Thursday, February 18, 2010
Tory Story - I can do PR, me
Just found a tremendous website where you can make your own very airbrushed 'Dave' Conservative poster, thanks to Taf over at Very Poor. Click here to make your own or see what other people have done.
In the meantime, here are my contributions:
Testes Testes
For some reason, the email delivery thing has stopped. So this is a test. Move on, there's nothing to see here.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Permission to be mightily embarrassed, Sir?
Permission granted. Aaaaaarrrrghh! I really should be banned from going near a computer when I'm stopping smoking. Of course my dark mood has flown as quickly as it came, and today I am left sheepishly reflecting on a rather melodramatic outpouring of self-indulgent nonsense. Again.
Still, it's good to know that I'm not actually mental. And it's a useful point of reference if I have another crisis to know that is isn't actually real. But now I'm in virgin territory - I really don't know what comes next. It's different when you're giving up because of someone else and I've usually fallen over by now. I'm hoping that's it and I've cracked it, but I'm not going to bank on it. That's just what it wants me to think...
So it's back to normality and apologies for those of you that actually read through it all.
Still, it's good to know that I'm not actually mental. And it's a useful point of reference if I have another crisis to know that is isn't actually real. But now I'm in virgin territory - I really don't know what comes next. It's different when you're giving up because of someone else and I've usually fallen over by now. I'm hoping that's it and I've cracked it, but I'm not going to bank on it. That's just what it wants me to think...
So it's back to normality and apologies for those of you that actually read through it all.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
The Spell is Broken, Crisis Averted
Phew. I was ambushed last night by an overwhelming and surprising need to smoke and I was totally unprepared for it. I managed not to smoke, obviously, but it gave me such terribly sad dreams (thanks for nothing, subconscious) that I awoke feeling unbelievably low. I can laugh about it now, but it felt pretty damn real at the time. It was the usual stopping smoking stuff - life is rubbish, you feel crap, you can't cope with it, what you really need is a cigarette, that will make it all better...
Fortunately, I decided to do something about it rather than mope about the house in a cloud of self-pity. I went to Aldi and bought misshapen vegetables, I went for a four-mile walk around Burrator, I made myself a full Sunday roast and I made a huge pot of my special soup to eat during the week. Lovely.
And that did the trick, it got me out of the melancholy in which I'd somehow managed to find myself. It's so weird that it can get me like that, it's like a veil of deception slowly descends and makes you see life in a very different way to how you normally do. It makes you forget what's real and what's not.
It's bizarre, because I'm actually feeling really quite positive about things at the moment. I've stopped smoking (and everyone who knows me will appreciate how important that is for me). I'm living healthily, with proper food and actual real-life exercise and I'm even enjoying it (mostly). Work is better now than it has been for about two years - I've already done more business this year than I did in the whole of last year. Sams is going well, I've got my fundraising mojo back and I'm three weeks into a new training group. I have a tremendous group of friends, both new and old. On the whole, life is pretty good.
On the relationship front, which was the battleground of the latest attack, I'm also feeling pretty comfortable. I've been single for nearly a year and a half and although of course I'd like to eventually meet the girl of my dreams, I'm in no rush to jump into anything. I know what I want and what I don't want. It has to be right, on both sides, and sooner or later, someone I think is brilliant will also think I'm brilliant. Until that point, I'll just carry on being brilliant on my own.
It's just that when the smoking veil of deception is lowered... I forget all of that, I really do. I suddenly feel terribly lonely, insecure, rejected, incapable, demotivated, inadequate, helpless and hopeless... followed by the sickening realisation that the only thing I really have in my life is a cigarette. And that is really how it gets me, often without any real basis whatsoever. It's like being under a magic spell or hypnosis. And it really does take a superhuman effort to snap myself out if it and get back to reality. And when I do, it's actually like waking up from a bad dream, you can't quite believe that you felt like that.
That's one of the reasons why I write these little updates - they're probably not of much use or interest to anyone else but me, but they do enable me to remember what's important when the veil descends. Because it can be frightening - it's so real at the time and yet it's absolutely not me at all. There's a part of you that is in some way aware of what's going on, but no matter how loud you shout, you just can't break the spell.
Fortunately, I'm not the only one. Having spoken to a few ex-smokers and to others who are in the process of stopping smoking, it would appear that my experience is not unique. And that's really quite reassuring to hear, to know that I'm not actually going mad - and that it does go away eventually. Someone has told me that by three months, you're normally out of the woods and into the clear. I'm about halfway there, madness permitting.
One last thing - I will allow myself a modicum of pride - I have managed to overcome the six-week hurdle, which has made me fall so many times in the past. I managed to shake myself out of it, to break the spell and come out of the other side. I'd like that to be the last attack, please, but we'll see. Onwards and upwards.
Fortunately, I decided to do something about it rather than mope about the house in a cloud of self-pity. I went to Aldi and bought misshapen vegetables, I went for a four-mile walk around Burrator, I made myself a full Sunday roast and I made a huge pot of my special soup to eat during the week. Lovely.
And that did the trick, it got me out of the melancholy in which I'd somehow managed to find myself. It's so weird that it can get me like that, it's like a veil of deception slowly descends and makes you see life in a very different way to how you normally do. It makes you forget what's real and what's not.
It's bizarre, because I'm actually feeling really quite positive about things at the moment. I've stopped smoking (and everyone who knows me will appreciate how important that is for me). I'm living healthily, with proper food and actual real-life exercise and I'm even enjoying it (mostly). Work is better now than it has been for about two years - I've already done more business this year than I did in the whole of last year. Sams is going well, I've got my fundraising mojo back and I'm three weeks into a new training group. I have a tremendous group of friends, both new and old. On the whole, life is pretty good.
On the relationship front, which was the battleground of the latest attack, I'm also feeling pretty comfortable. I've been single for nearly a year and a half and although of course I'd like to eventually meet the girl of my dreams, I'm in no rush to jump into anything. I know what I want and what I don't want. It has to be right, on both sides, and sooner or later, someone I think is brilliant will also think I'm brilliant. Until that point, I'll just carry on being brilliant on my own.
It's just that when the smoking veil of deception is lowered... I forget all of that, I really do. I suddenly feel terribly lonely, insecure, rejected, incapable, demotivated, inadequate, helpless and hopeless... followed by the sickening realisation that the only thing I really have in my life is a cigarette. And that is really how it gets me, often without any real basis whatsoever. It's like being under a magic spell or hypnosis. And it really does take a superhuman effort to snap myself out if it and get back to reality. And when I do, it's actually like waking up from a bad dream, you can't quite believe that you felt like that.
That's one of the reasons why I write these little updates - they're probably not of much use or interest to anyone else but me, but they do enable me to remember what's important when the veil descends. Because it can be frightening - it's so real at the time and yet it's absolutely not me at all. There's a part of you that is in some way aware of what's going on, but no matter how loud you shout, you just can't break the spell.
Fortunately, I'm not the only one. Having spoken to a few ex-smokers and to others who are in the process of stopping smoking, it would appear that my experience is not unique. And that's really quite reassuring to hear, to know that I'm not actually going mad - and that it does go away eventually. Someone has told me that by three months, you're normally out of the woods and into the clear. I'm about halfway there, madness permitting.
One last thing - I will allow myself a modicum of pride - I have managed to overcome the six-week hurdle, which has made me fall so many times in the past. I managed to shake myself out of it, to break the spell and come out of the other side. I'd like that to be the last attack, please, but we'll see. Onwards and upwards.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Below the Belt on Valentines Day...
Yup, it's another smoking update. I'm nearly at week 6 of stopping smoking and I've reached the point where the vast majority of my previous attempts to stop have failed. I don't know why it is, but around the six-week mark, the smoking bug just creeps back into my head and I can really, really feel it trying to force its way in. Like menstruating at Castle Dracula, this is a very, very dangerous period.
It was around this time in December that my last attempt failed - back then, I was working nights which made me overtired. This in turn - coupled with smoking withdrawals - made me overemotional, which made me want to smoke. And rather than it being a craving of wanting to smoke, it felt like a fact that it was only a matter of time before I would smoke. Not a fear, not a desire, but a hard, cold, undeniable fact. And no matter how much I tried to dismiss it, not acting on it felt as futile as saying I would never eat or breathe again. I genuinely felt like I didn't have a choice, all I was doing was delaying the inevitable.
This time it's different. Not because I feel different, because I don't. I feel just as vulnerable as I did back in December, perhaps even more so. And I can feel it once more, checking for cracks, looking for a weakness to exploit, trying to get me to recognise the futility of believing I can stop. Tonight, incidentally, it's trying to get me on Valentines Day, trying to get me to reflect on love lost and rejection. It would be so easy to follow that path, to immerse myself in melancholy and misery - it's not fair and it's below the belt. And yet I know where that path will lead. And that's why this time it's different.
It's different because I realise that this is actually just smoke and mirrors. I am normally a tremendously positive person, comfortable with myself and my surroundings, I'm not a particularly insecure person - the only time I get in any way maudling or self-doubting is when it comes to smoking. The physical dependency of smoking is broken within days of stopping - the psychological dependancy takes much, much longer and it undermines my very being until I eventually break. I can't believe that it's taken me this long to really appreciate that.
The complicated thing about all this is that it's hard to tell what's real emotion and what's smoking-related nonsense. I think that there is an element of reality, but that it's magnified manifold by smoking's desire to break me. It's funny - many non-smokers think that smokers are weak. If only they knew the psychological battle we face and the mental strength needed to overcome it.
In the past I have been able to stop smoking, but it's often been for other people. This time I've broken that link and I'm doing it just for me. That's a good thing, and I know that when I do break the psychological hold it has over me, it will taste all the sweeter.
Whatever happens, I will not smoke. It can break me into a thousand pieces, I will not smoke. Because this time I have finally seen it for what it is, it's a con act, an illusion, a simple trick which I have always fallen for - I stop smoking, it makes me feel crap, I dig in, it keeps making me feel crap, eventually I crack and then I smoke. Finally I have worked it out and I will simply not react to it.
In some ways, it feels like I am trapped in a cold, dark cell, with walls of thick, grey stone. And yet if I look closely, the walls are just cinematic props, made of paper. I just have to recognise that, remember that and punch my way through. It's going to take some time, but for the first time ever, I now have a cold, hard, undeniable fact of my own: whatever the question, smoking is not the answer.
It was around this time in December that my last attempt failed - back then, I was working nights which made me overtired. This in turn - coupled with smoking withdrawals - made me overemotional, which made me want to smoke. And rather than it being a craving of wanting to smoke, it felt like a fact that it was only a matter of time before I would smoke. Not a fear, not a desire, but a hard, cold, undeniable fact. And no matter how much I tried to dismiss it, not acting on it felt as futile as saying I would never eat or breathe again. I genuinely felt like I didn't have a choice, all I was doing was delaying the inevitable.
This time it's different. Not because I feel different, because I don't. I feel just as vulnerable as I did back in December, perhaps even more so. And I can feel it once more, checking for cracks, looking for a weakness to exploit, trying to get me to recognise the futility of believing I can stop. Tonight, incidentally, it's trying to get me on Valentines Day, trying to get me to reflect on love lost and rejection. It would be so easy to follow that path, to immerse myself in melancholy and misery - it's not fair and it's below the belt. And yet I know where that path will lead. And that's why this time it's different.
It's different because I realise that this is actually just smoke and mirrors. I am normally a tremendously positive person, comfortable with myself and my surroundings, I'm not a particularly insecure person - the only time I get in any way maudling or self-doubting is when it comes to smoking. The physical dependency of smoking is broken within days of stopping - the psychological dependancy takes much, much longer and it undermines my very being until I eventually break. I can't believe that it's taken me this long to really appreciate that.
The complicated thing about all this is that it's hard to tell what's real emotion and what's smoking-related nonsense. I think that there is an element of reality, but that it's magnified manifold by smoking's desire to break me. It's funny - many non-smokers think that smokers are weak. If only they knew the psychological battle we face and the mental strength needed to overcome it.
In the past I have been able to stop smoking, but it's often been for other people. This time I've broken that link and I'm doing it just for me. That's a good thing, and I know that when I do break the psychological hold it has over me, it will taste all the sweeter.
Whatever happens, I will not smoke. It can break me into a thousand pieces, I will not smoke. Because this time I have finally seen it for what it is, it's a con act, an illusion, a simple trick which I have always fallen for - I stop smoking, it makes me feel crap, I dig in, it keeps making me feel crap, eventually I crack and then I smoke. Finally I have worked it out and I will simply not react to it.
