beach was spent walking around and enviously looking at other people having fun on the rides.

I have to say that I'm not trying to be ungrateful, afterall I got two minutes of ecstasy and nowadays I'd be lucky to get 2 minutes of ecstasy in a whole year of dating one woman. But the reason I am so bitter about the Blackpool experience is not because of the 2 lousy rides, it's because at the end of the day, they said, "We'll come again next year, we promise. And you’ll go on more rides".

If they hadn't have said that, I would not be writing this now.

I admit that when I was in my late teens, my friends would get on a coach to Blackpool for a night out of drinking, strippers and the dreadfully unfunny Chubby Brown. I would look down my nose at them for going to a tacky, nasty, lager louts' paradise like Blackpool. It was genuinely their idea of a good night out and I couldn’t think of anything worse. It has never stopped me from holding a grudge though.

25 years on, whenever I look at my parents, pottering around the garden trying to decide where to have an ornamental pond built, I'm still thinking to myself, "When are you bastards going to take me to fucking Blackpool again?".

When anybody asks me why I’m not happy, my reply is “Because my parents never took me back to Blackpool”.

If one day, I’m in court for committing some heinous crime, when the judge says, “Before I sentence you, have you anything to say for yourself?”

I’ll reply, “I did it because my parents never took me back to Blackpool, your honour”

On more than one occassion they have even offered to pay for me to come on holiday with them to exotic locations, such as Morrocco and Egypt. To be honest I would rather pluck my own eyes out, than go on holiday with them, but Blackpool is different. It might be over priced, tacky and full of drunken burbery capped, Ben Shearman shirt wearing chavs, but what it symbolises is much more important.

I’ve forgiven them for many things over the years, like the time, I needed a new pair of shoes and they tried to make me go to school wearing an odd pair of shoes. Thankfully I managed to repair my old shoes with a staple gun and some shoe polish to avoid the humiliation of wearing such a pair.

They’ve done some wonderful things for me down the years, like putting me through University, only for me to drop out. They still put a roof over my head even after I had let them down so badly.

But Blackpool is different. Blackpool is the cause of everything that is wrong with my life and only by putting it right, will I ever be able to look my parents in the eye without thinking, “When are we going back to fucking Blackpool?”

Favourite Song Lyrics - Part 6

2005-06-05T14:43:00.000+01:00

Do it on the landing baby
Do it on the stairs
Don't mind the cat
He licks his paws and purrs
I bet this time
Ive taken you unawares
But after all you know
Its just only one of those affairs

Just One Of Those Affairs written by Pete Shelley
Taken from his 1981 solo album Homosapien

2005-06-01T07:10:00.000+01:00

Chav Pram

2005-05-23T20:29:00.000+01:00

The song that should have won Eurovision

Favourite Song Lyrics - Part.5

2005-05-23T10:00:00.000+01:00

Well I have tried every approach
And they always leave me empty
But each one has it's special way
Of making everyone contempt me

It seems rather selfish to want to be loved
Or to love and expect you to care
But my batteries don't run on flattery
And it just gets me nowhere

Oh when was I ever promised
I'd get back all that I gave?
But I wouldn't care if you'd take
A compliment from me

Perhaps it's too late
Or too much to expect
But compliments that come no strings attached
Well, they're certainly the best
Thing for me, I adore you
But you can fish for compliments
And I won't be there to bore you

Compliment written by Jon Auer & Ken Stringfellow
Taken from the PopLlama/Houston Party Records release Failure by The Posies

after a few years away The Posies are back with a new album Every Kind Of Light on Rykodisc Records on June 27th and they'll be touring from July. Dates confirmed so far include

UK - Rock City, Nottingham - 26th July

UK- Carling Academy, Islington, London - 30th July

UK - Academy 3, Manchester - 31st July

UK - King Tuts, Glasgow - 1st August

Spain - Benicassim Festival - 4th August

Finland - Annkrarock Festival - 6th August

Sweden - Goteberg ,Göteborgkalaset Festival - 9th August

Sweden - Stockholm, Debaser - 10th August

Norway - Öya Festival - 11th August

UK - Beautiful Days Festival, Escot nr. Exeter - 20th August

Talking Bollocks

2005-05-18T15:13:00.000+01:00

What is the least attractive feature of a man’s body?