In some ways, it feels like I am trapped in a cold, dark cell, with walls of thick, grey stone. And yet if I look closely, the walls are just cinematic props, made of paper. I just have to recognise that, remember that and punch my way through. It's going to take some time, but for the first time ever, I now have a cold, hard, undeniable fact of my own: whatever the question, smoking is not the answer.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Run Fatboy Run
Well, I'm a month into my training routine for the Plymouth Half Marathon and truth be told, I've hit a bit of a snag. See, I have never really run in my life - and I only stopped smoking just over a month ago, so my initial level of fitness isn't the best. I found a running schedule for beginners on the internet to prepare for a half marathon in 20 weeks and I can't keep up. Or more to the point, my fitness isn't improving fast enough to keep up with the schedule. I guess there are 'normal beginners' and then there's me.
To be fair to my already dented pride, I always thought the schedule was ambitious, to say the least. To go from wheezing, smoking couch potato to running for 30 minutes without stopping in just 6 weeks was simply never going to happen, no matter how many ice baths I take. And I haven't missed a session in the last 5 weeks or so since I started, no matter how much I hurt - I just can't progress at the level I should be according to the schedule.
At first glance, this may appear to be yet another 'Chez in massively over-ambitious and highly unrealistic doomed to fail plan shocker', but it won't be. I am training when I need to, I just need to take it more at my own pace and develop naturally and organically, rather than by some off the peg plan. The plan works on paper, but is simply unrealistic in real life.
So I have thrown it in the bin and got a more realistic plan from a friend who's recently got into running herself - I've tweaked my diet to be a bit more training-friendly - and now that my fitness is better, I'm ready to go to the gym to build up a bit of muscle so my shell-shocked body can handle it a bit better. And I'm still doing the ice baths - my legs would have fallen off by now without them. Seriously, they're not as bad as you think. Well, they are, but you get used to it.
And the marathon? Well, my plan is to not worry about it too much, just gradually keep increasing my fitness. And I suspect that if I am able to do that, to the point where I can run for more than half an hour without stopping - well, I will run, walk and crawl my way round if I have to.
To be fair to my already dented pride, I always thought the schedule was ambitious, to say the least. To go from wheezing, smoking couch potato to running for 30 minutes without stopping in just 6 weeks was simply never going to happen, no matter how many ice baths I take. And I haven't missed a session in the last 5 weeks or so since I started, no matter how much I hurt - I just can't progress at the level I should be according to the schedule.
At first glance, this may appear to be yet another 'Chez in massively over-ambitious and highly unrealistic doomed to fail plan shocker', but it won't be. I am training when I need to, I just need to take it more at my own pace and develop naturally and organically, rather than by some off the peg plan. The plan works on paper, but is simply unrealistic in real life.
So I have thrown it in the bin and got a more realistic plan from a friend who's recently got into running herself - I've tweaked my diet to be a bit more training-friendly - and now that my fitness is better, I'm ready to go to the gym to build up a bit of muscle so my shell-shocked body can handle it a bit better. And I'm still doing the ice baths - my legs would have fallen off by now without them. Seriously, they're not as bad as you think. Well, they are, but you get used to it.
And the marathon? Well, my plan is to not worry about it too much, just gradually keep increasing my fitness. And I suspect that if I am able to do that, to the point where I can run for more than half an hour without stopping - well, I will run, walk and crawl my way round if I have to.
Monday, February 01, 2010
Opponents of Assisted Suicide still convinced it's any of their business
PEOPLE who are opposed to assisted suicide are still absolutely convinced that it is any of their business, according to a new survey.
A BBC opinion poll found that of those who are against voluntary euthanasia, more than half are 'fairly' or 'reasonably' sure they need to have an ill-informed opinion about the inner-most recesses of someone else's soul.
Meanwhile almost a third continue to believe it is more their business than the person who is actually trying to kill themselves.
The poll asked, 'Someone you don't know with a horrible disease wants a close friend or relative to help them end their lives - what the fuck has it got to do with you?'.
According to the survey 22% said 'a bit the fuck to do with me', 46% said 'a lot the fuck to do with me' and the remaining 32% said that absolutely everything was their business all the time.
The survey is part of a Panorama special on people who have been charged with the murder of a relative after the Crown Prosecution Service decided not to listen to a single word they were saying.
Professor Henry Brubaker, of the Institute for Studies, said: "While there is always the risk of someone using it as a cover for actual homicide, in the vast majority of cases it really is none of your business, so just shut up.
"Meanwhile if the police suspect foul play there is nothing to stop them launching a full investigation, thus giving Midsomer Murders that glorious whiff of authenticity."
Terminal illness sufferer Julian Cook, from Grantham, added: "If they're so sure that the number of days I choose to be alive has got something to do with them then perhaps they could give my wife the afternoon off and help me wipe my bum while telling me lots of fascinating things about Jesus."
From the Daily Mash
A BBC opinion poll found that of those who are against voluntary euthanasia, more than half are 'fairly' or 'reasonably' sure they need to have an ill-informed opinion about the inner-most recesses of someone else's soul.
Meanwhile almost a third continue to believe it is more their business than the person who is actually trying to kill themselves.
The poll asked, 'Someone you don't know with a horrible disease wants a close friend or relative to help them end their lives - what the fuck has it got to do with you?'.
According to the survey 22% said 'a bit the fuck to do with me', 46% said 'a lot the fuck to do with me' and the remaining 32% said that absolutely everything was their business all the time.
The survey is part of a Panorama special on people who have been charged with the murder of a relative after the Crown Prosecution Service decided not to listen to a single word they were saying.
Professor Henry Brubaker, of the Institute for Studies, said: "While there is always the risk of someone using it as a cover for actual homicide, in the vast majority of cases it really is none of your business, so just shut up.
"Meanwhile if the police suspect foul play there is nothing to stop them launching a full investigation, thus giving Midsomer Murders that glorious whiff of authenticity."
Terminal illness sufferer Julian Cook, from Grantham, added: "If they're so sure that the number of days I choose to be alive has got something to do with them then perhaps they could give my wife the afternoon off and help me wipe my bum while telling me lots of fascinating things about Jesus."
From the Daily Mash
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Fags for Nothing
Today I have reached the magical three week mark of stopping smoking, and as such, I am now officially no longer mental. Therefore, unless the absolutely unthinkable happens (which it won't), there will be no more smoking updates. Simply assume that I'm still not smoking unless you hear otherwise (which you won't). And believe me, if I do fall over again (which I won't), the fallout will make Chernobyl look like a birthday candle (although hopefully with fewer dead sheep).
Monday, January 25, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Marval-ous
Just spent a short mini-break with friends in la belle France and managed not to smoke for the whole time I was out there. What was especially pleasing was the fact that many of my old triggers were there and I wasn't the slightest bit tempted.
On the first night, I only had one hour's sleep, which left me feeling massively overtired and therefore a little bit emotionally fragile. This was what got me last time, but this time, I managed to not react like a petulant infant. Throughout the weekend, I was in the company of three people that were smoking and there was also a fair amount of alcohol. Although I was careful on the alcohol side, I didn't find that drinking or being around smokers made me want to smoke. I was tremendously pleased about that.
All things being considered, I felt pretty good about it all. Wednesday will be the three-week magic mark and hopefully bring an end to the emotional turmoil I always get in those first three weeks. I'm feeling overtired again this evening and therefore still a bit wide-eyed (it's amazing how lack of sleep really does affect me) but it's nothing a good night's sleep won't sort out and I should be completely back to normal by Wednesday.
I'm hoping that my brain doesn't find something wonderfully interesting and yet strangely pointless to occupy itself with tonight. Last night, having spent the evening reading a book about eco-houses and do-it-yourself builds, I was awake until around 3 in the morning imagining how I would build a yurt complex around a giant tree. I pondered over the idea of incorporating a double-decker bus into the scheme - it's always been a bit of a dream of mine to convert and live in a double-decker bus. I decided that I would try to include it, if at all possible, perhaps somewhere in the centre.
After spending around half an hour trying to work out the logistics of the composting toilet, I remembered that I don't actually own any land (with or without a giant tree) or a bus and am not likely to in the foreseeable future. And with that, I turned over and finally went to sleep. Still, it's good to have dreams, eh? Something to work towards - so long as the dreams don't keep me awake all night.
Oh, and France? We were in Marval, which is erm, in the middle of France somewhere. We spent a couple of days in a beautiful house with our friend's mum, which was wonderful (thanks Fred!). I ate my own bodyweight in cheese and loveliness, went to a market, bought some tea, discovered the wonders of a raclette (I've never had so much fun cooking a tiny omelette) and I saw a real-life leopard-skin horse (at first I thought it was a zebra, but instead of stripes, it had spots).
All in all, a top weekend. Great company, great surroundings, good food, no slip-ups and I even managed to stick to my new running routine when I was out there. I'm sad to see Anna once more head off for distant shores... Still, if I can just get my work stuff back on track, there's a holiday in the Maldives with my name written on it...
On the first night, I only had one hour's sleep, which left me feeling massively overtired and therefore a little bit emotionally fragile. This was what got me last time, but this time, I managed to not react like a petulant infant. Throughout the weekend, I was in the company of three people that were smoking and there was also a fair amount of alcohol. Although I was careful on the alcohol side, I didn't find that drinking or being around smokers made me want to smoke. I was tremendously pleased about that.
All things being considered, I felt pretty good about it all. Wednesday will be the three-week magic mark and hopefully bring an end to the emotional turmoil I always get in those first three weeks. I'm feeling overtired again this evening and therefore still a bit wide-eyed (it's amazing how lack of sleep really does affect me) but it's nothing a good night's sleep won't sort out and I should be completely back to normal by Wednesday.
I'm hoping that my brain doesn't find something wonderfully interesting and yet strangely pointless to occupy itself with tonight. Last night, having spent the evening reading a book about eco-houses and do-it-yourself builds, I was awake until around 3 in the morning imagining how I would build a yurt complex around a giant tree. I pondered over the idea of incorporating a double-decker bus into the scheme - it's always been a bit of a dream of mine to convert and live in a double-decker bus. I decided that I would try to include it, if at all possible, perhaps somewhere in the centre.
After spending around half an hour trying to work out the logistics of the composting toilet, I remembered that I don't actually own any land (with or without a giant tree) or a bus and am not likely to in the foreseeable future. And with that, I turned over and finally went to sleep. Still, it's good to have dreams, eh? Something to work towards - so long as the dreams don't keep me awake all night.
Oh, and France? We were in Marval, which is erm, in the middle of France somewhere. We spent a couple of days in a beautiful house with our friend's mum, which was wonderful (thanks Fred!). I ate my own bodyweight in cheese and loveliness, went to a market, bought some tea, discovered the wonders of a raclette (I've never had so much fun cooking a tiny omelette) and I saw a real-life leopard-skin horse (at first I thought it was a zebra, but instead of stripes, it had spots).
All in all, a top weekend. Great company, great surroundings, good food, no slip-ups and I even managed to stick to my new running routine when I was out there. I'm sad to see Anna once more head off for distant shores... Still, if I can just get my work stuff back on track, there's a holiday in the Maldives with my name written on it...
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Running Man
I am now in my second week of training for the Plymouth Half Marathon, and things are indeed hotting up. I did about two miles today (half walk, half run) and my fitness is already starting to improve. And bizarrely, I actually really enjoyed it. I mean yes, it was hard, I thought my legs were going to fall off and yes, I did have to really push myself, especially at the end. But I found myself smiling once I'd finished, and I was deliriously happy and rather hyper for about 2 hours afterwards. In fact, it felt almost exactly like being on ecstacy, I should imagine.
Afterwards, I tried a new thing, which I was tremendously excited about. I tried an ice bath. You have to remember, I haven't run since, well, never. And after the first couple of training sessions, my poor underused muscles were screaming. Not just afterwards, I'm talking about three days later, when it was time to do the next training session. Then I remembered Eddie Izzard got through his marathons with ice baths, so I did a bit of research. And apparently ice baths really do help.
So I emptied a bag of ice into the bath and filled it with cold water. I'm thankful that no-one was in the house at that time, they would have thought I was being raped by an eskimo. I have never experienced anything quite like it. It wasn't too bad once I got used to it, but the first five minutes or so - well, it would have been less painful if I'd punched myself in the nuts. With a hammer. With a spike in it. Whilst on fire. With a steam iron tied to my cock.
However, the effect was simply magical. My throbbing legs hurt no more, there was no stiffness whatsoever (not surprising in water that cold). And the best bit of all - an hour later, when I had a hot shower, every single nerve in my body tingled. It was exactly like having a shower on speed, I should imagine.
I think the biggest surprise of all of this is that I'm actually starting to enjoy it and incredibly, I'm actually looking forward to the next one. I always thought that getting fit was something you sort of felt you should do, but it wouldn't be much fun and would probably hurt quite a lot. A bit like having sex with Madonna or punching Bono.
And that's the reason why I signed up for the marathon. I thought if I signed up for something and then told everyone I was going to do it sponsored for Samaritans - I wouldn't allow myself not to do it, for fear of letting people down and the shame of admitting I actually have no mental grit or discipline. I never thought for a second that I'd actually enjoy any of it.
Oh, and smoking? Yes, I do still think of it from time to time. And I'm not quite ready to be surrounded by it. But it's a lot easier and I have without a doubt cracked it. Yup, all in all, 2010 is shaping up to be a good year.
Afterwards, I tried a new thing, which I was tremendously excited about. I tried an ice bath. You have to remember, I haven't run since, well, never. And after the first couple of training sessions, my poor underused muscles were screaming. Not just afterwards, I'm talking about three days later, when it was time to do the next training session. Then I remembered Eddie Izzard got through his marathons with ice baths, so I did a bit of research. And apparently ice baths really do help.
So I emptied a bag of ice into the bath and filled it with cold water. I'm thankful that no-one was in the house at that time, they would have thought I was being raped by an eskimo. I have never experienced anything quite like it. It wasn't too bad once I got used to it, but the first five minutes or so - well, it would have been less painful if I'd punched myself in the nuts. With a hammer. With a spike in it. Whilst on fire. With a steam iron tied to my cock.
However, the effect was simply magical. My throbbing legs hurt no more, there was no stiffness whatsoever (not surprising in water that cold). And the best bit of all - an hour later, when I had a hot shower, every single nerve in my body tingled. It was exactly like having a shower on speed, I should imagine.
I think the biggest surprise of all of this is that I'm actually starting to enjoy it and incredibly, I'm actually looking forward to the next one. I always thought that getting fit was something you sort of felt you should do, but it wouldn't be much fun and would probably hurt quite a lot. A bit like having sex with Madonna or punching Bono.
And that's the reason why I signed up for the marathon. I thought if I signed up for something and then told everyone I was going to do it sponsored for Samaritans - I wouldn't allow myself not to do it, for fear of letting people down and the shame of admitting I actually have no mental grit or discipline. I never thought for a second that I'd actually enjoy any of it.
Oh, and smoking? Yes, I do still think of it from time to time. And I'm not quite ready to be surrounded by it. But it's a lot easier and I have without a doubt cracked it. Yup, all in all, 2010 is shaping up to be a good year.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
I love the smell of permanent marker in the morning. It smells like victory.
OK, so it's day whatever on the stopping smoking front and that's quite a good sign. When you forget how long it's been since you stopped (I think it's about nine or ten days), you know you're really on the way up. Next milestone is the three week stage, which is when proper normality should resume. I do still get the odd faint urge, plus the occasional bout of wibble. That should come to an end in about 10 days time. All I have to do now is just remember never to smoke ever again. Bizarrely, that's what's always got me in the past. However, I very much doubt that I will fall again. I am already starting to feel like a non-smoker.
Today was only my second training session for the Plymouth Half Marathon and I already hate running and want it to die. And I cannot find my yellow running trousers for love nor money, so I'm having to wear shorts. Although on reflection, that's probably not a bad thing. On the plus side, I did manage to do about a mile, so if I can just get fit enough to do that another 13 times in one go without collapsing, I should be fine.
I have to admit, though - the best bit about it is getting back in the house and putting a big black cross through the training schedule date I have pinned to my mirror. There's something very satisfying about putting a big black cross through anything.
I'm starting to wonder if I'm actually going to get fit. The last time I got fit was purely by accident and completely out of laziness. I was at university and lived around an hour's walk from campus. My bike was stolen after about three days, so I had to walk in. Uni started at around 9am, and that meant getting up at around 7.30 to be on time. Invariably, I'd end up staying in bed til about 8.30 and then would have to run to try to avoid being too late.
I quickly realised that the fitter I was - and the more I could run - meant the longer I could stay in bed. So I ended up running to Uni every morning (in Doc Martens and a leather jacket, incredibly) and became really very fit indeed. Until I eventually realised that a moped was even faster and meant even more time in bed, and that was the end of that.
This may well be the first time I will ever get fit out of choice. I will keep you informed as to the developments.
Today was only my second training session for the Plymouth Half Marathon and I already hate running and want it to die. And I cannot find my yellow running trousers for love nor money, so I'm having to wear shorts. Although on reflection, that's probably not a bad thing. On the plus side, I did manage to do about a mile, so if I can just get fit enough to do that another 13 times in one go without collapsing, I should be fine.
I have to admit, though - the best bit about it is getting back in the house and putting a big black cross through the training schedule date I have pinned to my mirror. There's something very satisfying about putting a big black cross through anything.
I'm starting to wonder if I'm actually going to get fit. The last time I got fit was purely by accident and completely out of laziness. I was at university and lived around an hour's walk from campus. My bike was stolen after about three days, so I had to walk in. Uni started at around 9am, and that meant getting up at around 7.30 to be on time. Invariably, I'd end up staying in bed til about 8.30 and then would have to run to try to avoid being too late.
I quickly realised that the fitter I was - and the more I could run - meant the longer I could stay in bed. So I ended up running to Uni every morning (in Doc Martens and a leather jacket, incredibly) and became really very fit indeed. Until I eventually realised that a moped was even faster and meant even more time in bed, and that was the end of that.
This may well be the first time I will ever get fit out of choice. I will keep you informed as to the developments.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Five is the Magic Number
Big sigh of relief all round as I have reached the first smoking milestone - the magical Day Five. Day five is the day when the cravings subside, a level of normality returns and I stop being quite so melodramatic.
I still have some way to go before I reach the next milestone of three weeks, so I'm not out of the woods just yet. But in general it's a much milder and more subtle form of madness - more hapless than Hamlet, you could say. But the bare-chested, mano-a-mano battle is over and for that, I am grateful.
Actually, this is the first day I've been able to feel positive about stuff this year. It's taken ten days, but slowly I feel like I'm starting to get my head above water and make some progress. I've made some amazing curried soup for work tomorrow, I've bought some running shoes for the Half Marathon I'll be doing in May (plus found a total beginners plan to do it) and I'm really starting to feel good on the smoking front. Thank you for all your kind words of support.
I don't want to tempt fate - but whisper it quietly, the boy might be back on the way up. In no time at all I'll be back to nob gags and terrible puns. Happy belated 2010.
I still have some way to go before I reach the next milestone of three weeks, so I'm not out of the woods just yet. But in general it's a much milder and more subtle form of madness - more hapless than Hamlet, you could say. But the bare-chested, mano-a-mano battle is over and for that, I am grateful.
Actually, this is the first day I've been able to feel positive about stuff this year. It's taken ten days, but slowly I feel like I'm starting to get my head above water and make some progress. I've made some amazing curried soup for work tomorrow, I've bought some running shoes for the Half Marathon I'll be doing in May (plus found a total beginners plan to do it) and I'm really starting to feel good on the smoking front. Thank you for all your kind words of support.
I don't want to tempt fate - but whisper it quietly, the boy might be back on the way up. In no time at all I'll be back to nob gags and terrible puns. Happy belated 2010.
Saturday, January 09, 2010
The Morning After the Night Before
Ahem. This morning I am feeling mildly sheepish about my nicotine withdrawal-fuelled emotional outpouring last night. There is always a moment when I stop smoking where I feel that I am going to fail and I am going to smoke. I feel that it is simply inevitable and I might as well just go out and buy cigarettes right now. And that's the point when you really do have to dig deep, to keep fighting even though you feel that you have a 0% chance of success. To keep fighting when all hope is lost really does require an enormous amount of mental strength.
Bizarrely, that's what non-smokers can never understand. Smokers are not all weak-willed, ill-disciplined idiots. The thing about stopping smoking is that you have to have willpower and strength and never, ever have a moment of weakness for the rest of your life. It's no good being strong for 364 days a year, but weak for 1 - that one day will make you fail. Can you, as a non-smoker, imagine being mentally and emotionally strong without one minute of weakness ALL THE TIME, FOREVER? No matter what? Heartbreak, bad news, stress, worry... Yes, it gets easier over time - but you always have to be on your guard and that does take real discipline and inner strength.
Fortunately I managed to get through that last night and this morning things are looking a lot more positive. I'm not out of the woods just yet, but I can certainly see more daylight. And I'm feeling better too.
Incidentally, I do have something to hold onto for this - I would like to do the Plymouth Half-Marathon this year (which is on May 31st) and to do this, I need to be fit. Last time I wasn't smoking (in Portugal) I managed to walk 15 miles, so theoretically it's not impossible... What do you think? Reckon I'll do it?
Bizarrely, that's what non-smokers can never understand. Smokers are not all weak-willed, ill-disciplined idiots. The thing about stopping smoking is that you have to have willpower and strength and never, ever have a moment of weakness for the rest of your life. It's no good being strong for 364 days a year, but weak for 1 - that one day will make you fail. Can you, as a non-smoker, imagine being mentally and emotionally strong without one minute of weakness ALL THE TIME, FOREVER? No matter what? Heartbreak, bad news, stress, worry... Yes, it gets easier over time - but you always have to be on your guard and that does take real discipline and inner strength.
Fortunately I managed to get through that last night and this morning things are looking a lot more positive. I'm not out of the woods just yet, but I can certainly see more daylight. And I'm feeling better too.
Incidentally, I do have something to hold onto for this - I would like to do the Plymouth Half-Marathon this year (which is on May 31st) and to do this, I need to be fit. Last time I wasn't smoking (in Portugal) I managed to walk 15 miles, so theoretically it's not impossible... What do you think? Reckon I'll do it?
Friday, January 08, 2010
Drawing Lines in the Sand
Arse and buggery, things are afoot this evening... As many of you know, I've been fighting the bastarding shitweasel that is nicotine for some considerable time, with mixed success. Last year I stopped in June sometime, only to fall over when I went to Portugal. I managed to stop again in November before the late nights of Royal Mail finally got me to fall again shortly before Xmas.
My last plan had been to stop again once and for all on January 1st, but sadly that was not to be as the fates conspired to block that attempt. However, I have pulled myself together and am currently on Day Three of what I am determined will be the last time I ever have to do this. And although it's never easy to stop smoking, tonight I am finding it particularly hard.
Usually when I stop smoking, I like to give myself a clear run up at it - I tend to pick a time when things are fairly relaxed and easy, and get through it by distracting myself and only thinking about light and fluffy things... But that's not how things are right now. Life is complex and distraction is pretty much impossible. So there are two choices - either keep smoking until things get easier or just get stuck in and fight it face to face.
I've decided to get stuck in, and so far I've been able to keep it at bay, although it's harder than it's ever been. Stopping smoking is like being in a concrete bunker during an alien spider invasion. You lock yourself in, but you can hear them hammering on every wall, every brick, every door, hammering every second of every day and night without stopping, trying to find a way inside. And there is no concrete bunker, except for the one you have crafted in your own mind. If the spiders find even the slightest weakness, they pour in and your bunker falls.
And tonight the walls feel very thin. It's so tempting to think I've chosen the wrong time, there is too much else going on around me to remain strong enough to do this. And yet at the same time, I feel that perhaps doing it now will make it more permanent. The harder it is, the less likely I am to give it up on a whim.
I am still sure that this will be the last time I do this. I have said that before, but this time it feels different. There have been times in my life when smoking has taken priority over the things that really mattered in my life. Never intentionally, of course - that's just the nature of any addiction. But realising that has really opened my eyes and it's something I never intend to repeat. So for that reason alone, failure is not an option.
And 2010 is going to be the line in the sand that I asked it to be - it's just that the line is not necessarily where I would have chosen to draw it. Still, writing this has helped tremendously and the walls now feel a little thicker. I'm sure this won't be the last time I struggle with this over the coming days and weeks - but it is without a doubt a new beginning and it should get easier, with time...
Oh, and I also mustn't forget - I am a total and utter drama queen in the first week of stopping smoking and everything is magnified tenfold. It's not easy dealing with anything when you have the emotional stability of a pre-menstrual jellyfish.