That’s right it’s the testicles. I don’t mean the penis itself. To be honest that’s not such a bad looking thing, aesthetically speaking but it’s little friends who accompany it or rather the sack, that keeps them from dangling halfway down your leg, itself is, let’s face it not the most pleasing on the eye.

Whereas, when you see a fairly attractive girl who is accompanied by a bit of moo, the fairly attractive girl appears to be even more attractive, the penis doesn’t get such a benefit from hanging around with a wrinkly, saggy, set of plums.

I was considering attempting to write an Amicus style compendium of linked stories, film script all about the testicles, but I’m not sure if the idea could ever have a mainstream appeal in the cinema’s, plus my preferred choice of actor to play me, Peter Cushing, is long since dead.

Just for you I thought I would tell you three stories about me and my testicles, that could have been part of such a film.

Story 1

In my school days, in English language lessons, once in a while, we would have to take turns in making a speech. This was usually for two minutes in front of the class about a particular subject chosen by ourselves.

I was by no means a particularly conscientious student and the idea of preparation in advance of taking my turn to speak was quite frankly unthinkable. So I hit upon a plan.

One Christmas I received a book called the “Observer’s Book Of Football”, which contained a brief history of every English professional football club. Whenever it was my turn to speak I would take a page from the book and tape it to the inside of my exercise book and I would read it verbatim in front of the class.

On this particular occasion, I picked out a page about Swindon Town, who I had no real interest in, but it was as good a choice as any. The teacher called out my name and I walked to the front of the class and started my speech.

“My speech is on Swindon Town”, I said.

Little was I to know that these opening words would be etched indelibly on the mind of every pupil in the class.

The speech, I thought was going quite well. It was true that it was obvious that every word I said was written down in front of me, but I had no ambition to be a public speaker, so what did I care?

On the few occasions I looked up from the book, I noticed that everyone was smiling and some were laughing.

“I didn’t know Swindon Town was such a funny football team, they’re nothing special in the world of football, but they’re not that ridiculous”. I thought.

“Quieten down, boys!” the teacher said, as the sound of their laughter became louder.

After about two minutes, I had finished my speech and I went to sit down, but no sooner had I sat down then the bell rang for the end of the lesson. We all got up from our desks and made our way to the next lesson.

It was only on the way to the next lesson that, one of my friends, Tim, came up to me laughing, saying, “oh my god that was so funny!”

“what’s so funny about Swindon Town?”, I replied

“you mean you don’t know?”

“No! What was so funny?”

“As you started to say ‘My speech is about Swindon Town’, you started to scratch your balls and you didn’t stop until you finished speaking!”

Somehow, I had spent two minutes scratching away, completely unaware that I was doing it and the fact that thirty of my classmates were watching as I scratched away.

So now whenever the name Swindon Town comes up, I grimace with embarrassment at that memory, whilst all my old school friends snigger to themselves. They all know that they can make me go red, even 20 years after the event, just by saying, “My speech is on Swindon Town”.

Story 2

About 7 or 8 years ago after a particularly drunken night out, I arrived home with a great idea.

I decided it would be a brilliant, rather than stupid, idea to give depilation of my testicles a go.

Why I thought that it would even be remotely enjoyable to risk doing myself untold damage by wielding my Gillette Contour anywhere near my balls, I’ve no idea, but alcohol can be very persuasive.

First I gave them a good wash in the bathroom sink and then set to work with shave gel and the razor in my hand.

Considering how wrinkly they are and how, as I quickly realised, how they move around in your hand, almost as if they were breathing, I didn’t cut myself once. This added to the amount of alcohol in my bloodstream at this point was quite miraculous.

Once I finished I rinsed them off, applied some moisturiser, put my boxer shorts back on and went to bed.

The next morning I woke up feeling on top of the world, until suddenly I remembered what I had done. I nervously lifted the waistband of my boxer shorts and saw the results of my handywork.