Wish me luck. I'll keep you updated.
My last plan had been to stop again once and for all on January 1st, but sadly that was not to be as the fates conspired to block that attempt. However, I have pulled myself together and am currently on Day Three of what I am determined will be the last time I ever have to do this. And although it's never easy to stop smoking, tonight I am finding it particularly hard.
Usually when I stop smoking, I like to give myself a clear run up at it - I tend to pick a time when things are fairly relaxed and easy, and get through it by distracting myself and only thinking about light and fluffy things... But that's not how things are right now. Life is complex and distraction is pretty much impossible. So there are two choices - either keep smoking until things get easier or just get stuck in and fight it face to face.
I've decided to get stuck in, and so far I've been able to keep it at bay, although it's harder than it's ever been. Stopping smoking is like being in a concrete bunker during an alien spider invasion. You lock yourself in, but you can hear them hammering on every wall, every brick, every door, hammering every second of every day and night without stopping, trying to find a way inside. And there is no concrete bunker, except for the one you have crafted in your own mind. If the spiders find even the slightest weakness, they pour in and your bunker falls.
And tonight the walls feel very thin. It's so tempting to think I've chosen the wrong time, there is too much else going on around me to remain strong enough to do this. And yet at the same time, I feel that perhaps doing it now will make it more permanent. The harder it is, the less likely I am to give it up on a whim.
I am still sure that this will be the last time I do this. I have said that before, but this time it feels different. There have been times in my life when smoking has taken priority over the things that really mattered in my life. Never intentionally, of course - that's just the nature of any addiction. But realising that has really opened my eyes and it's something I never intend to repeat. So for that reason alone, failure is not an option.
And 2010 is going to be the line in the sand that I asked it to be - it's just that the line is not necessarily where I would have chosen to draw it. Still, writing this has helped tremendously and the walls now feel a little thicker. I'm sure this won't be the last time I struggle with this over the coming days and weeks - but it is without a doubt a new beginning and it should get easier, with time...
Oh, and I also mustn't forget - I am a total and utter drama queen in the first week of stopping smoking and everything is magnified tenfold. It's not easy dealing with anything when you have the emotional stability of a pre-menstrual jellyfish.
Wish me luck. I'll keep you updated.
Friday, January 01, 2010
Out with the Noughties, in with the Teenies
So 2009 is done and dusted and all I can say is thank god it's over. It has been at best a complicated year, at worst a downright shocker. There have been some positives - but sadly they have been rather outmuscled by the negatives. Still, the noughties are gone and it's onwards and upwards; we now look forward to what the teenies are going to bring...
Every New Year's Eve I say that I have high hopes for the year ahead - that's an occupational hazard of being a hopeless optimist. And this year is no different - except perhaps it's more of a quiet determination to implement change, without fanfare or fuss, rather than just blind optimism or wishful thinking. It's not the empty promise of a New Year's resolution, rather a resolve to start implementing the lessons I've had to learn the hard way.
I've made mistakes, and have paid for each and every one; at times I've been the architect of my malaise, and at other times I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's been a white-knuckle ride from start to finish and for all the wrong reasons. And yet I've learnt a lot, I've become stronger and I'm still here.
If nothing else, I've grown up a lot this year. In many ways, I've had to. You can't undo your mistakes, but you can take responsibility for them and try to learn from them. And you can't choose your fortune, good or bad; all you can do is take the rough with the smooth and try to do the best you can with what you're given.
So let's hope it is indeed a Happy New Year, both for me and for you, dear reader. And that 2010 smiles on us all.
Every New Year's Eve I say that I have high hopes for the year ahead - that's an occupational hazard of being a hopeless optimist. And this year is no different - except perhaps it's more of a quiet determination to implement change, without fanfare or fuss, rather than just blind optimism or wishful thinking. It's not the empty promise of a New Year's resolution, rather a resolve to start implementing the lessons I've had to learn the hard way.
I've made mistakes, and have paid for each and every one; at times I've been the architect of my malaise, and at other times I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It's been a white-knuckle ride from start to finish and for all the wrong reasons. And yet I've learnt a lot, I've become stronger and I'm still here.
If nothing else, I've grown up a lot this year. In many ways, I've had to. You can't undo your mistakes, but you can take responsibility for them and try to learn from them. And you can't choose your fortune, good or bad; all you can do is take the rough with the smooth and try to do the best you can with what you're given.
So let's hope it is indeed a Happy New Year, both for me and for you, dear reader. And that 2010 smiles on us all.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
The Pirate Sketch from The Million Pound Radio Show
Yes... Finally, I've found it. I've been looking for this sketch for years! You should definitely have a listen to this.
THE PIRATE SKETCH
THE PIRATE SKETCH
Friday, November 13, 2009
Birthday Bonanza!
I've had a great couple of days, which climaxed in a rollercoaster birthday today. I've bought a camper van from Ebay (again. I know. Shut up.) and it's been rather an adventure.
The van - a mighty 2 litre Bedford CF2 in British racing green - was situated in Dover, so I decided to pay a visit to the mighty Tafkass in Folkestone on the way. Buoyed by my good fortune at finding a coach ticket from Plymouth to Folkestone for the paltry sum of £14, I set off on Tuesday morning in good spirits. And the good spirits continued upon my arrival in Folkestone, as we once again raped Taf's whisky collection.
Following a hearty vegetarian breakfast with the Ladies & Gentlemen of the road in Folkestone's finest Wetherspoons, we made our way to my new van. After an emotional goodbye, Taf dropped me off and I picked up my new purchase - the Baron. (so called as I will paint him red and he's empty inside).
Apart from reverse gear being where 1st gear should be (and therefore crunching the gearbox a few times on the way), my journey in the Baron was uneventful. As I reached the M25, my plan had been to drive straight home to Plymouth - but at the last minute, I suddenly decided to turn right to Ipswich instead, and make a surprise visit to my family.
Today was my birthday and it was great to spend it with my family for the first time in many years. And then finally it was time to head home - so I managed about a mile down the road before I suddenly broke down.
Oh no! The horror! For shame, to break down on my birthday! Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to also buy breakdown insurance (with my record on breaking cars and camper vans, it would be suicidal not to) so I called for help.
After the rozzers had nicely towed me off the dual carriageway (fortunately failing to see that my tax had actually run out in May - ahem), the cavalry arrived. Alas! My van was broken and he could not fix it. So he towed me back to the depot, whereupon he confirmed that I was to be towed back to Plymouth.
Down and deflated, I sat in the waiting room - another broken van. Another silly purchase. Another long journey on the back of a tow truck. Harumph. And off we set, some three hours later after I'd originally set off from my parents.
But all was not lost! The man in the van mentioned casually that my van wasn't actually broken - I'd just run out of petrol! And although we'd stuck a bit more petrol in it, the fuel pipe was just blocked with air. He'd cleared the blockage - and drove it onto the back of the tow truck. There was in fact nothing wrong with the van - he just fancied a trip to Plymouth.
Hurrah! So I saved a fair old whack in petrol home (it is a little thirsty on petrol, more thirsty than I had hoped), got back much quicker than the Baron would have done. And it doesn't need fixing.
As for the Baron - sadly, he's not quite wide enough for me to sleep in sideways, and is also a bit petrol-thirsty. So I have decided to kit him out as a proper camper van, get an MOT on him and sell him (hopefully for a considerable profit) back on Ebay.
So, all in all - I was disappointed to find out that the van wasn't really suitable for me and to break down - but all was well in the end. Let's hope that Friday the 13th is a little bit calmer than Thursday 12.
The van - a mighty 2 litre Bedford CF2 in British racing green - was situated in Dover, so I decided to pay a visit to the mighty Tafkass in Folkestone on the way. Buoyed by my good fortune at finding a coach ticket from Plymouth to Folkestone for the paltry sum of £14, I set off on Tuesday morning in good spirits. And the good spirits continued upon my arrival in Folkestone, as we once again raped Taf's whisky collection.
Following a hearty vegetarian breakfast with the Ladies & Gentlemen of the road in Folkestone's finest Wetherspoons, we made our way to my new van. After an emotional goodbye, Taf dropped me off and I picked up my new purchase - the Baron. (so called as I will paint him red and he's empty inside).
Apart from reverse gear being where 1st gear should be (and therefore crunching the gearbox a few times on the way), my journey in the Baron was uneventful. As I reached the M25, my plan had been to drive straight home to Plymouth - but at the last minute, I suddenly decided to turn right to Ipswich instead, and make a surprise visit to my family.
Today was my birthday and it was great to spend it with my family for the first time in many years. And then finally it was time to head home - so I managed about a mile down the road before I suddenly broke down.
Oh no! The horror! For shame, to break down on my birthday! Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to also buy breakdown insurance (with my record on breaking cars and camper vans, it would be suicidal not to) so I called for help.
After the rozzers had nicely towed me off the dual carriageway (fortunately failing to see that my tax had actually run out in May - ahem), the cavalry arrived. Alas! My van was broken and he could not fix it. So he towed me back to the depot, whereupon he confirmed that I was to be towed back to Plymouth.
Down and deflated, I sat in the waiting room - another broken van. Another silly purchase. Another long journey on the back of a tow truck. Harumph. And off we set, some three hours later after I'd originally set off from my parents.
But all was not lost! The man in the van mentioned casually that my van wasn't actually broken - I'd just run out of petrol! And although we'd stuck a bit more petrol in it, the fuel pipe was just blocked with air. He'd cleared the blockage - and drove it onto the back of the tow truck. There was in fact nothing wrong with the van - he just fancied a trip to Plymouth.
Hurrah! So I saved a fair old whack in petrol home (it is a little thirsty on petrol, more thirsty than I had hoped), got back much quicker than the Baron would have done. And it doesn't need fixing.
As for the Baron - sadly, he's not quite wide enough for me to sleep in sideways, and is also a bit petrol-thirsty. So I have decided to kit him out as a proper camper van, get an MOT on him and sell him (hopefully for a considerable profit) back on Ebay.
So, all in all - I was disappointed to find out that the van wasn't really suitable for me and to break down - but all was well in the end. Let's hope that Friday the 13th is a little bit calmer than Thursday 12.
Monday, November 09, 2009
You can't polish a turd, but you can rub it in Glitter
Yes alright, it's perhaps not a particularly appropriate or fitting headline for a fictional documentary on capital punishment, but I thought 'The Execution of Gary Glitter' was both thought-provoking and very well written. Most of the characters were believable and Hilton McRae was simply excellent as the man himself.
I also think the decision to make it as a documentary was rather inspired - and thought the writers were careful not to take sides. There was no question of it being a vehicle to ram home their own opinions, and neither side was portrayed as right or wrong. The death penalty is without doubt a moral quagmire - and the whole point of the show was to question our own attitudes to it. Indeed, it has put the topic of capital punishment firmly back in the public spotlight for the first time in years.
I think there is no more emotive subject than child rape - and on that basis, it is hard to argue for human rights for anyone that carries out such an abhorrent crime. I don't have children, but I do have nephews - and if that happened to any of them, my initial reaction would certainly be that I want to kill the person who did it. But would I? If it actually came to it? Would I actually take another person's life?
And I have to say, the honest answer is no, I wouldn't. Right at the end - if it really came to it, I wouldn't. Oh don't get me wrong, I would want them to pay for what they'd done. But, at the end of the day, I am not a monster. And I feel that if we play by the same rules as the evil we're trying to fight, then eventually we become what it is we are trying to overcome.
Ghandi once said "There are many causes that I am prepared to die for, but no causes that I am prepared to kill for".
It's not that these monsters deserve to live - it's just that we mustn't descend to their level. You don't fight evil with evil.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Three is the Magic Number
I've finally hit the magic three weeks of not smoking, although it actually feels like three months since I stopped. But three weeks is an important moment in not smoking - it's the time when the madness finally departs, when smoking stops being an integral part of your life and when you start being yourself again.
Oh don't get me wrong, I still have the odd urge - that quiet voice in your ear, the quietest of suggestions... And perhaps that never really leaves you, I don't know. And perhaps accepting and understanding that is what will stop me from falling over again in the future. I truly hope so. But right now, I'm just happy to have my head back and myself back.
It really is quite amazing how nicotine tries to get you to fall over in those first three weeks. It attacks on all fronts and can turn the most grounded and secure individual into a gibbering, fear-driven, clingy bundle of insecurity.
I am well and truly glad to see the back of it. Here's to a smoke-free lifetime. And if I ever end up smoking again, I will cut my own cock off.
Oh don't get me wrong, I still have the odd urge - that quiet voice in your ear, the quietest of suggestions... And perhaps that never really leaves you, I don't know. And perhaps accepting and understanding that is what will stop me from falling over again in the future. I truly hope so. But right now, I'm just happy to have my head back and myself back.
It really is quite amazing how nicotine tries to get you to fall over in those first three weeks. It attacks on all fronts and can turn the most grounded and secure individual into a gibbering, fear-driven, clingy bundle of insecurity.
I am well and truly glad to see the back of it. Here's to a smoke-free lifetime. And if I ever end up smoking again, I will cut my own cock off.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Johnson & Nutt Sack: "Unseemly Spat"
David Cameron has called the row between Alan Johnson and the sacked Professor David Nutt an 'unseemly spat'. I haven't got anything to actually say about it - I just had to somehow crowbar in possibly the best headline in history.
Friday, October 23, 2009
A Colourless Performance
So it's over and the free world is safe. Yes, Nick Griffin's appearance on Question Time has passed without major incident and we've all managed to avoid catching Fascism.
Like a fat John Barrowman after a stroke
It was an interesting set-up; three heavyweight politicians on one side, then Nasty Nick and Bonnie Greer on the other. Personally, I thought the Beeb and DD handled it as well as they could have done. Yes, the vast majority of the programme was about the BNP - but it would have been a nonsense for it not to have been, particularly bearing in mind the publicity of the last week or so.
I was nervous beforehand; I was concerned that Nick Griffin's tub-thumping, martyr-like rhetoric, coupled with a witchhunt from the audience and the panel, would play right into the BNP's hands as the anti-establishment hero of the disaffected and disillusioned.
Instead, I think that Griffin was given the opportunity to voice his views, but that he was given a sound hiding, not just by the panelists, but by the audience too. In fact, I don't think that Griffin did that well at all. He came across as shifty, unpleasant and rather lightweight.
There will be plenty of comment made in today's papers about the debate; Hardcore BNP followers will say he was ambushed, 5 against 1. Most people will say he didn't come across very well at all. He made the odd point, but that was not a performance to 'propel the BNP into the big time'.
However, I thought the most interesting point of all came in the treatment of Griffin from the panelists; the three politicians (Jack Straw, Baroness Warsi & Chris Huhne) were aggressive in their attacks. They were all strongly worded and hard-hitting to greater and lesser effect. But I thought Bonnie Greer had the best approach to Griffin - using humour to make the point of how irrelevant and wrong his party is. And of all the panelists, I felt that he was most uncomfortable with this approach. Fake grins and laughter were all he could manage.
Because that's it, really - Nick Griffin is like a 5-year old child with ADHD - he demands attention, good or bad. To be attacked on all sides by these political heavyweights means that he is being taken seriously by the three major parties - and that falls right into his lap as the anti-politician, voice of the silent majority that he so likes to play; however, to be mocked and ridiculed means that he isn't being taken seriously. Bonnie Greer ran rings round him tonight, and he came across as a naughty schoolboy.
So that's how we should all play it - the more we keep going on about the BNP being a serious threat, the more likely it is going to be. Personally, I agree with Bonnie Greer - no matter what the BNP might think, the British people have far too much common sense. Now, Griffin, get back on the naughty step where you belong.
Like a fat John Barrowman after a strokeIt was an interesting set-up; three heavyweight politicians on one side, then Nasty Nick and Bonnie Greer on the other. Personally, I thought the Beeb and DD handled it as well as they could have done. Yes, the vast majority of the programme was about the BNP - but it would have been a nonsense for it not to have been, particularly bearing in mind the publicity of the last week or so.
I was nervous beforehand; I was concerned that Nick Griffin's tub-thumping, martyr-like rhetoric, coupled with a witchhunt from the audience and the panel, would play right into the BNP's hands as the anti-establishment hero of the disaffected and disillusioned.
Instead, I think that Griffin was given the opportunity to voice his views, but that he was given a sound hiding, not just by the panelists, but by the audience too. In fact, I don't think that Griffin did that well at all. He came across as shifty, unpleasant and rather lightweight.
There will be plenty of comment made in today's papers about the debate; Hardcore BNP followers will say he was ambushed, 5 against 1. Most people will say he didn't come across very well at all. He made the odd point, but that was not a performance to 'propel the BNP into the big time'.
However, I thought the most interesting point of all came in the treatment of Griffin from the panelists; the three politicians (Jack Straw, Baroness Warsi & Chris Huhne) were aggressive in their attacks. They were all strongly worded and hard-hitting to greater and lesser effect. But I thought Bonnie Greer had the best approach to Griffin - using humour to make the point of how irrelevant and wrong his party is. And of all the panelists, I felt that he was most uncomfortable with this approach. Fake grins and laughter were all he could manage.
Because that's it, really - Nick Griffin is like a 5-year old child with ADHD - he demands attention, good or bad. To be attacked on all sides by these political heavyweights means that he is being taken seriously by the three major parties - and that falls right into his lap as the anti-politician, voice of the silent majority that he so likes to play; however, to be mocked and ridiculed means that he isn't being taken seriously. Bonnie Greer ran rings round him tonight, and he came across as a naughty schoolboy.
So that's how we should all play it - the more we keep going on about the BNP being a serious threat, the more likely it is going to be. Personally, I agree with Bonnie Greer - no matter what the BNP might think, the British people have far too much common sense. Now, Griffin, get back on the naughty step where you belong.
Friday, October 16, 2009
'Black N Proud' or 'British Nobel Prize'. Both are rubbish. Sorry.
Fantastic story in the news today with the BNP being told it must allow black and asian Britons into the party, following a court case brought by the Equality and Human Rights Commission. Of course, the likelihood of any black and asians Brits wanting to join the party is pretty slim - but I think they're missing a trick.
If I were black or asian, I'd be rounding up as many hard bastards as I could, telling them all to join. Then, every time the BNP has any kind of gathering, I would ensure that we all are present, right at the front. I would love to see Nick Griffin give one of his trademark racist speeches in front of 500 bad motherfuckers.
Actually, that really isn't that bad an idea. I have no idea how many voting members are in the BNP. But I bet if a prominent non-white personality got involved - someone like Shami Chakrabarti, for example - and say she said "Right! Everyone who is against the racism of the BNP - join the party." And say they did. And then, say, she caused a vote of no-confidence in Nick Griffin... I think it's fair to say that it would be rather interesting to say the least.
It actually just needs one person to be the focal point for this. Just one person to take a stand... Damn, I wish I were black and famous. I'd be a shoe-in for next year's Nobel Prize.
If I were black or asian, I'd be rounding up as many hard bastards as I could, telling them all to join. Then, every time the BNP has any kind of gathering, I would ensure that we all are present, right at the front. I would love to see Nick Griffin give one of his trademark racist speeches in front of 500 bad motherfuckers.
Actually, that really isn't that bad an idea. I have no idea how many voting members are in the BNP. But I bet if a prominent non-white personality got involved - someone like Shami Chakrabarti, for example - and say she said "Right! Everyone who is against the racism of the BNP - join the party." And say they did. And then, say, she caused a vote of no-confidence in Nick Griffin... I think it's fair to say that it would be rather interesting to say the least.
It actually just needs one person to be the focal point for this. Just one person to take a stand... Damn, I wish I were black and famous. I'd be a shoe-in for next year's Nobel Prize.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Knock Knock
"Knock knock"
"Who's there?"
"Police"
"Police who?"
"I'm afraid there's been an accident."
"Police who?"
"Who's there?"
"Police"
"Police who?"
"I'm afraid there's been an accident."
"Police who?"
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Kemp Site
Today is indeed a day of days. My artistic folding of Ross Kemp's face has been selected for the Kemp Folds website. Simply entitled 'Zippy', visit the website to have a look. Feel free to post a comment, saying how brilliant it is.
http://kempfolds.blogspot.com/
http://kempfolds.blogspot.com/
Arbre-ing a Grudge
This tree was right next to the little cafe in the campsite on Tavira Island. And if you look very carefully, it's possibly the grumpiest-looking tree in the world.
No Mean Graffiti
Saw this fantastic piece of graffiti in Tavira, on a pathway leading to the beach, right in the middle of nowhere. To whoever painted it, I did. And it made me smile whenever I saw it.
Logo (nads)
Saw this on a building in Faro, Portugal on my recent trip out there and it just made me laugh. I think it's for some sort of Doctor's Surgery or a medical lab or something - I just love the logo, of two people pointing at their own genitals.
"Christ on a bike. Is it supposed to look like that?"
"Mummy, it's winking at me."
"Christ on a bike. Is it supposed to look like that?"
"Mummy, it's winking at me."
Embittered Ex-Mayor
I know that Ken Livingston had to find something to do after he lost the London Mayorship, but I had no idea he'd formed a band in Portugal.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Has it been worth it?
'Operation Enduring Freedom'. Remember that? October 2001, it was the name given to the invasion of Afghanistan to overthrow the Taliban. 8 years on - and after the unwelcome milestone of the 200th British soldier to die there - just how is that 'Enduring Freedom' working out?
Firstly, perhaps I need to say that I am not necessarily a pacifist. Gandhi is a hero of mine, but his policy of 'non-violence' only really works against a nation that does more or less adhere to a certain moral code. Against someone like Hitler, Stalin or even Saddam Hussein, Gandhi's actions would have been disastrous and bloody.
So I begrudgingly accept that there are times when you have to stand up and fight for what is right. Like the fight against Fascism in the 30s, which eventually led onto the Second World War, for example. That was a war that even the strongest pacifist has to concede was unavoidable.
However, is the war on Afghanistan in that category? 8 years later - 200 British deaths later - we have to look and see what have we managed to achieve there? Whenever you pay a price with the blood of your own soldiers, it is important that you know it was worth it.
And I have to say, in my humble opinion, it hasn't been.
At the start of the occupation of Afghanistan, there was a lot made about the oppressive nature of the Taliban. Particularly about their treatment of women. The removal of the Taliban was the only way to give democracy to Afghanistan, freedom to men and women throughout the country, it was said.
8 years on, it turns out that things are worse for women than it ever has been. It is now legal for a man to starve his wife if she refuses him sex. It is legal for a man to rape his wife. A woman still needs her husband's permission to work. And it is obscene that we are sending British soldiers to support that regime.
The level of self-immolation (setting themselves on fire) amongst women has never been so high as it is now. It is a sad truth that when there is no justice for women, they see no other way out than suicide.
Afghanistan is now run by Warlords, and opium production since the US occupation in 2001 has exploded. There was almost no opium produced under the Taliban, according to the UN's Drug Control Agency - now Afghanistan produces 93% of the world's opium, an increase of over 4000% by some estimates, which represents over half the country's GDP.
So what's changed? Women are still being raped, oppressed and abused. A child born in Afghanistan has a 25% chance of not making it to their fifth birthday. I would suggest for the average Afghan, not a lot has changed at all. Except now there is also war, with the poverty and destruction that brings as well as oppression.
And we have a democratic election as we speak, although it would appear that they are simply puppets of the various warlords. The names may change, but the story remains sadly the same.
Firstly, perhaps I need to say that I am not necessarily a pacifist. Gandhi is a hero of mine, but his policy of 'non-violence' only really works against a nation that does more or less adhere to a certain moral code. Against someone like Hitler, Stalin or even Saddam Hussein, Gandhi's actions would have been disastrous and bloody.
So I begrudgingly accept that there are times when you have to stand up and fight for what is right. Like the fight against Fascism in the 30s, which eventually led onto the Second World War, for example. That was a war that even the strongest pacifist has to concede was unavoidable.
However, is the war on Afghanistan in that category? 8 years later - 200 British deaths later - we have to look and see what have we managed to achieve there? Whenever you pay a price with the blood of your own soldiers, it is important that you know it was worth it.
And I have to say, in my humble opinion, it hasn't been.
At the start of the occupation of Afghanistan, there was a lot made about the oppressive nature of the Taliban. Particularly about their treatment of women. The removal of the Taliban was the only way to give democracy to Afghanistan, freedom to men and women throughout the country, it was said.
8 years on, it turns out that things are worse for women than it ever has been. It is now legal for a man to starve his wife if she refuses him sex. It is legal for a man to rape his wife. A woman still needs her husband's permission to work. And it is obscene that we are sending British soldiers to support that regime.
The level of self-immolation (setting themselves on fire) amongst women has never been so high as it is now. It is a sad truth that when there is no justice for women, they see no other way out than suicide.