Having been quite drunk, I thought I’d done a better job than I really had. There were bits I’d missed and clumps of hair here and there around my balls.

This could only mean one thing, I was going to have to finish off the job I’d started and do it properly.

This is easier said than done. The previous night I had the alcohol inside me that gave me the confidence and bravery to just go for it, now it was morning and I was sober, the thought was a lot more terrifying.

I got in the shower with the razor and shave gel and set about finishing the job. I spent about half an hour nervously and as gently as I could trying to get the last few clumps of hair occasionally whimpering every time the razor felt a bit scratchy against the wrinkly uneven skin of the ball sack.

Eventually I finished the job and to be fair it looked quite good.

For a few days I was fairly pleased with it, until, oh my god!, it started to grow back.

For a start my testicles started to resemble two overgrown gooseberries that I was carrying around inside my pants for a bet or something, but also it was the way it felt.

If you are a man, you might be able to imagine this, which if it puts you off trying it, must be a good thing. Just imagine what it would be like having your testicles wrapped in coarse sandpaper for a month – that is what it feels like.

So you can be assured that no matter how drunk I ever get, I will never do it again, in fact if I ever do try it again, I will give up drinking, just to be on the safe side.

Story 3

This is a short one (no not that. Though…)

A few years back I was preparing my dinner. I was feeling very lazy and not that hungry, so I decided on just some chicken flavour three minute noodles.

I boiled the water and then broke up the noodles into the pan, before adding the chicken flavour sachet. There was also a small sachet of dried chilli bits. I’m not the biggest fan of chilli so I just sprinkled about half the packet into the pan.

At this point I decided to nip up to the bathroom for a quick pee while the noodles boiled away on the stove. As I undid my pants and got it out, I unconsciously gave my balls a quick scratch.

This was a grave error. After sprinkling the chilli bits into the pan, had I washed my hands? No. Oh, how this taught me a painful lesson.

It was literally half a second before an unbelievably painful burning sensation seared through my testicles.

Only after twenty minutes of dangling them under a cold shower did the burning sensation subside.

Since that day, I have avoided chilli whether in the form of powder or dried flakes completely and I always wash my hand between each and every job I do in the kitchen.

Once you have suffered, as I did, all because of a bit of chilli and an unconscious scratch of the nuts, you will never ever make the same mistake.

These 3 stories of differing misfortune and pain, may give you the idea that I hate my testicles, this could not be further from the truth.

For a start inside them is stored a strange smelling and unpleasant tasting(so I’m told, er, obviously), fluid that when deposited in the right place in the female of the species, could create a new and beautiful life, which is just astounding.

On the pleasure side, the feeling of the girl you love caressing them in whatever chosen method she chooses is unbelievably arousing and very enjoyable.

With all the stresses we put up with in modern life and the fact that us men are lame creatures, despite our macho posturing, without them we’d be all walking around with comfort blankets. Sometimes it’s reassuring just to reach down and know that they are there and barring a bizarre accident, always will be.

There’s a saying, “Only a mother could love that face” and that’s similar to how men feel about their testicles. Other men’s balls, I have no desire to see and I'm quite repulsed by, but my own?…I love them.

Definitely My Brother's Daughter

2005-05-03T18:36:00.000+01:00

Are you talking to me?

Favourite Song Lyrics Pt. 4

2005-04-25T17:08:00.000+01:00

Me and the cat
Own the lease on the flat
And nothing you do can ever change that
The milk gets delivered
We sit by the fire
You can say that we're having the time of our lives

Take written by Terry Hall & Toby Lyons. Taken from the album Virgins & Philistines by The Colourfield

He's Not Emily's, He's Mine!

2005-04-19T21:35:00.000+01:00

at the request of BlueMonkey, here's Bagpuss & Me

What Next?

2005-04-19T21:21:00.000+01:00

It has to be said that the reaction I got to my entry about the butt plug has been very favourable. I've been congratulated for writing something so brave, painfully honest and, according to some, very funny.