Afghanistan is now run by Warlords, and opium production since the US occupation in 2001 has exploded. There was almost no opium produced under the Taliban, according to the UN's Drug Control Agency - now Afghanistan produces 93% of the world's opium, an increase of over 4000% by some estimates, which represents over half the country's GDP.
So what's changed? Women are still being raped, oppressed and abused. A child born in Afghanistan has a 25% chance of not making it to their fifth birthday. I would suggest for the average Afghan, not a lot has changed at all. Except now there is also war, with the poverty and destruction that brings as well as oppression.
And we have a democratic election as we speak, although it would appear that they are simply puppets of the various warlords. The names may change, but the story remains sadly the same.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Ukraine's Got Talent
This is possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And incredibly it's from Ukraine's Got Talent. I have to say, I've never seen anything like this before and it did move me to tears*. Enjoy.
*Although that could be because I'm a big girl.
Click here to watch the video if you received this via email.
*Although that could be because I'm a big girl.
Click here to watch the video if you received this via email.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Tories to Remain Utterly Silent until after General Election
A senior source within the Conservative Party has divulged that the Tories intend to say absolutely nothing whatsoever until after next year's General Election, preferring instead to let Labour do all their work for them.
After substantial analysis, the Tory think tank Policy Exchange has isolated Gordon Brown's three major flaws: Everything he does, everything he says and the unerring ability to come out smelling of shit even when he's right.
You can't
polish a turd
However the tipping point has been the fact that once again Gordon Brown is facing the prospect of a leadership challenge - and the two main candidates are Harriet Harman and the unelected self-appointed Dark Lord of Fucking Everything, Peter Mandelson.
In an interview with the Telegraph, the head of Policy Exchange, Fisty B'Stard said:
"So let me get this right. Even if they somehow manage to prise open Gordon Brown's death grip on power and get rid of him, the alternative will be either a megalomaniac Sith Lord or a man-hater. That's like asking would I prefer to be anally raped with my own dismembered penis or brutally murdered with a clawhammer."
"However, every time David Cameron opens his mouth, he does tend to say something incalculably stupid. So we've decided it would be best for everyone if he remains utterly silent. We think that as long as we can keep his mouth completely and totally shut for the next 9 months or so, we'll be in Number 10 before you can say 'vacuous'. Obviously we don't need to worry about the Lib Dems, so with Labour as they are, hopefully we'll be a shoe-in."
"I mean, Peter Mandelson. In charge of the Labour Party. Ha ha ha ha!" he said, before adding "Aha ha ha ha ha."
Bank Anger Profit Bonus in Fatcat Fury Shame
Furious fatcat taxpayer money bonus and angry meltdown shame greed, it emerged today.
Barclay men show disgraced £3bn taxpayer jobless recession profit despite shame bonus and taxpayer meltdown crunch disaster. But as bank shame anger rose to fatcat, outraged tax money say bail-out meltdown pay for risky bonus greed shame fury.
Bill, a furious angry man, say: "Fatcat. Meltdown. Taxpayer. Greedy shame fury. Make bad thing go now."
Wayne, a sad jobless, say: "No job. Me. Them money. Bonus things. Nice bonus money things. Me no things. Fury anger bonus shame."
Margaret, old woman from nice place, say: "Pensioner. Me. Old lady. Fatcat greedymen. Winter so cold time. No soup. Me go all blue. Then what?"
Vince, a politics man, say: "Appalling. Nasty, shamey greedymen. All angry pocket lining and excessive shame risk. Homes. Jobs. Billions. Crisis-crunch." He add: "China! Fred Goodwin!"
But Tom, analysing man, say: "Pensions. That's your pension. That £3bn is where your pension comes from. Stop talking now, fucknut idiots."
Barclay men show disgraced £3bn taxpayer jobless recession profit despite shame bonus and taxpayer meltdown crunch disaster. But as bank shame anger rose to fatcat, outraged tax money say bail-out meltdown pay for risky bonus greed shame fury.
Bill, a furious angry man, say: "Fatcat. Meltdown. Taxpayer. Greedy shame fury. Make bad thing go now."
Wayne, a sad jobless, say: "No job. Me. Them money. Bonus things. Nice bonus money things. Me no things. Fury anger bonus shame."
Margaret, old woman from nice place, say: "Pensioner. Me. Old lady. Fatcat greedymen. Winter so cold time. No soup. Me go all blue. Then what?"
Vince, a politics man, say: "Appalling. Nasty, shamey greedymen. All angry pocket lining and excessive shame risk. Homes. Jobs. Billions. Crisis-crunch." He add: "China! Fred Goodwin!"
But Tom, analysing man, say: "Pensions. That's your pension. That £3bn is where your pension comes from. Stop talking now, fucknut idiots."
Thursday, July 30, 2009
The Best Website on the Internet. Ever.
Very occasionally, you come across something that just makes you truly understand. Perhaps a song that makes you realise that all music up to this point had just been tuning up. Ladies and gentlemen... I have today been shown such a thing. It is, quite simply, the reason why the internet was invented for everything up til now has been simply mucking about. I give you (and Leah, I'm eternally grateful for this):
KEMP FOLDS
KEMP FOLDS
Shatner vs Palin
And there's only ever going to be one winner. This is William Shatner reading Sarah Palin's farewell speech verbatim. Enjoy.
Click here to watch the video if you're reading this by email.
Click here to watch the video if you're reading this by email.
Jeremy Clarkson Beat Box
No need to add anything, really. Here you go!
Click here to see the video if you received this by email.
Click here to see the video if you received this by email.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
You can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm an experienced health professional, no time to talk
Whilst trawling through the internet today for news, I stumbled across a rather useful article in the Daily Mail (and it's not often that you say that). It's title is How to Save a Heart Attack Victim. It is a worry of mine that someone will have a heart attack or something and I won't know what to do, so I read the article with some gusto. I'm really glad I did.
Amongst other things, it has the following advice about giving CPR:
"Put your hands in the middle of the chest on the breastbone and push down as hard as you can, 100 times a minute (roughly the same rhythm as the 'ah, ah, ah' bit in the Bee Gees song Staying Alive; I'd sing it in your head, though)."
I actually can't stop laughing at that. I cannot think of a more surreal and funny situation than performing CPR on a heart attack victim, whilst singing 'Staying Alive' in a Bee Gees falsetto. On the plus side, I'm never going to forget it.
Amongst other things, it has the following advice about giving CPR:
"Put your hands in the middle of the chest on the breastbone and push down as hard as you can, 100 times a minute (roughly the same rhythm as the 'ah, ah, ah' bit in the Bee Gees song Staying Alive; I'd sing it in your head, though)."
I actually can't stop laughing at that. I cannot think of a more surreal and funny situation than performing CPR on a heart attack victim, whilst singing 'Staying Alive' in a Bee Gees falsetto. On the plus side, I'm never going to forget it.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Mailicious Reporting
As I'm currently experiencing the joys of Swine Flu, I am pleased to see that the Daily Mail has got my back. They're not getting swept away by sensationalist scaremongering:
"Do you ever feel as if The Authorities are doing their damnedest to scare us all to death? First, there's swine flu" writes Lorna Martin in today's Mail.
"When raising the threat alert for swine flu from level four to five in April, Margaret Chan, head of the World Health Organisation, declared that 'all of humanity is under threat'..."
"While sadly, at the time of writing, 31 people have died in the UK after contracting the virus, as many as 29 of them had other underlying, life-threatening conditions. That means there have been as few as two deaths solely caused by the swine flu virus. Two! T. W. O. Six thousand people die from normal flu every year in Britain."
Quite so. Those dastardly, irresponsible, scaremongering 'Authorities'.
On a completely separate note, here's a headline from The Daily Mail on May 1:
'How swine flu could be a bigger threat to humanity than nuclear warfare.'
"Do you ever feel as if The Authorities are doing their damnedest to scare us all to death? First, there's swine flu" writes Lorna Martin in today's Mail.
"When raising the threat alert for swine flu from level four to five in April, Margaret Chan, head of the World Health Organisation, declared that 'all of humanity is under threat'..."
"While sadly, at the time of writing, 31 people have died in the UK after contracting the virus, as many as 29 of them had other underlying, life-threatening conditions. That means there have been as few as two deaths solely caused by the swine flu virus. Two! T. W. O. Six thousand people die from normal flu every year in Britain."
Quite so. Those dastardly, irresponsible, scaremongering 'Authorities'.
On a completely separate note, here's a headline from The Daily Mail on May 1:
'How swine flu could be a bigger threat to humanity than nuclear warfare.'
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Why Facebook is Weird
Facebook is a funny thing. One one hand it's a great way of keeping in touch with friends all over the world without actually having to talk to any of them. On the other hand, it seems to be a breeding ground for all manner of weird and wonderful things.
On the news feed this evening, I noticed that one of my friends has become a fan of 'Getting Paid'. I have to say, I was somewhat flummoxed by this. It seems to suggest that 'getting paid' is a choice - as if you go to work and think "Yes, I think I'd like to get paid this month."
Which got me wondering what other fan groups there are that state the bleeding obvious. Once I managed to get past the 'Punch Babies in the Face' group, it turns out there is also a page for 'Not Being Punched in the Face', with a great picture to really put make that fact hit home. This group has over 1000 members.
However, this fan group pales into insignificance when compared with fans of 'Not Being Murdered by Clowns', which has over 44,000 members. That's twice more than the Facebook petition against knives group. Although the group for 'Rape = Not Cool' only has one member. So there you go.
On the news feed this evening, I noticed that one of my friends has become a fan of 'Getting Paid'. I have to say, I was somewhat flummoxed by this. It seems to suggest that 'getting paid' is a choice - as if you go to work and think "Yes, I think I'd like to get paid this month."
Which got me wondering what other fan groups there are that state the bleeding obvious. Once I managed to get past the 'Punch Babies in the Face' group, it turns out there is also a page for 'Not Being Punched in the Face', with a great picture to really put make that fact hit home. This group has over 1000 members.
However, this fan group pales into insignificance when compared with fans of 'Not Being Murdered by Clowns', which has over 44,000 members. That's twice more than the Facebook petition against knives group. Although the group for 'Rape = Not Cool' only has one member. So there you go.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Brown and Out
You know, I've always liked Dr Ian Gibson, the former Labour MP for Norwich North. Oh, I don't actually know much about him or what he stands for. As an Ipswich boy, I just loved his Alan Partridge-esque comments that his constituents were inbred.
But despite that minor faux-pas, they continued to like him and many took great exception to Gibson being made Labour's scapegoat for the expenses scandal. I can't really see why he was so furious - at best his expenses claim was outside the spirit of things and at worst, downright illegal. Using taxpayers money to buy a flat for his daughter to live in for nothing, and then selling that flat to his daughter for a vastly reduced amount has got to be wrong in anyone's book. One less rotten MP has got to be a good thing and in my book, he's lucky not to be in prison.
But now we've had the by-election and Labour got hammered. Which isn't particularly unusual when it comes to a by-election, the governing party always gets trounced. But this one just feels different. More than ever it feels like a dress rehearsal for the real thing.
I particularly enjoyed Gordon Brown's reaction after the by-election "It's disappointing, but I don't think any party can take a great deal of cheer from this."
Really Gordon? Really? Because I have to say, on the news, the Tories looked quite cheerful.
Gordon Brown is making an absolute dog's arse of the Labour Party and is showing himself to be totally and utterly out of touch with pretty much everyone in the whole country. He seems to be driven by only one motive and that is to cling to power for as long as is humanly possible, no matter what. He does not possess the humility to let go and his party does not seem to possess the strength to make him. His quest of power for power's sake is shredding any credibility that Labour has left.
I can't help thinking about the General Election in under a year. Gordon Brown's death grip on power is currently making a Tory landslide a frightening inevitability. David Cameron doesn't have to do or say a damn thing between now and then - Gordon Brown is winning the election for him all on his own.
After John Major, I thought the Tories would be finished as a political force, particularly after the energy and enthusiasm of Tony Blair. It's taken them 12 years to reinvesnt themselves to the point where they are vaguely electable again. But David Cameron doesn't have the charisma of a young Tony Blair - David Cameron's main character trait, his number one reason for voter popularity is that he isn't Gordon Brown.
If the Tories get in next year, it saddens me to say you can pretty much forget about Labour as a political force for quite some time. I just hope that someone picks up the slack on the Left or we're in for some frightening times.
But despite that minor faux-pas, they continued to like him and many took great exception to Gibson being made Labour's scapegoat for the expenses scandal. I can't really see why he was so furious - at best his expenses claim was outside the spirit of things and at worst, downright illegal. Using taxpayers money to buy a flat for his daughter to live in for nothing, and then selling that flat to his daughter for a vastly reduced amount has got to be wrong in anyone's book. One less rotten MP has got to be a good thing and in my book, he's lucky not to be in prison.
But now we've had the by-election and Labour got hammered. Which isn't particularly unusual when it comes to a by-election, the governing party always gets trounced. But this one just feels different. More than ever it feels like a dress rehearsal for the real thing.
I particularly enjoyed Gordon Brown's reaction after the by-election "It's disappointing, but I don't think any party can take a great deal of cheer from this."
Really Gordon? Really? Because I have to say, on the news, the Tories looked quite cheerful.
Gordon Brown is making an absolute dog's arse of the Labour Party and is showing himself to be totally and utterly out of touch with pretty much everyone in the whole country. He seems to be driven by only one motive and that is to cling to power for as long as is humanly possible, no matter what. He does not possess the humility to let go and his party does not seem to possess the strength to make him. His quest of power for power's sake is shredding any credibility that Labour has left.
I can't help thinking about the General Election in under a year. Gordon Brown's death grip on power is currently making a Tory landslide a frightening inevitability. David Cameron doesn't have to do or say a damn thing between now and then - Gordon Brown is winning the election for him all on his own.
After John Major, I thought the Tories would be finished as a political force, particularly after the energy and enthusiasm of Tony Blair. It's taken them 12 years to reinvesnt themselves to the point where they are vaguely electable again. But David Cameron doesn't have the charisma of a young Tony Blair - David Cameron's main character trait, his number one reason for voter popularity is that he isn't Gordon Brown.
If the Tories get in next year, it saddens me to say you can pretty much forget about Labour as a political force for quite some time. I just hope that someone picks up the slack on the Left or we're in for some frightening times.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Best Cat Name Ever?
My cousin LZ asked "was the cat owner a big Beatles fan, do you reckon? I can't think why else you'd name a cat 'Help'."
Personally, I think it's genius. And if ever I get another cat I'm going to call it 'Fire'.
Erm, Sorry about that.
Ahem. Your writer is feeling mildly sheepish today after this heartwrenching outburst yesterday on stopping smoking. It turns out I was simply overtired from not enough sleep. 10 solid days of getting up way too early, going to bed way too late and generally kicking the arse out of everything inbetween finally took its toll, turning me into a whining puddle of pathos. All it took was one good night's sleep and I'm back to feeling normal again. Yeah... sorry about that.
Thanks to everyone for the lovely messages of support and for those that did have to listen to my pathetic grizzling. I think the funniest thing of all is that when I am that overtired, just like any self-respecting 6-year old boy, I do take it really seriously. Thankfully I was able to get some good advice (you know who you are!) and then slept for 14 hours solid.
On a positive note, I do feel proud that I didn't fall over on the smoking thing and that stopping smoking wasn't actually the cause at all. Although I do need to perhaps take on a little bit less than I have been doing recently. Anyway, normal service has now been resumed and I will now stop whining like a bitch.
This is how sorry and sheepish I am.
Thanks to everyone for the lovely messages of support and for those that did have to listen to my pathetic grizzling. I think the funniest thing of all is that when I am that overtired, just like any self-respecting 6-year old boy, I do take it really seriously. Thankfully I was able to get some good advice (you know who you are!) and then slept for 14 hours solid.
On a positive note, I do feel proud that I didn't fall over on the smoking thing and that stopping smoking wasn't actually the cause at all. Although I do need to perhaps take on a little bit less than I have been doing recently. Anyway, normal service has now been resumed and I will now stop whining like a bitch.
This is how sorry and sheepish I am. Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Confessions of an ex-Smoker
Today it has been exactly three weeks since I stopped smoking and I am aware of the fact that I am doing well. I managed to get through the first couple of days of face-melting anguish and dribbled through the blancmange-brain phase. I feel that things should be getting easier now and in some ways they are. So why do I feel so crap about it all today?
It's often round about this time that my previous serious attempts to stop smoking have fallen down. Non-smokers may find this strange - Surely once the strongest cravings have subsided, it should be plain sailing? And yet it isn't.
Smoking is a particularly insidious and manipulative addiction, quite capable of changing a person's behaviour and character. I actually externalise my addiction into a separate entity, the 'nicotine monster'. I find this helps no end in providing a focus for any frustration or irritation I may have. And today it's being an utter shit.
You might think that withdrawal symptoms from smoking are linear - it starts strong and gradually reduces to nothing. This is not the case. You can have a month where you don't think about it at all. Then, on a rainy Tuesday in July, it attacks you from all sides without warning or provocation. Today is one of those days.
How does it make me feel? I feel both furious and yet totally vulnerable. I feel short-tempered beyond belief - and yet incredibly needy and insecure. I want to scream at the world and to cry until my eyes hurt. I want to run for 10 miles, although I'm too tired to even leave the house. I feel like someone's tied a knot inside my stomach. I want someone to hold me, stroke my hair and tell me everything will be OK.
And what's most irritating of all is that I know none of this is real. This is not real emotion. I am not an angry or insecure or needy person. So I'm trying to ignore it and wait for it to go away, albeit today with limited success. Hence why I'm writing this.
I can handle the cravings. In many ways, that feels like a bare-chested man-fight, a struggle of will, a battle between good and evil. And although it hurts, it's a good hurt. It's a battle you can see and it's a fair fight.
This is much more subtle and much more dangerous. It's like a fake depression, I guess. The nicotine monster is trying to make me feel that everything is rubbish - and that I am rubbish - so that I go back to smoking. Things that are good are undermined, it throws a veil of deceit over everything. And it takes tremendous willpower to remain positive.
Sigh. At least I know that it will go away. And it does strengthen my resolve to never smoke again. I just wish it didn't make me feel so crap. Thanks for listening.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Pandemic Pandemonium
Whenever I think of Swine Flu, I always think of flying pigs. This is perhaps a little disrespectful, seeing as official forecasts suggest it will kill us all by next Friday. Still, I haven't got much on, so it could be worse.
I do however feel sorry for anyone who is pregnant after the National Childbirth Trust (the UK's biggest parenting charity) warned that "the risks of the pandemic were so great that women should delay having babies."
Expect cases of infibulation amongst white middle-class women to soar as Daily Heil-reading expectant mothers try to hold it in as long as possible.
As a man, obviously I do understand the very real danger and pain that any type of flu presents. However, if I were a pregnant woman right now I would be slightly more worried about the prospect of pushing a live human through my vagina.
After childbirth, your vagina is never quite the same again. A bit more worrying than feeling crap for a few days
I do however feel sorry for anyone who is pregnant after the National Childbirth Trust (the UK's biggest parenting charity) warned that "the risks of the pandemic were so great that women should delay having babies."
Expect cases of infibulation amongst white middle-class women to soar as Daily Heil-reading expectant mothers try to hold it in as long as possible.
As a man, obviously I do understand the very real danger and pain that any type of flu presents. However, if I were a pregnant woman right now I would be slightly more worried about the prospect of pushing a live human through my vagina.
After childbirth, your vagina is never quite the same again. A bit more worrying than feeling crap for a few days
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Topical Lookey-likie
One is a near-mythical being that likes to let a young boy ride on his head etc and so on.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Irony that Alanis Morrisette would have been proud of
Whilst looking at news of the sad demise of Michael Jackson, I saw a link advertising limited tickets to his upcoming tour. In retrospect, I wonder if he wishes he'd chosen a better slogan.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Don't Worry...
After a few worried communications about my mental state / consumption of mind-altering narcotics (and a very concerned conversation with my mother) I can reassure all my readers I am not on acid or having some sort of delusional breakdown.
A haiku is simply a Japanese poem. And the 'monstrous psychedelic bubble exploding in my mind' is actually the name of an album I've been listening to.
Glad to have cleared that up. Normal drug-fuelled madness will be resumed shortly.
A haiku is simply a Japanese poem. And the 'monstrous psychedelic bubble exploding in my mind' is actually the name of an album I've been listening to.
Glad to have cleared that up. Normal drug-fuelled madness will be resumed shortly.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
What's the plural of Haiku?
My cock is so big
It's like an elephant's trunk.
How big is yours, then?
Britain's Got Talent.
I almost ripped my cock off.
Won't watch that again.
Poor Jim Magilton
He's been replaced by Roy Keane.
Shame, but he was shit.
It's like an elephant's trunk.
How big is yours, then?
Britain's Got Talent.
I almost ripped my cock off.
Won't watch that again.
Poor Jim Magilton
He's been replaced by Roy Keane.
Shame, but he was shit.
Baby love
Just got home from visiting some friends with a new baby and they asked me if I wanted to wind it. I thought fucking hell that's a bit harsh, so I just gave it a dead leg instead.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Crap Made-up Topical Gag
I hear that the Policeman accused of being instrumental in the death of G20 demonstrator Ian Tomlinson has been signed up by Max Clifford for a West-End pantomime. Apparently the Policeman in question wasn't too keen until he heard they were going to do Aladdin.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Political Lookey-likie
Former Chief Executive of HBOS and until recently Deputy Chairman of the FSA James Crosby and X-Files Assistant Director at the FBI, Walter Skinner. And they don't just look the same - they're both victims of hand / face superglue pranks.
I'm sure there's a joke about fucking up the country and 'the Truth is out there' or some other X-Files reference, but I can't be arsed to think one up. Just work it out for yourselves - let me know if you come up with anything half decent.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Football Lookeylikie
Manchester United winger 'Nani' and Michael Jackson from Thriller...
Apparently Michael Jackson's recent problems began after he misunderstood the suggestion "why don't you try twenty seven year olds?"
Special 1 TV
With Jose Mourinho, Sven and the Boy Wayne. This is very, very funny and well worth a watch!
Musical Lookey-likey
"When you've just got the sack
And you look like Gene Hack (man)
That's Scolari...."
(to the tune of That's Amore)
Friday, February 06, 2009
Smells Like Top Videos
The Contenders are:
Bill Bailey's Tribute to Kraftwerk
The Wooden Spoon Game
Jimmy Saville's Jimmy Jangle
The Diet Coke and Mentos Display
The Talkative Parrot QI Advert
Robot Chicken's Five Stages of Grief
A very close second is The Japanese Silent Library Game
But the winner of I think funniest video I've ever shown on this blog is also one of the newest - yes, it's The Holy Ghost vs Drum n Bass, God is a DJ
More Awards will follow when I can be arsed to trawl through my archives. Thanks for watching!
Bill Bailey's Tribute to Kraftwerk
The Wooden Spoon Game
Jimmy Saville's Jimmy Jangle
The Diet Coke and Mentos Display
The Talkative Parrot QI Advert
Robot Chicken's Five Stages of Grief
A very close second is The Japanese Silent Library Game
But the winner of I think funniest video I've ever shown on this blog is also one of the newest - yes, it's The Holy Ghost vs Drum n Bass, God is a DJ
More Awards will follow when I can be arsed to trawl through my archives. Thanks for watching!
The 'Smells Like White Spirit' Oscars
Was looking back through my blog tonight with someone, which is something I actually never do. And was pleasantly surprised to find some stuff which I still find really funny. That's the advantage to having no memory - you can rediscover the same stuff over and over again, and it's always just as funny as it was the first time.
And it got me thinking - I've now done almost 600 posts over the last two and a half years. Sometimes I've been prolific; other times I've been sporadic. But why not have a round-up so far, for those that can't be arsed to wade through nearly three years of my rantings and ravings?
A bit like those never-ending "I remember" programmes that they seem to loop on Channel 4, but with fewer references to spacehoppers and long-forgotten sweets. Talking of which - someone bought me Space Dust last week. Space Dust! Although it was called something weird like Crackle Whizz or something. But I digress - and I promised no references to sweets.
No, perhaps let's not do it like those programmes - let's do it Oscar stylie. Grand and, erm, grandiose. Probably. Let's start with Chez's Favourite Videos...
And it got me thinking - I've now done almost 600 posts over the last two and a half years. Sometimes I've been prolific; other times I've been sporadic. But why not have a round-up so far, for those that can't be arsed to wade through nearly three years of my rantings and ravings?
A bit like those never-ending "I remember" programmes that they seem to loop on Channel 4, but with fewer references to spacehoppers and long-forgotten sweets. Talking of which - someone bought me Space Dust last week. Space Dust! Although it was called something weird like Crackle Whizz or something. But I digress - and I promised no references to sweets.