This presents me with a problem. It was probably the best piece I have written to date. Will I ever be able to write something better? It's a lot of pressure, I can tell you and that's why I have posted very little except for a few photos since.

I have decided, therefore, that I'm not even going to try to do so. I'll try to write from time to time, what amuses me and hope that it will amuse you too.

It has been suggested by one friend, that after the butt plug, I should go even further. The problem is how can I go further without humilliating myself, purely for the enjoyment of you lot? Buying the butt plug cost money as well as the lubricant, so there's no way I'm paying anymore money for the sake of trying to entertain.

So here's my offer. I will take it further, but on 3 conditions:

1. You have to suggest what I should do

2. You the reader will have to donate the money to pay for it

3. It can't involve any more pain than what I suffered in pursuit of pleasure from the butt plug

Now, do I have any offers??

I didn't think so, somehow.

Ok, well my career as a sexual hedonist is at an end. Goodnight

2005-04-11T19:51:00.000+01:00

Dinky The Singing Dingo

2005-04-11T19:46:00.000+01:00

Rock Wallaby

It Takes Two

2005-04-11T19:43:00.000+01:00

Following on from Favourite Song Lyrics Part 1, I thought I would talk about mutual masturbation, naturally.

Now, masturbation itself is an enjoyable pastime and with lots of practice could even be the highlight of your week, but at the same time it is a solitary act and can only makes you happy for a very short time, plus you have to clear up your own mess.

With normal plain sex, whilst it is an intimate experience, with all the bizarre positions glossy magazines are always telling us we should try, your head is often half a mile away from his/hers or facing in opposite directions.

If one of you is more than 6” tall than the other you can’t even kiss without one of you straining your neck, even in the missionary position.

But with mutual masturbation, it is much more intimate, in my experience, and if you time your orgasms simultaneously it is truly amazing. This takes practice, which fortunately is lots of fun.

There is one word of warning , if you do try it. You might discover how selfish your partner really is. I learnt this because through harsh experience.

About 5 years ago I was with a girl and we had been up much of the night , enjoying each other, so to speak. Around five in the morning, we were both a little tired, but we were both still as horny as hell, so we did partake in a little mutual masturbation as it's less energetic but the end result is the same.

Anyway, it was all going along nicely until she reached her orgasm before I did. After another 30 seconds I was close but not there yet, but suddenly she stopped and got out of bed…er… she got off the sofa and went to the bathroom leaving me lying there with an unfinished ….er….(cough). To say I wasn’t happy is an understatement and then when she came back in and said, “can we sleep now?”, I was even more pissed off.

It was at this point I should have realised how selfish she was, though it took me another few months to accept the fact.

Another drawback is that if you are both right handed, one of you is going to have to use the left hand. My advice is to toss a coin to decide who lies on which side before you toss yourselves or get yourself a left handed partner. Having said that, the woman should be able to use her right hand as it's her wrist has to do more of the work.

But don’t let that put you off, my good experience of mutual onanism is amongst the best sex memories I have, which in recent years is all I have to go on.

p.s If you are wondering if this blog is going to degenerate into pornography, sorry to disappoint you, but it’ll be back to the usual bollocks(maybe I should have chosen a better word) next time I post.

2005-04-11T19:41:00.000+01:00

Shipwrecked On Fraser Island

2005-04-11T19:40:00.000+01:00

Camping On Fraser Island

2005-04-11T19:37:00.000+01:00

Crazy Horses

2005-04-11T19:35:00.000+01:00

Pelicans

2005-04-11T19:32:00.000+01:00

Wild Dolphin At Monkey Mia

2005-04-11T19:31:00.000+01:00

Pelican At Monkey Mia

2005-04-11T19:29:00.000+01:00

Sunrise 2

2005-04-11T19:28:00.000+01:00

Nature's Window

2005-04-11T19:25:00.000+01:00

Sunrise

2005-04-11T19:23:00.000+01:00

Balmain Moustache Week - Please, don't ask!

2005-04-11T19:19:00.000+01:00

Have I Unleashed A Monster?

2005-04-10T13:56:00.000+01:00