No, perhaps let's not do it like those programmes - let's do it Oscar stylie. Grand and, erm, grandiose. Probably. Let's start with Chez's Favourite Videos...
Thursday, February 05, 2009
God is a DJ part 1
Is this video the funniest thing I've ever seen? It's close, very close. I can't think of anything that I've laughed at more than this for a long time...
If you get this via the email, you're going to have to go to the site to see it! www.chezguevara.com. I promise you, it is worth it.
If you get this via the email, you're going to have to go to the site to see it! www.chezguevara.com. I promise you, it is worth it.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
The Best Complaint Letter of All Time?
This is a letter recently received by the Virgin Atlantic customer complaints team and is in my opinion, possibly the funniest customer complaint letter ever. Yahoo News actually called the Virgin Atlantic press office and they confirmed they received the letter and that Richard Branson himself called the author to thank him for the feedback. Here's the letter.
Dear Mr Branson
REF: Mumbai to Heathrow 7th December 2008
I love the Virgin brand, I really do which is why I continue to use it despite a series of unfortunate incidents over the last few years. This latest incident takes the biscuit.
Ironically, by the end of the flight I would have gladly paid over a thousand rupees for a single biscuit following the culinary journey of hell I was subjected to at the hands of your corporation.
Look at this Richard. Just look at it:
I imagine the same questions are racing through your brilliant mind as were racing through mine on that fateful day. What is this? Why have I been given it? What have I done to deserve this? And, which one is the starter, which one is the desert?
You don't get to a position like yours Richard with anything less than a generous sprinkling of observational power so I KNOW you will have spotted the tomato next to the two yellow shafts of sponge on the left. Yes, it's next to the sponge shaft without the green paste. That's got to be the clue hasn't it. No sane person would serve a desert with a tomato would they. Well answer me this Richard, what sort of animal would serve a desert with peas in:
I know it looks like a baaji but it's in custard Richard, custard. It must be the pudding. Well you'll be fascinated to hear that it wasn't custard. It was a sour gel with a clear oil on top. It's only redeeming feature was that it managed to be so alien to my palette that it took away the taste of the curry emanating from our miscellaneous central cuboid of beige matter. Perhaps the meal on the left might be the desert after all.
Anyway, this is all irrelevant at the moment. I was raised strictly but neatly by my parents and if they knew I had started desert before the main course, a sponge shaft would be the least of my worries. So lets peel back the tin-foil on the main dish and see what's on offer.
I'll try and explain how this felt. Imagine being a twelve year old boy Richard. Now imagine it's Christmas morning and you're sat their with your final present to open. It's a big one, and you know what it is. It's that Goodmans stereo you picked out the catalogue and wrote to Santa about.
Only you open the present and it's not in there. It's your hamster Richard. It's your hamster in the box and it's not breathing. That's how I felt when I peeled back the foil and saw this:
Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking it's more of that Baaji custard. I admit I thought the same too, but no. It's mustard Richard. MUSTARD. More mustard than any man could consume in a month. On the left we have a piece of broccoli and some peppers in a brown glue-like oil and on the right the chef had prepared some mashed potato. The potato masher had obviously broken and so it was decided the next best thing would be to pass the potatoes through the digestive tract of a bird.
Once it was regurgitated it was clearly then blended and mixed with a bit of mustard. Everybody likes a bit of mustard Richard.
By now I was actually starting to feel a little hypoglycaemic. I needed a sugar hit. Luckily there was a small cookie provided. It had caught my eye earlier due to it's baffling presentation:
It appears to be in an evidence bag from the scene of a crime. A CRIME AGAINST BLOODY COOKING. Either that or some sort of back-street underground cookie, purchased off a gun-toting maniac high on his own supply of yeast. You certainly wouldn't want to be caught carrying one of these through customs. Imagine biting into a piece of brass Richard. That would be softer on the teeth than the specimen above.
I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was relax but obviously I had to sit with that mess in front of me for half an hour. I swear the sponge shafts moved at one point.
Once cleared, I decided to relax with a bit of your world-famous onboard entertainment. I switched it on:
I apologise for the quality of the photo, it's just it was incredibly hard to capture Boris Johnson's face through the flickering white lines running up and down the screen. Perhaps it would be better on another channel:
Is that Ray Liotta? A question I found myself asking over and over again throughout the gruelling half-hour I attempted to watch the film like this. After that I switched off. I'd had enough. I was the hungriest I'd been in my adult life and I had a splitting headache from squinting at a crackling screen.
My only option was to simply stare at the seat in front and wait for either food, or sleep. Neither came for an incredibly long time. But when it did it surpassed my wildest expectations:
Yes! It's another crime-scene cookie. Only this time you dunk it in the white stuff.
Richard.... What is that white stuff? It looked like it was going to be yoghurt. It finally dawned on me what it was after staring at it. It was a mixture between the Baaji custard and the Mustard sauce. It reminded me of my first week at university. I had overheard that you could make a drink by mixing vodka and refreshers. I lied to my new friends and told them I'd done it loads of times. When I attempted to make the drink in a big bowl it formed a cheese Richard, a cheese. That cheese looked a lot like your baaji-mustard.
So that was that Richard. I didn't eat a bloody thing. My only question is: How can you live like this? I can't imagine what dinner round your house is like, it must be like something out of a nature documentary.
As I said at the start I love your brand, I really do. It's just a shame such a simple thing could bring it crashing to it's knees and begging for sustenance.
Yours Sincererly...
Dear Mr Branson
REF: Mumbai to Heathrow 7th December 2008
I love the Virgin brand, I really do which is why I continue to use it despite a series of unfortunate incidents over the last few years. This latest incident takes the biscuit.
Ironically, by the end of the flight I would have gladly paid over a thousand rupees for a single biscuit following the culinary journey of hell I was subjected to at the hands of your corporation.
Look at this Richard. Just look at it:
I imagine the same questions are racing through your brilliant mind as were racing through mine on that fateful day. What is this? Why have I been given it? What have I done to deserve this? And, which one is the starter, which one is the desert?
You don't get to a position like yours Richard with anything less than a generous sprinkling of observational power so I KNOW you will have spotted the tomato next to the two yellow shafts of sponge on the left. Yes, it's next to the sponge shaft without the green paste. That's got to be the clue hasn't it. No sane person would serve a desert with a tomato would they. Well answer me this Richard, what sort of animal would serve a desert with peas in:
I know it looks like a baaji but it's in custard Richard, custard. It must be the pudding. Well you'll be fascinated to hear that it wasn't custard. It was a sour gel with a clear oil on top. It's only redeeming feature was that it managed to be so alien to my palette that it took away the taste of the curry emanating from our miscellaneous central cuboid of beige matter. Perhaps the meal on the left might be the desert after all.
Anyway, this is all irrelevant at the moment. I was raised strictly but neatly by my parents and if they knew I had started desert before the main course, a sponge shaft would be the least of my worries. So lets peel back the tin-foil on the main dish and see what's on offer.
I'll try and explain how this felt. Imagine being a twelve year old boy Richard. Now imagine it's Christmas morning and you're sat their with your final present to open. It's a big one, and you know what it is. It's that Goodmans stereo you picked out the catalogue and wrote to Santa about.
Only you open the present and it's not in there. It's your hamster Richard. It's your hamster in the box and it's not breathing. That's how I felt when I peeled back the foil and saw this:
Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking it's more of that Baaji custard. I admit I thought the same too, but no. It's mustard Richard. MUSTARD. More mustard than any man could consume in a month. On the left we have a piece of broccoli and some peppers in a brown glue-like oil and on the right the chef had prepared some mashed potato. The potato masher had obviously broken and so it was decided the next best thing would be to pass the potatoes through the digestive tract of a bird.
Once it was regurgitated it was clearly then blended and mixed with a bit of mustard. Everybody likes a bit of mustard Richard.
By now I was actually starting to feel a little hypoglycaemic. I needed a sugar hit. Luckily there was a small cookie provided. It had caught my eye earlier due to it's baffling presentation:
It appears to be in an evidence bag from the scene of a crime. A CRIME AGAINST BLOODY COOKING. Either that or some sort of back-street underground cookie, purchased off a gun-toting maniac high on his own supply of yeast. You certainly wouldn't want to be caught carrying one of these through customs. Imagine biting into a piece of brass Richard. That would be softer on the teeth than the specimen above.
I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was relax but obviously I had to sit with that mess in front of me for half an hour. I swear the sponge shafts moved at one point.
Once cleared, I decided to relax with a bit of your world-famous onboard entertainment. I switched it on:
I apologise for the quality of the photo, it's just it was incredibly hard to capture Boris Johnson's face through the flickering white lines running up and down the screen. Perhaps it would be better on another channel:
Is that Ray Liotta? A question I found myself asking over and over again throughout the gruelling half-hour I attempted to watch the film like this. After that I switched off. I'd had enough. I was the hungriest I'd been in my adult life and I had a splitting headache from squinting at a crackling screen.
My only option was to simply stare at the seat in front and wait for either food, or sleep. Neither came for an incredibly long time. But when it did it surpassed my wildest expectations:
Yes! It's another crime-scene cookie. Only this time you dunk it in the white stuff.
Richard.... What is that white stuff? It looked like it was going to be yoghurt. It finally dawned on me what it was after staring at it. It was a mixture between the Baaji custard and the Mustard sauce. It reminded me of my first week at university. I had overheard that you could make a drink by mixing vodka and refreshers. I lied to my new friends and told them I'd done it loads of times. When I attempted to make the drink in a big bowl it formed a cheese Richard, a cheese. That cheese looked a lot like your baaji-mustard.
So that was that Richard. I didn't eat a bloody thing. My only question is: How can you live like this? I can't imagine what dinner round your house is like, it must be like something out of a nature documentary.
As I said at the start I love your brand, I really do. It's just a shame such a simple thing could bring it crashing to it's knees and begging for sustenance.
Yours Sincererly...
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
Kaká Deal Off as Agent Finally Mentions Word 'City'
BRAZILIAN superstar Kaká has called off a move to Manchester after his agent finally said the word 'City'.
The AC Milan striker was furious claiming he had been duped into believing he was going to sign for a proper football team that had won a major trophy since he was born. Kaká said last night:
"My agent called last week and said that Manchester were interested in me. I was so excited at the thought of all those great players, the traditions, the best coach in the world, and of course Gemma Atkinson's magnificent charlies. I packed an overnight bag and we went to the airport, but as we were walking through the terminal my agent turned to me and said 'oh, in case I didn't mention, it's Manchester City.'
"I stopped dead in my tracks and said, 'are you having a laugh? Seriously, is this some big fucking joke?'. He said to me, 'don't worry, they're a really big club with loads of money. And then there's Mark Hughes'.
"I said, 'I already play for a really big club, I've got loads of money and what, in the name of God, is a 'Mark Hughes'?'
He added: "I walked away shouting, 'go and get me a proper deal from a proper English club that does not include the word 'City'. No Hulls, no Birminghams, and no fucking Stokes!'"
Manchester City said last night they still hoped to complete the deal if they can persuade Cristiano Ronaldo to sign for the club and act as Kaká's butler.
The AC Milan striker was furious claiming he had been duped into believing he was going to sign for a proper football team that had won a major trophy since he was born. Kaká said last night:
"My agent called last week and said that Manchester were interested in me. I was so excited at the thought of all those great players, the traditions, the best coach in the world, and of course Gemma Atkinson's magnificent charlies. I packed an overnight bag and we went to the airport, but as we were walking through the terminal my agent turned to me and said 'oh, in case I didn't mention, it's Manchester City.'
"I stopped dead in my tracks and said, 'are you having a laugh? Seriously, is this some big fucking joke?'. He said to me, 'don't worry, they're a really big club with loads of money. And then there's Mark Hughes'.
"I said, 'I already play for a really big club, I've got loads of money and what, in the name of God, is a 'Mark Hughes'?'
He added: "I walked away shouting, 'go and get me a proper deal from a proper English club that does not include the word 'City'. No Hulls, no Birminghams, and no fucking Stokes!'"
Manchester City said last night they still hoped to complete the deal if they can persuade Cristiano Ronaldo to sign for the club and act as Kaká's butler.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Another Firm Bites the Dust
I heard on the news today that Pedigree Chum is the latest firm to find themselves in trouble as a result of the Credit Crunch. Apparently, they've called in the Retrievers.
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